Choices

Our mornings and evenings continue to be filled with glorious sunrises and sunsets.  Our balcony faces due south but we can always see the reflected glow on evening clouds, and if we walk down to the bottom of the walkway to the dune-top deck we can see clearly east and west.  Last night it looked like a huge canvas painted by Titian.

There was no post on my blog yesterday; we took a long drive and did not get back until late, and then I spent the evening reading Tana French.  Yesterday's drive took us a long distance around Camp Lejeune, which brought back memories of my brother Fred, who was stationed there 50-some years ago.  He always described the area to me as hot, swampy, and filled with water moccasins, and he did not enjoy his time there very much; Semper Fi, Fred!

His description seemed accurate to me.  But then we drove eastward out to the ocean, to Surf City and Topsail Beach, and had a lazy day, eating lunch at a little place called Daddy Macs in Surf City, with its vine-covered entry and its second-floor view of the ocean immediately off the rear deck:

These barrier islands are similar to Emerald Isle and Hatteras, so narrow that in some places you can see the ocean on one side and the sound on the other.  The homes are packed close together and there is little in the way of commercial development, only two or three restaurants.  But it was good to explore a part of coastal North Carolina that we had never seen.

We consider our time here to be a sabbatical:  that is, not just a travelogue and a description of my daily runs, but also a time to reflect on our lives and to reconnect, to read and write, removed from our ordinary lives for a time.  Sometimes that is not reflected in this blog, but we can nevertheless feel the benefits of being here every day - the comfort and joy of our relationship, what we like to call "Peace and Plenty."  Yesterday we used our long drive to talk about our lives, our families, the choices our loved ones have made (prompted by a discussion of my brother, who died in 1980).  We are fortunate that we made some good choices in our lives - we chose to be in relationship, we chose life and health, we chose to be in community, and in a church - and it is disheartening to see those who are suffering from poor choices or have fewer options than we had.  Or who close doors that can never be opened again.

Last night was a rare and special night for those who like to gaze at the sky -  a so-called "triple-header" consisting of a "penumbral" lunar eclipse during the full "snow" moon plus the flyby of a comet.  We did not see the comet, and the big moon peeking over the condo buildings looking much the same as it did last month, glorious just the same.

This morning we could have done anything, really, but we chose to go for a run - the air suddenly mild, up into the 60s, the breeze transformed from blustery to balmy overnight.  Martha ran four miles and I ran nine miles, down to Fort Macon, where the parking lot was filled with active people out walking, or jogging behind strollers.  I held the door for an older lady emerging from the restrooms and (I presume) her daughter, who was holding a little dog.  "It's a beautiful day," I said, "Isn't it?"

"You're taking advantage of it!" the older woman said, gesturing to my running clothes.

"Well so are you!"  I said.  And that thought stayed with me the rest of my run: how important it is to take advantage of every single day!  It is an appropriate thought to be carrying because today, February 11, Martha and I went out on our first date 39 years ago; we married a year later.  And that is the best choice I have ever made.