Big Fun on a Little Island

Monsoon-like rains didn’t dampen our enjoyment of Pirate’s Fest on Tybee Island, or the joy of spending this past weekend with great friends–old and new. I got down to Tybee and Nora’s Cottage on Thursday afternoon, in time to meet friends Linda and Cliff from Ft. Lauderdale. Linda and I grew up together in St.Pete, and have been friends since 7th grade. She’s even known Mr. Mary Kay longer than me–they were in 5th grade together! We walked down to StingRay’s on Butler Avenue for dinner, and the next morning gave Cliff a tour of the island on bike. We checked on the progress of The Breeze Inn, and were thrilled to find out we’d passed our plumbing inspection. Yay for new plumbing! After a yummy lunch at The North Beach Grill, Linda and Cliff went off to do more exploring, and Mr. Mary Kay and I ran some errands. Friday night we were invited to friends Ron and Leuveda’s for a pre-pirate-fest cocktail. You may remember that I’ve spent many weeks writing at their adorable Garner Cottage over the years. Tybee is such a great place for impromtu parties. Old friend Jacky joined us, and then our friend Diane Kauffman from Mermaid Cottages arrived with a crock of her famous spinach artichoke dip, Leuveda had other goodies, and Tom and I contributed a platter of raw oysters. After drinks, we all strolled down to The Strand, where the Pirate party was in full swing. We shopped at the Thieves Market, bopped to the band, and then headed over to Doc’s Bar, which was the scene of much fun last year during our chick weekend. This time we brought the guys, and had almost as much fun. Saturday morning, the fellas went out fishing and Linda and I junked our way around town. We were rounding the corner onto Butler Avenue when we bumped into a couple who were walking…..wait. A goat? Yes. A goat, on a leash. Only on Tybee. We ran into Leuveda at a garage sale being held by a gay guy who was down-sizing. I scored some great linen placemats, napkins and napkin rings. Just love gay guy’s junk–don’t you? Later, after we’d left, the guy asked Leuveda if Linda and I were “partners.”! It was a great day for junk. At another sale I bought three wooden chairs for my beach dining room–for ten bucks apiece, and on down the road, I scored a nearly new lawnmower, brand-new weed-whacker, and most importantly, an awesome beach cruiser bike–with the all-important beer coozie wired to the handlebars. I had to escort Linda to my favorite shops downtown, including @Home Vintage General on Broughton Street. Owner Liz Demos is just one of the cleverest, most talented women I know. Please make sure you drop by this fantastic shop when you visit Savannah. And bring money. After we left Liz, we visited her friend and fellow antique dealer Charlie Brown. Charlie has just moved his shop, C.H. Brown, to a new location, in the same building as E. Shaver Booksellers, my favorite bookstore in Savannah. If you have a fondness for antique silver, porcelain or great art, Charlie Brown is the man to see in Savannah. Back at Tybee, Linda got busy making us up for the big night at Pirate’s Fest. The guys weren’t too cooperative, but Linda and I had a great time playing Pirate and wench. We even got a standing ovation when we showed up for our dinner reservation at Sundae Cafe, our favorite restaurant on the island. While we were at dinner, the heavens opened up, and the Marshall Tucker Band outdoor concert was cancelled. So we went on home, and friends Jacky and Jan came by for a visit before we called it a night. All in all, it was a great weekend, rain or not. And now it’s time for me to buckle down and get through the revisions of THE FIXER UPPER before the end of the month.

Pirate Fest @ Tybee….AAARGH Mateys!

Later today we’re off for Tybee Island and the infamous Pirate’s Fest. If you’re not doin’ anything this weekend–come on down! The Marshall Tucker Band is playing at the Friday night free street dance, and I guarantee, it’ll make you forget about elections, Wall Street woes, bungling bankers and mortgage meltdowns. Where else can thousands of middle-aged men get away with dressing up like Captain Jack Sparrow? Our friends Linda and Cliff from Ft. Lauderdale are joining us for the weekend. Linda and our other jr. high buddy Sue joined us for my first Pirate’s Fest last year, and we’re still laughing about all the crazy hi-jinks we participated in. We’re staying at another cute Mermaid Cottage house. This time it’s Nora’s Place. We’re also checking up on the progress at Breeze Inn, our in-progress beach house.
See you at Doc’s Bar?

