It is quiet on Tybee Island where I live. I am five blocks from Butler Avenue, the main drag which turns into a traffic jam during the summer months and on most weekends. From Butler to the ocean crowds swarm and it is loud. There are always people. But on my street it is quiet and the nights are soft even when fireworks are blasting over the sea or the Tams are playing on the pier.
It is a different kind of quiet here. The electricity goes off most every morning for a couple of minutes while someone reboots the generator. It woke me today when the fans stopped swirling and I lay there with absolutely no sound other than my own breathing. Unlike yesterday when clouds rolled across the sky, the sun was forcing its way through the drapes and tiny beams of light dart across the room.
I crawl out of bed, turn on the coffee pot, throw open the sliding glass doors and stumble towards the ocean, wade in up to my knees and fall over. This is how I wake up every day when I am here. The warm aqua green water of Orient Bay doesn’t shock my senses alive but lovingly coaxes them awake. I float for a few minutes and then stand up.
A long reef separates the bay from the Caribbean Sea and I’ve learned to see what kind of day it’s going to be by watching the waves break over it. If they are large and roaring then the wind will be up and it will likely rain. When they are small and lapping then it is a beach day. Most days are beach days but the reef and the waves never lie.
I walk back to my studio and pour myself a cup of coffee.
When Conner and Hania arrive I’ll walk over to wherever they are and we have established this tradition of morning laughter. I’m not sure exactly how we do it, but in no time at all we are cracking one another up over cups of coffee and tea. Some traditions are precious and this has become one of mine.
But they are not here yet so I sit on my front little deck with this big heavy wooden table. My slap mates, two different studios share the same slap of concrete foundation, are John and Deb whom I’ve known for several years. John leans over and as he does every morning to complaint about lack of access to the Internet.
“Welcome to the Caribbean,” I say every morning in response.
So I sit and marvel at the beauty of it all. Lush tropical plants and flowers are everywhere. Long leaf Palms line the roads. My friends Randy and Cindy took old broken down studios like the ones the rest of us stay in and turned it into a palace. It has everything including satellite television and a walk in shower.
Anyway they planted more Palm trees in front of their place. The thing is all of the other Palm trees here have a piece of tin nailed around them to prevent critters from crawling up them. Randy and Cindy’s did not. So Conner and I thought that they should conform (I know…I know…this coming from me? But Conner makes me do strange things).
So while they were away, we got tin foil and wrapped their Palm trees. Then we fixed cocktails and toasted how funny we are. Then Randy and Cindy, who are quite proud of their broken down studio turned palace, drove up. Randy and Cindy are beautiful people and both of them jumped out of their car, looked at their tinned foiled Palm trees, then at us, and they whipped their heads so fast, it would have made anyone else’s hair flip out of place, but not theirs. They are perfect.
Conner and I both said at the same time, “What?”
I had dinner with Randy and Cindy last night and the story was told yet again as it is every time that we are together. So this morning I watch Randy scrub down the palace and am very thankful that I don’t have one.
Time for the Beach!
It is a different kind of quiet here. The electricity goes off most every morning for a couple of minutes while someone reboots the generator. It woke me today when the fans stopped swirling and I lay there with absolutely no sound other than my own breathing. Unlike yesterday when clouds rolled across the sky, the sun was forcing its way through the drapes and tiny beams of light dart across the room.
I crawl out of bed, turn on the coffee pot, throw open the sliding glass doors and stumble towards the ocean, wade in up to my knees and fall over. This is how I wake up every day when I am here. The warm aqua green water of Orient Bay doesn’t shock my senses alive but lovingly coaxes them awake. I float for a few minutes and then stand up.
A long reef separates the bay from the Caribbean Sea and I’ve learned to see what kind of day it’s going to be by watching the waves break over it. If they are large and roaring then the wind will be up and it will likely rain. When they are small and lapping then it is a beach day. Most days are beach days but the reef and the waves never lie.
I walk back to my studio and pour myself a cup of coffee.
When Conner and Hania arrive I’ll walk over to wherever they are and we have established this tradition of morning laughter. I’m not sure exactly how we do it, but in no time at all we are cracking one another up over cups of coffee and tea. Some traditions are precious and this has become one of mine.
But they are not here yet so I sit on my front little deck with this big heavy wooden table. My slap mates, two different studios share the same slap of concrete foundation, are John and Deb whom I’ve known for several years. John leans over and as he does every morning to complaint about lack of access to the Internet.
“Welcome to the Caribbean,” I say every morning in response.
So I sit and marvel at the beauty of it all. Lush tropical plants and flowers are everywhere. Long leaf Palms line the roads. My friends Randy and Cindy took old broken down studios like the ones the rest of us stay in and turned it into a palace. It has everything including satellite television and a walk in shower.
Anyway they planted more Palm trees in front of their place. The thing is all of the other Palm trees here have a piece of tin nailed around them to prevent critters from crawling up them. Randy and Cindy’s did not. So Conner and I thought that they should conform (I know…I know…this coming from me? But Conner makes me do strange things).
So while they were away, we got tin foil and wrapped their Palm trees. Then we fixed cocktails and toasted how funny we are. Then Randy and Cindy, who are quite proud of their broken down studio turned palace, drove up. Randy and Cindy are beautiful people and both of them jumped out of their car, looked at their tinned foiled Palm trees, then at us, and they whipped their heads so fast, it would have made anyone else’s hair flip out of place, but not theirs. They are perfect.
Conner and I both said at the same time, “What?”
I had dinner with Randy and Cindy last night and the story was told yet again as it is every time that we are together. So this morning I watch Randy scrub down the palace and am very thankful that I don’t have one.
Time for the Beach!
