This traffic is just ridiculous, all bumpers and brake lights. Look, there goes some dad trying to shoehorn his sedan into this lane. Horns are blaring now. Welcome to the car loop at my daughter's elementary school. Never have I seen so many agitated faces behind the wheel. Freshly caffeinated and late for work, this crowd isn't very friendly. I admit, I'm pretty wound up myself. But I get a strange kick out of watching the mayhem unfold. Here's hoping the efficiency of this morning routine improves as the school year wears on ... for the sake of all these hotheads ... and me ... oh, and the kids.
To Edgar Allan Poe, Sullivan's Island on the coast of South Carolina consisted "of little else than the sea sand" and was "separated from the main land by a scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through a wilderness of weeds and slime."
That was back in 1827, when Poe had been dispatched to the island's Fort Moultrie, newly enlisted in the U.S. Army and yet to spawn his brooding brand of literary creepiness.
Today, Sullivan's Island is a wonderland of opulent beach houses and hip watering holes, set against swaying palms and sparkling Atlantic breakers. It's a locale beloved by locals and tourists alike, most of them pouring in from nearby Charleston.
It certainly was a fun place this week to tool around on cruisers with my wife and brother, the wind in our hair, sandy pathways crackling under our tires, and the ghost of Mr. Poe chasing us from the shadows, his words stirring the imagination: "Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.”
Levelheaded perspectives on
Click here for a selection of
Click here for Guitar Dad's