I am writing this on Thursday evening in Sandestin, Florida. The last of the sun is bleeding into the bay. We’re going to have a glass of wine and then head out to the blues bar and restaurant at the Village at Baytowne Wharf.

The Dread Clampitts are spinning on the CD player. I heard them the other night at the Red Bar in Grayton Beach…an absolute must-visit bar. The place was rocking, the beer was cold and the food great.  I just think I should have skipped that pail-sized martini but that’s another story altogether…

I’m setting this up to publish for tomorrow morning while we’re driving to the Pensacola airport for our trip back to Seattle. I’ve got to dig out the socks, shoes and jeans for the upcoming Pacific Northwest weather.

We’ll spend the night in Seattle and then up and through that Canuckastan border and we’ll be home; back in the land of socialized medicine and rainy skies; a place where we won’t hear the ongoing bombs and explosions from the Eglin Air Force base like we do here. How does one get used to the sound of war?

I’ll spend the day in transit doing some writing, finishing the fabulous book The Journal Keeper by Phyllis Theroux. I’ve marked it up extensively with exclamation marks and underlining of entire paragraphs. 

I’ll probably buy another book somewhere in one of those airports, like maybe the George W. Bush airport…I really think the naming of that should have been considered a little more. It’s kind of like painting a bullseye on the roof. Makes me a little nervous that one…