End of the day

The nice lady, who very kindly did not steal my kidneys, invited us back this afternoon to go to the beach with them. As we walked across the street and down the ocean path, she pointed out an old villa and said "Look at that beautiful old house. It was owned by a famous author."

Oh! Interest piqued, I wondered if it was Eugenia Price, a famous-ish St. Simons author.

"No," she said "but that sounds really close."

Then we swam a bit in the ocean, but the rip currents were a little too strong, and so we decided to go swim in her pool. On our way back she remembered, "Oh, it wasn't Eugenia, it was Eugene O'Neill's house. Does that sound like an author."

Zoinks! Holy smokes! Really!

I told her that Long Day's Journey Into Night was one of my favorite plays, and she MUST read or listen to it on tape.

So funny how history is all around, if you just have someone to point it out. (And I actually confirmed that Mr. O'Neill did in fact live on Sea Island...gotta love Google.)

Here's little d and his new pal, Sam.