First and foremost I wish everyone the most enjoyable of Thanksgiving Days with your family and friends. I even send those wishes to the people I’m about to address. Despite anyone’s shortcomings, I would never begrudge he or she of enjoying the most beautiful of family holidays. But I’s gots to say what I’s gots to say.
This morning, the Wednesday before Turkey Day, I walked the beach amidst a thick fog and a light drizzle. It was plenty warm and the milky veil surrounding me provided some heavenly comfort. The drizzle served to cool me, having donned three sweatshirts expecting chilly temperatures. I’d either forgotten to check The Weather Channel-Myrtle Beach, one of my most relied upon sites or I subconsciously had decided that it didn’t matter to me what weather Mother Nature had in store. All I knew was that the tide was ebbing and there would be shell beds through which to search. I was doing my thing, finding fossils and picking up plastic, when a bit of chaos emerged from within the mist. Four headlines cut through that fog, slithering over the sands slowly like drugged snakes. For a second I thought the beach had been invaded by mad-hatter Shriners in town for the holiday. No disrespect intended to that organization. As far as I know they do nothing but give back to their communities while having fun doing it. There are a lot of good people who wear silly looking hats. Now that the snaps are broken on my boonie hat, I look like Gilligan walking that beach. No Mary Anns out there today. In fact, I was the only person, speaking of the Mad Hatter, crazy enough to be out there other than the city trucks doing esses as if they were driven by drunk drivers in search of salvation.
The city employees were picking up refuse from the backshore — that part of the beach that levels out into a plateau in front of the dunes. In truth, I didn’t see too many door openings when those pickup trucks were in my proximity. Perhaps they were rusted shut with all the rain this storm has dropped here along the Grand Strand for the past 30 or so hours. There were plastic bags everywhere on the foreshore near the surf. No worries. I got as many as I could. I also collected a straw, a bait lid, a Miller Lite bottle and ten small gems. The occupants of the aforementioned city trucks didn’t seem to mind what was scattered about on those wet sands. I’m not sure if I can blame them. They were only doing what they were told to do. Like puppets in a play. Not what they could or should have been doing, which is cleaning the entire beach and not just that closest to the blue barrels. I find it unethical that some of them seem so comfortable collecting decent, government checks and benefits without doing a thorough job. Buts that’s just me.
For the life of me, I just can’t understand why the city doesn’t employ people to walk the shore and collect trash in the first place. I was thinking about addressing the city council about this in person, but I know what answer I would have gotten when I asked of them, “Do you realize how much trash disposed here gets swept away by the surf? They most likely would have said, “It’s not cost effective, bum, to pay individuals to walk up and down this beach and collect refuse.” Then I would have said, “Mother Nature is the one paying the price.” Aye, yigh, yigh. Oh me goshsk. Well, blow me down! Oleeve, getsk me my spinachk. I’ll do it because I feel it to be among my civic responsibilities.
There’s no need to keep blathering about this in lieu of my readers’ busy schedules on the eve of this most American of holidays. I’ve made my point. Y’all enjoy Thanksgiving and remember while saying grace to say a special prayer while bowing your heads for our military people serving our country. Especially for those all around our pale blue dot who can’t be with their loved ones. I’ve got to work on my sermon for tomorrow’s sunrise services on the beach. Jon, if you’re reading this, tomorrow’s service is mandatory for you. Let my flock of parishioners know I’ll be somewhere near the Island Vista hotel as Ra rises.