Issue 18
Dear Friends and Family,
I have felt the collective squeeze of all my friends wondering when the next Sandy Toes would appear. Indeed, I have been remiss, so faithfully to all my “fans” I will try to recount my latest escapades. Look here at the calendar; it has been over a year since we started this adventure in writing. Ah me, I recall when my writings were weekly events to help me keep my sanity, and now I am so lazy I can barely get one out in two months.
I became involved with the Port Aransas Community Theater again as assistant director/stage manager/ set designer. The name of the show is “Coming Apart” and is a romantic comedy with a cast of four. We open on May 12 for nine shows. Last week two actresses had to back out and now the show is literally “coming apart” as we try to get two new people up to speed in less than two weeks. I am feeling very much like a rat on a sinking ship.
On Easter Sunday Doug and I both came to the conclusion that we wanted to move closer to our church. We put our townhouse up for sale and have found a house for sale we love on Padre Island, 15 miles down the road from here. Now we will wait upon the Lord. If He wants us to move, a buyer will come. So far, we have not had much activity, although it is the slow season.
Yes, it is the quiet season in Port A and my favorite time of year. It was a beautiful spring, with lots of wild flowers and gardens in bloom. Warm days where we could open the doors and let the breeze blow through the house.
Memorial Day weekend the tourists will descend and again it will be like living in the middle of Disney World. That is another reason why we want to move to a house in a quiet neighborhood. Spring Break only lasted a week in March but we live at ground zero. All night long the college kids cruised up and down the streets with the stereos booming to rattle the windows. When Molly and I stood outside the front door we could hear the sounds of beer cans bouncing off the pavement and cheers coming from the beach every time a girl pulled up her top. There were traffic accidents and tie-ups, stabbings and shootings. The boardwalk railings where I cross to the beach were dismantled for firewood. A lovely way to treat paradise.
My latest “I can’t believe I did this” adventure happened last thursday when Doug and I went on an eight-hour deep-sea fishing trip. When we arrived, the nice man behind the counter said the ride would be a bit rough, about six foot seas. I decided this was an experience I wanted to say I had accomplished, so fool-heartedly, I turned down Doug’s offer to go back home. The trip out was two hours of saying the Lords Prayer while remembering vividly scenes from the movie “Perfect Storm”, and then we finally anchored off an oilrig to fish. One couple was terribly seasick and I was merely shaking in fear. Creeping out on to the deck and bracing my feet against the railing, I became a fisherman. I hadn’t got sick from the roller coaster ride out but the amount of gore involved with fishing made me very queasy. First, there was a lot of stabbing fish through their eyes, like to put them on stringers and to bait the hooks. Other people caught sharks and ling (about 3 foot fish) that the crew dragged in overboard with spears, and blood was everywhere as they subdued them (the fish!). We came home wet and covered in fish guts but with about 20 pounds of red snapper and a triggerfish Doug caught. And the next day I said, “that was fun, lets do it again!”
So if you come out to visit us, know that I’ll be playing captain Ahab. Love, Janis