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Worried About My Smiling Friend
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Every summer, I travel to the South.  I land in Atlanta, and then my pal Kris picks me up and we drive to the water, mostly to the Gulf Coast.  We've had a time on the Atlantic Coast, but the Gulf water is what we dream of all year long.

This year, long after we'd made our reservations in Destin, FL, we decided that the approaching glop and gloom and oil death headed that way might not be good for our vacation (or the planet, of course).  Kris felt terrible about canceling, and the hotel folks assured her that the glop would not be there.  Sadly, I think the hotel people were wrong.

I took a compass, and tried to find places with cleaner water within five or so hours from Atlanta.  (Okay, it wasn't a compass but Google maps).   Without much research, we decided on Folly Beach, SC, not far from Charleston.

Neither of us have been to Charleston, though we've read about it, of course,  Scarlett O'Hara's mother came from Charleston.  Pat Conroy writes about Charleston.  Charleston is big South.  South Carolina is all about the sex scandals these days, and much in the paper.  I'm very excited to be in the biggest scandal-ridden state in the country.  I'm excited to be somewhere I haven't been before, even if we will be burning up with heat and summer humidity.

I will also try not to remember why we are there and not Destin.  This is called repression or irresponsibility, but it's too painful to think of that lovely, flat, calm emerald water blopped with oil, the so many wonderful birds threatened, the fish and sea mammals in peril. 

Once when I was snorkeling there, I looked down to see a barracuda smiling at me (they do look as though they are smiling).  Kris heard me scream, even through my snorkel and underwater. 

But now I'm worried about my smiling friend. 

It's all so amazingly sad and pathetic and ugly.  And I'm lucky I can change a hotel reservation and ignore it.  So many others are not that lucky.

I will be sporadic at best in blogging.  Have a good week.

Jessica