And then there was Vegas in November - how many people dreamed of that, she mused.
It was all lovely, but she yearned for the beach as she huddled by the fireplace that she was only allowed to use on low particulate days.
She remembered that it was hot on the beach that year.
A man and woman nursed a couple of Buds in the scorching sun as they watched the wannabe surfers struggle with their boards.
They had been married for quite a while, so words were no longer necessary...nor did they want to break the peaceful lapping of the surf as it edged its way toward their toes.
It was a dream vacation with no expense spared.
They contemplated dinner in silence...another evening at Joe's wouldn't be too hard to take.
Are we going to play golf tomorrow, he wondered?
Not again, she thought.
How 'bout some shopping and you could buy me an anniversary present, she shot back noiselessly.
Another surfer bit the dust as he picked up his Bud and slogged back to the luxurious condo to nap.
They ate at Joe's that night. It was fabulous.
I'll write about this in my Christmas letter and my friends will be green, she mused, as a huge wave pounded her sand chair into the beach...she didn't write a Christmas letter that year.
Laurel. A re-post from early blogging days...revamped.