Love List


Stuff I’m loving these days: Honey Crisp apples. Yum. I was sold on Granny Smith apples for years, but then my daughter Katie turned me on to these beauties. They are delish–crisp, sweet, tart with definite honey undertones. They sell them at my Kroger here in Atlanta, and yes, they’re a little more expensive than the grannies, but boy are they good.

Junking. When do I not love to junk? But I’ve had two good weekends in a row. This past weekend I went over to my neighborhood annual attic sale, not expecting to find much. Isn’t that the way? The first booth I stopped at, a woman was selling some antique linens for a friend. I bought five beautiful Victorian damask fringed towels–for a buck apiece. Also a Victorian nightgown–two bucks, and an adorable homespun apron. At another booth I got a boxed set of blue-handled flatware, six forks, five knives. I’m hoping it’s Bakelite, but will have to test it to be sure. Also scored a vintage kitchen towel rack. At another booth, I got a blue painted cask and a great painted white shabby chic stool. Those will go to my booth at Seaside Sisters on Tybee Island. Then, yesterday, something about my neighborhood Salvation Army was calling me. I rarely find anything there–they mostly seem to have furniture that looks like rejects from That Seventies Show, but every once in a while I snag a treasure. Yesterday’s score was a miniature rattan what-not shelf. Perfect for a beach house.

Soup. But not just any soup. For years I’d been hearing about a tiny cafe in Buckhead called Souper Jenny’s. On Friday, after a brief junking sortie, posse member Susie steered us to Souper Jenny’s. And I am now a total convert. They serve gorgeous made-from-scratch soups, at least six kinds each day. The three of us sampled her chicken tortilla, mushroom-artichoke and Dad’s Turkey Chili. Each soup was better than than the next. The line is always out the door, but service was friendly, fast and efficient. Our soups all had Weight Watchers points posted on the menu, and there are always at least one vegetarian or vegan offering. Big, generous servings, with homemade rolls from The Breadgarden. So much soup, in fact, we each took home leftovers to savor later.

Reads. When I’m racing to the finish-line on a new book, I rarely read fiction, mostly because I need to keep my head in the book I’m writing. This time around though, the girls at Shaver’s Books in Savannah sold me a wonderful new novel called THE GUERNSEY LITERARY AND POTATO PEEL PIE SOCIETY.
If you love books and books about people who love books, you’ll devour this charming little novel. I can’t sum up the appeal of this novel any better than the author of Eat, Pray, Love who said this:

“I can’t remember the last time I discovered a novel as smart and delightful as this one, a world so vivid that I kept forgetting this was a work of fiction populated with characters so utterly wonderful that I kept forgetting they weren’t my actual friends and neighbors. Treat yourself to this book please—I can’t recommend it highly enough.”—Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love.

What the hell rhymes with Mayonnaise?

My friend Jacky, who’s known me for over 30 years, sent me a link to the Duke’s Mayonnaise website because they are having a jingle-writing contest in honor of their 90th anniversary. “You love Duke’s, and you’re a writer,” she reasoned. “I bet you could write a prize-winning jingle.”

Yeah. Not so much. I do love me some Duke’s. In fact, it was the product that converted me from a life-long mayo-naysayer to a mayo-savorer. Wait! Could I use that in a jingle? Probably not. I was able to come up with a couple verses, sung to the tune of the Green Acres theme song:

Duke’s Mayo is the spread for me!
No other mayo can there be..

And then I’m stuck. The contest rules suggest that jingle writers refer to the noteworthy attributes of Duke’s Mayo, which would include adjectives like creamy, tangy, smooth, home-made, ect. Alas, they don’t allow jingles sung to the tune of copywrited material, which pretty much puts the kibosh to my Green Acres-inspired ditty. In my lengthy writing career I’ve penned newspaper and magazine articles, novels, short stories, even a couple of mystery dinner theater plays. But never a song. I don’t actually know how to write music. Sigh. I guess this means my picture won’t be turning up on the side of Duke’s jars all over the country. What a shame.
I’m still holding out hope that someday, the suits at Dukes will get how much of their mayo I’ve sold, due to the popularity of my Beyond the Grave Chicken Salad recipe, which is printed in the back of LITTLE BITTY LIES. The recipe calls for using Duke’s mayo. I get emails all the time from readers who’ve never heard of Duke’s, asking if they can substitute another brand mayo. They can, of course, but to me, nothing beats Dukes.

