To the beach

We do not go on long vacations very often, but when we do we plan very carefully. We read up on potential locations to visit, we ask for suggestions from friends and family and co-workers -- as well as the occasional stranger in the Barnes & Noble travel section -- and then, with all the information we have gathered, we solemnly toss an atlas into the air and whatever location is on the page that lands up, that's where we go on vacation.

This time the atlas landed on Kibler, Arkansas. We took the liberty of making several tosses of the atlas, willing it to land on something a little closer to the beach.

The Outer Banks looked promising. Miles of beaches, sparkling water, refreshing breezes, golf resorts, violent hurricanes that wipe out every life form except boardwalk carnivals, which are indestructible.

"What will we do there?" I said, seeing no largely populated areas that might suggest civilization, defined as antique shops.

Joe made a wild suggestion. "Relax and enjoy the water?"

"But we should do things," I said. "Not just be beach bums."

He could see no reason we shouldn't be beach bums.

"Ahh," I said, looking more closely at the map. "It's a little bit of a drive, but here's just the thing. A ship's graveyard museum."

Fortunately he does not mind my morbid fascination with shipwrecks and other natural and unnatural disasters. As long as it does not interfere with being a beach bum.

While the Princess and Hero are on vacation next week, new posts may or may not appear to this blog, depending on whether the Princess can make the great sacrifice of tearing herself away from every sign, plaque, and other means of written communication on display at the ship's graveyard museum, and the Hero can make the equally great sacrifice of giving up control of the new notebook laptop.