Now then, our next topic...Accommodations

We stayed at a pretty nice place in Orange Beach called Seaside Beach and Racquet Club in this unit right here. It’s right next door to the Gulf State Park--Romar Beach area, and convenient to many souvenir shops. Of course, there is little around there that’s NOT convenient to a souvenir shop…

This particular condo complex was recommended by Janis Gore, who along with her hubby, has one of the nice beachside units. We waited so long about reserving our spot, however, that we weren’t able to rent hers and Lyman’s swinging, telescope-equipped pad and had to settle for the “Tennis Villas”.

Not bad, though. Not right on the beach, but close enough to be in danger of being destroyed by errant hurricanes. The one we were in was clean, but beginning to show the signs of too many rentals. The bad thing about having a condo is that renting it out is just about the only way to make it affordable, but renting it out means filling it full of people who seem to think it’s a hotel that they can trash with abandon. Most in our part of the complex are built about like a Jim Walter home inside—inexpensive paneling and trim and finishes and the like—which would hold up just fine for something you, personally, use only twice a year or so. But they aren’t made for prison inmates.

The master bathroom was an especial treat. Ashley walked in and stepped in water, which I figured was the leftover mop water from it being cleaned. No biggie. Then, it was there again later. Hmm. No leaking sound from the toilet—must just be one of the kids. Then I was startled out of a dead sleep at four a.m. Monday morning by a constant dripping sound. I stumbled in and found the ceiling vent leaking water all over the floor. It didn’t occur to me that there was still one more unit above me, and I chalked it up to the torrent of rain going on (which turned out to be Tropical Storm Bill). Put the trash can under it and went back to bed. Continued to find water the following days, then finally after ANOTHER early morning wake-up, realized that I could hear sloshing in the tub in the unit above. Whoever it was seemed to like to take their bathies in the middle of the friggin’ night, and also like not having any freeboard between the top of the tub and the top of the water. At least I HOPE that’s what was going on. Anything else is too horrid to contemplate. Anyway, I told the girls in the office about it when we left, and they both sorta looked at each other funny. Hmmm.

The storm didn’t do any damage to the outside other than blowing some of the chairs around. This sounded something like standing in a large metal box while gorillas attacked the outside with sledgehammers. The balconies on the back were framed and decked in wood and were connected slap into the side of the building, which created a lovely symphony when EVERYONE’S chairs started doing the cha-cha. Strangely enough, Tuesday night was even worse, and this was long after the storm had moved inland. All night long, the deafening bumping and thumping of plastic chairs on timber driven by a near-constant 40 mile an hour wind.

The floor/ceiling separation wasn’t all that great either. You could follow a single person all around the unit above by listening to their footsteps. Which was interesting, except when they were running around in their lead diving boots. That was just plain loud.

The unit did have the advantage of being close to the indoor pool. Since most normal people like being out in the sun, we usually had this one to ourselves, so despite several days when we couldn’t get out, the kids probably got to spend as much time swimming as they would have gotten to do in the outdoor pool—even with sunscreen, we can’t keep them out too long. Of course, Oldest was beside herself having to be inside.

“What are we swimming in?”

“Water.”

“What’s in the other pool?”

“Water.”

“Alright then, hush.”

Nothing like a little logic to really make her mad. And it’s not like she can really even swim yet. All that money we spent last year on lessons, and she still won’t put her face in the water, and thinks that skipping across the bottom on her toes is the same as swimming. Catherine, on the other hand, having not swam since last year, managed to learn how to do underwater somersaults. I grabbed her and asked if she wanted to flip, which she eagerly agreed to, did that a couple of times, then she did it herself. Incredible. Then she started doing two, then three, and very nearly made it to four before drinking about a gallon of water. Then she did them backwards. AND THEN, I got her to dive down and do a handstand on the bottom of the pool, and then got her to where she could glide underwater from one side to the other. Wow. I guess we got our money’s worth on HER!

Other items of interest about our abode was that it was home to half of Trussville and Chalkville. We went out on the beach one afternoon, and ran into one of Jonathan’s classmates and his family who were staying there, who then told us of several more folks staying there. It was hard to go any length of time without seeing some big hulking kid with a Hewitt-Trussville Huskies tee shirt or a willowy blonde cheerleader removing a Clay-Chalkville Cougars shirt. (This being a family outing, I refuse to discuss this matter in more detail.) In any event, I hope whoever was the last one out of Trussville locked the door and left some food out for the dog.

Which will lead us on to our next topic in a bit--EATING,
posted by Terry at 2:05:00 PM