Duke’s Mayo is the spread for me–No other mayo can there be..

Salads, sandwiches, even Fre–en-nch fri-eyes,

Nothing but Dukes on my table will sa-tis-fy.
See? I’m sticking to writing novels. It’s lots easier.
P.S. If you’re reading this and you’re the president of the C.F. Sauer Company, which makes this fine product, let me just say that I am not opposed to free Mayo. Not at all.

Junk for Joy Part 2

Saturday, Katie and two of her high school classmates and I saddled up for the Druid Hills neighborhood yard sale extravaganza. We headed out shortly after 8 a.m. for the 9am. start time, and by shortly after 9, I’d made my first purchases of the day, the black tole tray below, and the pink tole wastebasket. It was a lovely day for junking. I also got the two framed seashell prints shown with the tole items, and at the same sale, Katie scored a $50 sofa to put in her husband’s “man cave.” One of the girls also purchased some new-in-the-box Ikea wall sconces, new white china canisters, and some other household items. My favorite item from Saturday has to be the faux crocodile train case. I think it looks like something from an old Doris Day movie. I mean, can’t you see Doris arriving in New York, wearing a chic hat, white gloves, pumps, and carrying this train case? It had a $7 pricetag, which wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t what I felt like paying. It was locked, and had this old-timey padlock. The thing is, my high school graduation luggage had a lock just like it. You were supposed to set the combination, and I never did. Just left it at 0-0-0. So, I spun the combination, and yessirreebob, it was set at 0-0-0. I took it to the woman running the sale and asked if she could do better on the price. She just looked at me and said, “honey, it doesn’t unlock. But if you can unlock it, you can have it for free.” Oh, really? I spun the lock and it clicked open. She laughed and told me I could have it for free. Then I told her the trick, and being a good sport, she laughed again. Don’t you just love free? The other items are some of the things I found on Friday at the “Five Gay Men with Fabulous Taste” sale, which is where the television trays, the wicker hamper and the wool plaid stadium blankets and shaving mirror came from. I spent part of the day today working on re-doing the antique New England wooden screens I brought back from Brimfield. I think they’re going to look great when I’m done. The problem is, I’ll have so much time and money invested in them, it’ll be hard to make a profit. And of course, the more I fix ’em, the more I fall in love with them. Such is the lot of the part-time antique dealer, I guess.

Junkin’ for Joy

The junk planets seem aligned just right. Yesterday, three members of the posse–including daughter Katie, saddled up to attend the 6th annual ATLANTA PET RESCUE tag sale. Jinxie and I went last year and got some major scores, so we all ponied up the $25 “advance” fee this year, and dashed inside. I scored a great painted beachy dresser–in fact, it’s painted with a shell border on the bottom, for $100. This will go in the Tybee beach house. Also got a great wooden pole lamp for $20, and some designer fabric 1/2-yard swatches for $4 apiece. While waiting to get into the sale, a guy was handing out flyers for his sale, which started today. The come-on? “Five Gay Guys with Fabulous Taste are Having a Yard Sale.” Well, how could I not check it out? Got some cool stuff, including three wool plaid stadium blankets, a wicker hamper, brass shaving mirror with bevelled mirror, awesome big white scrolly clock, and a pair of rattan TV trays on folding stands. I also checked in at another estate sale in Buckhead. I got a bag of five vintage 1950s Christmas pixies–the ones with the little fabric legs folded up, all with the original dime-store tags. I’ve got a collection of those that I put out for my vintage tacky Christmas display. Also snagged a retro red taffeta Christmas apron with white embroidery. Tragically, I was also the victim of unprovoked estate sale viciousness. I’d spotted 12 white milk-glass dessert bowls in a kitchen cupboard–marked $15 for all. I scooped them up, and went out to one of the cashiers to ask if I could make a pile of stuff I was buying. She told me to put the stuff on a chair and she’d guard them. As I was setting them down, this heinous bee-yatch (you know the type–dressed in her cool work-out clothes) rushed over and snatched up the whole pile. “Uh?” I said in my best passive-aggressive back-off bee-yatch voice. “I was buying these,” she snarled. She turned to the lady. “Remember? I asked you to move them and put them in a stack for me?” the yard-sale lady just kind of shrugged and said ok. People, this is not proper estate sale etiquette. I let it go this time, but next time around, I will smack this bee-yatch upside her botoxed-head with my sack o’ Christmas Pixies. Seriously. Tomorrow is the big Druid Hills neighborhood-wide yard sale. Druid Hills is the Atlanta neighborhood around Emory University, and it’s full of beautiful old homes. It was also the setting for DRIVING MISS DAISY. Supposedly 140 families are participating. I’m just a-quiver with excitement and anticipation. Will hopefully blog/brag tomorrow about all the treasures I score.

