i still hear your sea winds blowin’: murdoch’s in galveston
I really shouldn’t start a blog after midnight, but I can’t help myself.
I wore a t-shirt that I love today. It’s a silly thing, with three pirate skulls that say, “Hear evil, see evil, speak evil.” And at the bottom:
Several years ago our family rented a beach house at Pirate’s Beach for a week. I bought my t-shirt at our favorite tourist trap, Murdoch’s Bathhouse. Which at the time, looked like this:
And now, after Ike, looks like this:
I understand that they are going to rebuild. But still. It’s so–chilling–to look at that picture.
See, I grew up in Houston. Spent many a sunny day in Galveston. In high school, the Spring sport was competitive sunburning. Results were compared on Monday mornings. Ah, the good old days.
This was before we knew sunburns did more to you than turn your skin to leather, okay? Get off my back. (Excellent sunburn remedy: 1 part white vinegar, 1 part water. Apply in a spritzer or with wash cloth.) My God, Man, we applied baby oil to our nubile bodies and listened to our skin sizzle. SPF was still a twinkle in Coppertone’s eye.
The beach house we stayed in last time seems to have made it through Ike, though a lot of the homes didn’t. Galveston has a long way to go before she’s back on her feet.
I live smack-dab in the middle of the country now, and I guess the bottom line is I miss the fecund aroma, the haunting call of the seagulls, the unceasing wind, the sand in my teeth.
I miss you, Queen City of the Gulf. I expected you to always be there. Took you for granted.
And now I hope and pray for your resurrection.