Apalachicola

Or Waiting For Yet Another Mechanic

The picture out my window is saw grass. 

The birds are working hard for a meal.  Gulls & Pelicans. 

The breeze is beautiful and the sounds are relaxing.

It seems that relaxation is a skill,

It's hard in strange circumstances. 

So often for action guys relaxation is the bottle.

Don't make it so,

the sweet wine that warms the bones,

and lifts the spirits will do.

The oyster men have gone.

Soon their lights will glow on the gulf,

And tomorrow we will dine.

Last night my oysters slept in the ocean

On the subject of my injury... I seem to be doing better.  I found two more positions to sleep in last night that felt good.  And this morning I got up and walked a half mile.  This afternoon I did that half mile a second time.  And I made it through the night without the aid of any pain medication.  

While on my morning walk, I came upon an historic old house that begged a picture.  So I took one.  The grounds are also a war memorial and garden. 

It was St. Patrick's Day, so while I was on my walk, easing along in my now familiar gimpy style, muttering expletives under my breath about my current condition, when I reached the marina next door, my face started to shine like a leprechaun's.  A big smile spread from ear to ear, 'cus then I knew it was true... there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Right there on that marina's property sat the cutest little oyster bar and restaurant.  I was saved from having to walk farther and, of course, went in for a libation. (Once again, I caution the reader, strictly for medicinal purposes!) Being about lunch time, I helped myself to a dozen steamed oysters on the half shell.  They were great and the guy behind the bar was shucking 'em right there for me. Twas truly "Top O' the Mornin'!"