So You Wanna Write a Book

Because I’ve had 16 (soon to be 17) novels published, people believe I’m an expert on getting published. Sadly, I’m only a semi-expert–and only on the topic of getting ME published. But I get emails, and I’m asked to teach, or lecture on the topic, and I rarely go to a cocktail party without having somebody pull me aside and whisper (I’ve got this great idea for a book…).

So I thought I’d put my thoughts on the topic in a post, and maybe kind readers will forward it to their book writing buddies, instead of asking me to read their book writing buddies’ manuscripts. And for the record–1.No. I don’t read other people’s manuscripts. Ever. I barely have time to write my own books, let alone read other people’s. I’m not an editor or an agent. My tastes are my own, and not reflective of the book publishing industry. 2. No. I’m not a book doctor. See above. 3.Yes. A person can make a living writing books. However, I have no idea whether you or your friend can make a living as an author.

So…You have an idea for a book. Is it a book? Is your idea fiction or non-fiction? That’s the first question to ask yourself. If it’s non-fiction, why would a publisher buy such a book? What makes it such a great idea? Has anybody else written on this topic? If so, can you do it better, fresher, smarter? What are your credentials for writing about this non-fiction topic? These are the questions you ask yourself, and which any editor or agent would ask you before ever considering taking a look at your idea. Do your market research. Go to the library, bookstore, internet, to find out what’s been written on the topic, and how recently. Read the competiton, so you’ll understand how your book can be different. You’ll also want to know if that book was considered a success. You can check its Amazon sales ranking, as one measure of success, or ask others who are experts in the field if the competition books did well. Don’t assume an editor or agent will do this. This is YOUR job.

If your idea is for a novel, figure out what kind of novel you want to write, or have written. Is it literary fiction?–i.e. the kind of book Oprah picks for her book club? Is it genre–meaning, is it an identifiable category like mystery, romance, thriller, sci-fi, fanstasy, action-adventure, ect. If you are writing for children, you’ll want to educate yourself about how children’s books are published and sold.

Again, market research. What kind of books do you like, and want to publish? Read those. Figure out how they are structured, who publishes them, and who writes them. Make yourself an expert on the kind of book you want to write. How long are those novels? Hint: NOBODY wants to read your 800-page romance/fantasy/thriller. Unless you happen to be the next J.K. Rowling. Educate yourself about the conventions of genres by reading books on the topic. Libraries usually have great books about writing. You can also usually join genre writer’s groups, like Romance Writers of America, Sisters in Crime (mystery), ect., many of which have helpful publications or meetings with published authors as speakers.

Write the damned book. Give yourself a deadline. I was working fulltime as a reporter for The Atlanta Constitution, and raising two young children when I wrote my first two mysteries. If you want to write badly enough, you’ll find the time. I gave up watching television on weeknights. I gave myself a year to write that first book, and when I was approaching the year deadline, I took my last two weeks of vacation to stay home and finish the book. Try to come up with a workable writing schedule. Mine was to write a chapter a week. I still give myself page and chapter quotas when I’m working on a book. Study plot and structure. Beginning, middle, end. If your mind works that way, outline your novel. Or at least try to write a synopsis of what happens. You don’t have to have an MFA from the Iowa Writer’s Workshop to figure out how modern fiction is written. You just have to figure out how story works. Story, by Robert McKee, is helpful for this–if very detailed and overly analytical. I took McKee’s Story workshop in New York years ago, hoping it would help me write a screenplay. I never did write the screenplay, but it was very helpful in thinking about structure. Get help if you need it. Join a writer’s group, either online or in your community. Start your own if one doesn’t exist. Attend a writer’s workshop, or take a writing class through an evening adult ed program. Local colleges offer these, as do organizations throughout the country. You’ll want a workshop or writing class that features published authors as teachers/lecturers. If it’s a workshop offering manuscript consultations, you’ll want one with New York editors and agents as presenters or lecturers. I attended the Antioch Writer’s Workshop nearly twenty years ago when Sue Grafton was teaching mystery writing, solely because the workshop advertised manuscript conferences with Sue Grafton. My experience was priceless. Three months later, I had my first book contract. That doesn’t mean you’ll have the same experience, but it does happen.

