I Clean My Gun and Dream of Galveston

Warren and I ran away to the beach for a few days, my goal being to escape the start of the godforsaken holiday season. It's my least favorite time of the year though I make exceptions for my boy's December birthday and plates of latkes, both of which are, thankfully, in my immediate future.

My Galveston friends have talked for years about converting the space above their garage into a little apartment which I like to refer to as Spike's Writing Garret (they humor me and go along with this). They started the project earlier this year and just finished it. It is my new favorite place in the world and if I could retire down there tomorrow I'd do it. Don't get me wrong, I HEART AUSTIN. But my failure to live at the beach full time confuses me. I am, in the presence of a large body of salt water (yes, even the Gulf of Mexico), about the cheeriest human you could run into. Countless lifetime grudges are forgotten. Pesky deadlines don't get to me. I sleep better. I eat like a damn king (courtesy of the culinary genius of my friends). I take super long walks with the dogs on the beach. And sometimes-- like yesterday-- I ride my stunning beach cruiser to the Bolivar Peninsula Ferry and take that boat across and back watching for dolphins. (We saw several yesterday.)

Oh well, we're back to reality now. But now that I've got my own writing garret I'm heading back down as soon as I can. Galveston is full of inspiration for writers, like these lyrics from Glen Campbell:

Galveston, oh Galveston, I still hear your sea waves crashing
While I watch the cannons flashing
I clean my gun and dream of Galveston

(rebound waits at the bottom of the stairs to the writer's garret. those are steep steps and she is a fat girl. what a combo.)

(not eating turkey is never a problem when paula's cooking. there's chipoltle peppers in them thar sweet potatoes. OMG. they yam what they yam.)

(me supervising the making of dinner whilst knitting.)

(my writer's garret features a baby 4-foot clawfoot tub in a spacious bathroom with hardwood floors. this room is also known as the canine suite.)

(i cannot reveal my source but let me just say my austin hatch chilie pepper dealer hooked me up. these went into the apple pie. really.)

(the team of chefs that toiled for my pleasure.)

(this is a fridge magnet at my friend's house. it's made from a picture of henry when he was around 2. one of my favorite hen pics.)

(another picture on the fridge-- that's me at around age 32 when i was pretending to be a badass leaning on the hood of my '67 chevy pickup.)

(this is bemba, sort of like peanut butter cheetohs. you get them in israel. you eat them at the beach. we brought some back and saved them for this trip.)

(we'll just let this picture speak 1,000 words on its own.)

(the long ride home-- note the look of martydom on rebound's face (left) and pissed offedness on bubbles.)