I took a little fall vacation last week and my husband and I and our cousins traveled to Corpus Christi. I am drawn to water like a magnet. When I was a kid my favorite TV show was Flipper. I dreamed of having a dolphin friend instead of a dog and living on the beach. I didn’t. But I have been able to visit the beach a few times in my life. I could live there. If for some unknown reason I missed my ride back home, I know I could survive on the beach.

We stayed on the barrier islands where Padre and Mustang connect, and our condominium was about a half-mile or less to the beach by way of a boardwalk. We could see the water from our balcony if we stood on tiptoe and looked to the right. The sand dunes protected the structure from hurricanes and was an easy walk, after you climbed the stairs.  My old legs complained about the climb, but my heart knew what was on the other side—the endless water and waves of White Cap Beach.

We visited the beach morning and evening. Our final night we stood for a while trying to get a shot of the full moon over the water, but none could do it justice. We drove into Corpus Christi along the beach until the road ended at the Naval Air Station and saw the sea wall and downtown murals around La Retama Park. I know they have First Friday Art Walks there, but we didn’t make it on the correct weekend. I wrote about the art festival in Secrets of Sandhill Island and wanted to see it. I was on a mission to research for another book.

We ate wayyyyy too much food. Of course, we had to eat at Snoopy’s Pier and other seafood restaurants over the water. We discovered breakfast was hard to come by on the beach since every other tourist had the same goal. But we were still full of food from the night before.

Years ago, when my parent retired, they spent their winters in south Texas near Harlingen. They made day trips into Mexico with their neighbors and hung out on Padre Island. Standing on the beach I became nostalgic thinking of them and their lifestyle. I found more than one PERFECT beach house to spend the rest of my days in. It wasn’t for sale, and I couldn’t have afforded it anyway, but I could dream.

I’m a beach bum at heart. I hummed Kenny Chesney in my head all week and sipped a few Margaritas. I can’t wait to go back. In the meantime, I’ll write another beach story.

What are you reading this week?