Yes, writing is hard work. Have you ever done anything worthwhile that wasn’t hard? No whining! If the writing isn’t going well, keep going anyway. The object is to finish the damned book. You can always go back and polish and edit. But you can’t polish what you ain’t written. So push through the pain and get to the finish-line. Read Ann LaMott’s invaluable book BIRD BY BIRD. Keep it on your nightstand, or by your computer. I do.

When you have finished your book–and not before you are convinced it is the best book you could possibly write– then you are ready to try to sell it. Unless you truly are the next J.K. Rowling, or Candace Bushnell (SEX AND THE CITY), nobody in New York gives a rat’s ass about your IDEA or FRAGMENT. Yes, dears, you do have to write the WHOLE book before you sell it. Usually. Unless you’re the exception to the rule. Maybe you are, but I doubt it. Now you go back and do more market research. Who is publishing books like yours? Are they currently buying? What agents represent authors like you? Check the acknowledgement page on novels you like, lots of times they thank their agent and or editor. Check The Writer’s Market, which should be available at your local library for listings of agents and editors, but make sure you’re reading the most current market guide available.

While you’re studying Writer’s Market, make sure you understand manuscript mechanics. By this, I mean formatting, ect. Once your manuscript is clean and properly formatted, you’re ready to start submitting. Again, go back to the library to check out reference books about marketing a book to find out how to write query letters. Good luck!

The Fixer-Upper: Stick a fork in me—I’m DONE!

I am beyond thrilled and amazed to announce that I finished THE FIXER-UPPER at 4:55 p.m. EDT today. Yayayayayay! As has been my tradition upon finishing a book–and this is my 18th time–I toasted myself with some favorite treats. Usually, I wash my celebratory Reese’s down with Wink, the delightful grapefruit soda of my youth. Unfortunately, I forgot to pack the bottle of Wink I’ve been hoarding since spring, for the trip to Tybee. The Wathen’s Kentucky Bourbon made a tasty substitute, but it just ain’t Wink.
Tragically, you can no longer buy Wink in Georgia, because I guess they don’t have a distributor down here. I bought my bottle of Wink back in the spring, when I was on my writing retreat at Holden Beach with the Inksters. Anyway, here’s to me! Technically, of course, I’m far from finished with THE FIXER UPPER. The manuscript you see in the photo here is not a pretty thing. It is a bloated disgusting mess at this point, full of pointless meanderings, shoddy grammar, nonexistent punctuation and worse. Fortunately, I have the honor of having an amazing editor at HarperCollins, who is even now sharpening her red pencil in preparation for whipping this beast into shape. Here’s to Carolyn! Burp. Excuse me. That’s the bourbon talking, not me. Soon Carolyn will have me slaving away over revisions, slashing thru the excess and the absurd. And then comes the fun part. We figure out zingy candy colors for the jacket. We finalize the jacket art and talk about marketing this puppy. And I get about 27 minutes off, until I start all over again on a new book. Oh the horror! Oh the sublime, blessed joy of making a living off what you love to do. Thank you, dear readers, for making it all possible.

