It happens every time. I go off for the weekend and have a wonderful time, and when I return, it's payback time. Good times come with consequences, I've decided, especially as you age.
After playing this weekend in Charleston, I promptly came down with a terrible cold when I got home.
Of course, I don't really believe the pay-if-you-play theory. I believe in going for the gusto.
My trip to Charleston was worth the consequences. Charleston is one of my favorite cities for several reasons: It's gorgeous. The people you meet there, including store and hotel clerks, are so friendly and accommodating. And, there are seafood restaurants on just about every corner. (This trip I feasted on velvety She Crab Soup, sweet steamed shrimp and buttery steamed clams.)
We stayed at the Quality Inn at Patriot's Point, where our room faced the beautiful new bridge currently under construction over the Cooper River. The bridge's silver spans remind me of harp strings sparkling in the sun.
One of the highlights of the weekend was swinging in the huge swings at the waterfront park behind the U.S. Customs building, where we watched as the gleaming luxury liner "Norwegian Majesty" took on passengers for its cruise to the Florida Keys and Cozumel, Mexico.
Since the Southeastern Wildlife Exposition was under way in the Holy City, we were treated to wonderful paintings of wildlife and, my favorite, Labrador Retrievers. I love paintings of Labs. I've just about worn out my Ducks Unlimited T-shirt featuring a painting of three old Labs — a Black, a Yellow and a Chocolate. All three of the dogs' muzzles are beginning to turn white, and the painting is appropriately titled, "Old Folks."
Of course, we enjoyed perusing the treasures in the Old Market and talking with some of the vendors, particularly the ones with delightful Gullah accents. At one booth where bottles of fragrances of every imaginable kind were for sale, my friend jokingly asked the man if he had a fragrance that smelled like money. The jovial, gap-toothed fellow grinned and proudly produced a vial titled, "Money." We should have known he would.
We had lots of fun exploring Sullivan's Island and the Isle of Palms, where we walked on the beach and looked for sharks' teeth. The seagulls on the beach seemed especially hungry, so we fed them some leftover pretzels we had in the truck. After my experience years ago feeding seagulls down at Tybee Island when I lived on Wilmington Island near Savannah, I was a little reluctant to hold up one of the pretzels for a gull to grab. The day I was feeding gulls french fries at Tybee, one of them mistook my finger for a fry and nearly bit it off. You don't forget something as traumatic as that.
While on Sullivan's Island, I finally got up the nerve to hold a pretzel in mid-air for a hovering seagull, who promptly snatched the treat from my fingers and greedily gulped it down his gullet whole.
I found feeding the gulls to be quite therapeutic. Observing the birds, I began to identify the unique personalities among them as diverse as, and very similar to, the personalities of humans — the whiners, the bullies, the meek, the opportunists, the disinterested, the coy and the analytical. One gull spent so much time analyzing the pretzels I tossed his way that he never managed to grab one before another gull claimed it. He'd cock his head from side to side, as if sizing it up to see if it would fit in his mouth.
I don't give the poor seagull very good odds for survival. He needs to go for the gusto and worry about the consequences later.