To nap or to eat….to eat or to nap? Hmmm. Two of my favorite rituals. How do I solve this dilemma? In this our 21st century I can speed through a drive through, call out for delivery, nuke something in the microwave or scald a cup of dehydrated noodles with instantly hot water from a tap. The process and techniques with which to satisfy my basic need of food intake should not be this hard.
But no…I insist on foraging for my food as if I were a Cro-Magnon, dragging my knuckles over the ground, grunting and sniffing the air. Those who know me all too well are familiar with how my normally sweet disposition (yes, I have a sweet disposition…sometimes) can turn into surly pouting when I miss my regular feeding times. We’re not talking Godzilla trampling through Tokyo, but I’m just sayin’…
On a recent foray to Tybee Island, I checked into my overwhelmingly spectacular cottage, Dutton-Waller. Nestled in between whispering palms near the back river, Dutton-Waller rises majestically out over its pilings with a front stairway sweeping upward as if to whisk you off to heaven. This is one beautiful place.
The grand, wraparound porch beckons me to sit. Be still. Behold thy kingdom. I have the strangest urge to call out for a mint julep. The porch swing lazily swaying in the breeze. Calling to me like a siren of the sea. Come, little boy. Join me for a journey. Tippy toes just barely touching the floor.
Just then a pang of hunger hits. A throaty growl pushes it’s way up from my chest. My backbone… scared it’s about to get gnawed by my stomach. Got to push on. Cast down my travel bags. Quickly scan the beds. Once I eat half of the island I’ll need a little nappy.
Behold. On yonder back portion of the wraparound porch. The screened in portion. Billowy white curains. Can it be? Eureka! A sleeping porch!
And then it hits me. Find the nearest restaurant. Grab a quick bite. Run back to this sleeping porch (It’s mine…all MINE!) and grab a few winks. Sounds good. Kill two birds. Drat….birds. Hungry!
You probably felt the ground shaking and heard my roar as I scoured the few blocks toward the beach in search of a restaurant or at least someone walking through the neighborhood carrying food that I could take in a fight. OK. So what if that would only consist of some hairpulling and eye gouging. You don’t want to end up on the business end of one of my hissy fits.
SCORE! Look at what I see! I’m gonna cut to the chase. There’s no Tivo in blogging. Go to Stingray’s. Ask for Jim’s section. Order the Shrimp Cocktail for starters. Fresh, wild Georgia Shrimp. Straight from the waters off Tybee. Homemade cocktail sauce. Fantabulous! Next, even if you don’t see it on the menu ask for the Smoked Yellow Fin Tuna Fish Dip. Sorry. No photo to show you how incredible it looks. I ate it before it could be documented on film. This is one of those “How could something so simply presented be so incredibly flavorful and filling?”. Couldn’t tell ya. Ask Jim to ‘splain it. I’m a foodie, not a chef.
But remember now. The plan was to grab a quick bite so I could entomb myself in that sleeping porch and get my nap on. There would be time later to eat a really big meal and totally pass out in one of the indoor bedrooms for the night. Pay attention. There are various degrees in napology. This is the mid afternoon nap.
Once back at Dutton-Waller I hopped, skipped and then did a jacknife into a swan dive onto the sleeping porch bed. Oooh. A pretty chandelier. It’s swinging. Eyes following back and forth. ZZZZzzzzzzzzzz. The moral of this story? You won’t find a sign around my neck that says, “Don’t feed the wildlife.” Just honor my feeding schedule. Provide me with any bed, hammock, pallet or air cushion with the utmost of comfort.
Well, let’s just say if you adhere to these few, teensy rules you won’t have to worry about me creating a rats nest out of your hair and I won’t use any of my The Three Stooges fisticuffs on ya. It’s about sharing how others can make you (meaning me) an easier person to be with. It’s about giving fair warning before you bite. It’s about finding those simple pleasures in life that soothe your savage beast. It’s about learning how to laugh at yourself. It’s about remembering to say thanks when good things come your way. It’s Cottage Cheese!
