So, after a day of nail-biting and angst, eyes glued to the National Weather Channel for Hurricane Irma news, I pulled my husband out of his La-Z-Boy with a promise of “I’ll buy” dinner out.
He fell for the ploy, despite our shared MasterCard, because he knew in his heart, as well as his belly, that we were both hungry for a view of a peaceful ocean. Inspiration Point sunsets are a frequent destination.
Larry suggested reservations, but I failed to comply. I freshened my make-up and fluffed my hair instead. Wrapped a scarf around my neck to upscale my ensemble a bit. He changed to one of his armada of beach-themed shirts.
When I took in his attire, I proclaimed Billy’s at the Beach as our destination.
We arrived at 5:59. The outdoor patio was bedlam as the valet attendant opened my Mini door and welcomed me with a $7 parking fee ticket. No turning back now. Pray for a corner table or booth.
The band was clearly rocking the joint as we stepped ever closer to the open door. The receptionist grimaced as we paused in front of her stand. “I only have one table for two.” She blinked before she went on. “And, it’s by the band.”
I didn’t have to glance over my shoulder to see Larry’s glower.
Then the petite, pretty young lady brightened. “It’s 6:00. Their gig just ended. And the next band doesn’t start until 7:30.”
I turned to look into my dear husband’s eyes. “God loves us,” I said. We strode to our window table, dined – and left the restaurant with apologies to the next band, just strumming and stroking their guitars to tune them.
We didn’t need to endure the crashing cymbals and gut-thumping beat of Rabbi Jones and his blues trio, though we might have enjoyed the tunes. Our nerves needed peace, not revving up.
We arrived home to relish dessert on our patio and a glass of wine. Ready to watch the Disneyland fireworks at 9:35.
We are blessed. I have no reservations about His love and ours.
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