A bump in the road

There I was, writing along, singing a song—well, not actually singing–but I was cranking out the pages. And then, to paraphrase Dr. Seuss. Bump! How that bump made me jump! And I’m so close to the end, too. I’m at a plotting impasse. I’ve called my editor for an emergency consult, so hopefully, I’ll jump the bump. Tomorrow or the next day. Which means maybe I stay down at Tybee a little longer than I’d originally planned. Not a bad thing, except I miss home and hubby—and junk buddies. And I SO want this book done. But you can’t hurry fiction. So here I stay, for the time being. In the mean time, on Tuesday, when things were going well, I finished my morning page quota in time to sneak out to an estate sale. It’s totally a very tiny world, because while at the sale, I discovered it was being held by an ollllllddd college buddy from UGA. BD, (who is still an amazingly talented photographer–and he even teaches digital photography–gotta sign up for a class) and I worked together at the Red and Black (that’s the college paper), and then later, we free-lanced stories out of Savannah together for the Atlanta and Jacksonville newspapers. The house was BD’s late mom’s house. I bought a swell lavender chenille bedspread, and some cool ’60s banded ice tea tumblers, and an aluminum water pitcher, all of which will go in the booth at Maisy’s Daisy. The bedspread had some weird orange stains, but after four washings, including an Oxy-Clean soak and extensive Oxy-Clean spray-on stain removal, all the orange went away. What the ??? is in that stuff? I wish I could buy stock in it, I love it so much. While my mind was in a stall pattern today, I took my new finds, plus the rest of my Brimfield goodies, over to Maisy’s Daisy, where Susan, the Seaside Sister madam, has promised to make it all look yummy. In the meantime, here’s a peek at the goods, which I styled here at the Mermaid Cottage I’m hiding out in. Check out the amazing egret/heron barkcloth pillows I picked up at Brimfield. Also, the cool old black and white 1920s beach snapshots. Tonight, I went to an book-signing for my friend Polly Powers Stramm, at the Trends and Traditions Framing Gallery, in Ardsley Park. Another example of what a small world it is, I used to work at the Atlanta Constitution with the owner’s father, the late, great, Tom McCollister, a wonderful sportswriter and all around sweet man, who we lost too soon. And of course, Polly is an old pal from waaaay back (we’re talking 30 years here) when I was just a baby reporter at The Savannah Morning News. I bought a copy of Sentimental Savannah, her collection of columns written for the Morning News, to put in my “local library” which I’m planning for the beach house. And now, just to tease you, here’s a sunset I shot from the Back River the other day. By the way, today the weather was so beautiful. Breezy, with just the slightest hint of fall. It’s a great time to be at Tybee…if only I could jump that bump.

Sunday Night at the Beach

I took Mr. Mary Kay to the airport at 5pm, and now, here I am, snug in my Mermaid Cottage for the week, on Sunday night. Usually, Sunday nights mean we are driving home, already fretting about the week’s work ahead of us. But this week, I get to stay at the beach on Sunday night. Coming back to Tybee, I passed a long line of cars heading off the island. But I was headed the other way. The cottage I am staying at is called Nowhere To Go, and it’s charming, as all the Mermaid Cottages always are. It’s bigger than most, with four bedrooms, a huge living room and dining room, four bedrooms and two baths. I went out on the deck to enjoy the relative cool of the evening, and peeked through the grove of palm trees in the backyard. Then I walked over to the Tybee Market and bought my groceries for dinner. Yes, I had my ritualistic spaghetti. I don’t know why I have to have spaghetti when I go away to write, except that maybe it’s because spaghetti is a no-brainer–open a jar of sauce, boil some pasta, and you have dinner. As I was driving back along the beach today, it reminded me of Sunday nights when I was a little girl. My mother worked as a waitress at a steakhouse when I was very young, and she frequently worked Sunday nights. This was Florida in the 1950s and early ’60s. We had no air conditioning, and with Mom at work, my Dad’s solution to dealing with five hot, cranky kids was to load us up into the family sedan and take us out to Pass-A-Grille Beach in the early evening, when the crowds had thinned out and the heat wasn’t as intense. Sometimes we had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a thermos of Kool-Aid for dinner. We’d swim and chase, and Daddy would let us jump off his shoulders into the water. We’d always beg him to buy us an inflatable raft. His standard reply was that rafts were very dangerous–what if the tide took us out into the Gulf? We’d end up in Mexico! It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I realized buying rafts for the five of us would have eaten up the week’s grocery money! If he was feeling flush, we’d each get a quarter to get snacks from the concession stand. A fudgesicle was a huge treat. When we were worn out, he’d wrap us all in towels and load us back into the car for the ride home. And if he was really, really flush, sometimes we’d get to stop at the A&W hotdog stand on the way home, or Biff-Burger, which made the best onion rings ever. The Biff-Burger is now a rib joint, last I heard, and I don’t know what happened to the old A&W. The last place my parents lived before Mom died four years ago was in a Gulf-front condo–directly across the street from the spot where we played as kids. They never tired of looking out at those gorgeous sunsets, or of thinking about how far they’d come from those peanut-butter and Kool-Aid days. So, Sunday nights at the beach are still special–but bittersweet.