I feel like I should post this last time about camping on the beach near Galveston, but I haven’t done anything worth posting about. I hardly have photos. No stories. No local dialogue.
The laziness upon us is like a drug.
We don’t have to pack a bag for the beach; we just step outside. No planning of snacks or a change of clothes; all our food and towels are with us. No lugging chairs and bags with books in them. All we have to do is sit there.
I hardly can be asked to carry my beach chair from the top of the beach down by where the tide is coming in. Why walk that far?
The sound of the gentle waves around us 24 hours a day has lulled me into complacency. I’ll just sit in my chair right outside the trailer.
Tracy has been walking out through the surf to fish, at least. He stands way out casting his line, whistling to me when he catches something.
Banjo and I are sitting in separate stupors by the trailer. I might pick up the binoculars to look at what Tracy caught.
No one is on the beach where we are. We don’t bother with shoes. I haven’t put on a bra. When I step inside to grab a hat, Banjo lies in the sun unsupervised.
An additional soporific is the low hum of tanker engines out in the Gulf, lined up to come through the channel.
When the fog rolls in, they each blare their fog horn so often they sound like giant wind chimes.
As soon as the sun starts setting, mosquitos drive us inside, where we sit in the same stupor, just with beers in hand, plus the occasional cheese.
Inside I’m startled by dishes all over the counter. Clothes on the bed. Who wants to be indoors during the day long enough to straighten? I have a to-do list. I don’t know where it is.
Each night I wish I’d had the gumption earlier to take the sheets outside and shake out the sand, but I don’t.
Heavy dew forms on the trailer walls, outside and inside. I have to wipe off the windows to see the clearing sky each morning.
Then Banjo and I set off to walk the beach and start again at doing nothing.
P.S.: Tracy took that blue photo up top while he was out in the Gulf looking back at the trailer. The trailer is in the circle; his fishing chair and pole keeper are on the left.
It’s a fogbow, we decided.
