A Walk On The Beach
A True Love Story From Tybee Island
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
Caveat It was the 13th week of the season, though only the 11th game. Time flies. Most of the previous weekends had included a whirlwind of activity, including a trip to the hills of North Carolina and a delightful junket to the Frisco Bay. Few games had actually been witnessed. Only one in person. Most, it seems, had not been televised, especially when we were “out of region”. This one had been well publicized and the plans were laid early on. Chiseled in granite. The “Cleopatra of Clickers” gets all the channels. She was in charge of making the connection, and did. Lunch was prepared just in the nick of time. Cleo even served in front of the screen. It was a peaceful time. It was a fun time. Saturday afternoon in the Fall. Just right. I knew full well she could not stay the task for a full 3-1/2 hours. Hell, that’s less time than it takes to get there! It was just too much to ask. Alternatives were discussed and agreed upon. Smooth, smooth. She tended her plants and swept the deck. Offered treats and assistance with refreshment and dropped by occasionally to check the progress and score. She asked few questions with limited comment. Just about the right amount. The afternoon progressed pleasantly. She rode her bike at low tide. All this, warm and fuzzy. Or so it seemed.
The Techsters were soundly beaten. The dogs won handily. Their trails had writhed and twisted through eleven now. The Main Issue is now on the horizon. Next weekend in fact. The intrastate war is upon us. New plans will have to be negotiated. Rules defined. Lines drawn. Commitments made. The business will be serious. Critical. The afternoon progressed nicely. Wonderfully. Special. A good time. The sun set early. Dinner was simple but good at a nearby restaurant. The wine smooth. The full day neared its end. Cleo became weary and needed her rest. A strange turn of events began to evolve. First it was discovered that another game was on. Auburn versus Alabama. Though it pales in comparison to the war this weekend, it is in fact one of the old storied ones of the South. I had followed it for years and was indeed interested. Auburn was having their way for a while, but Bama was making a move. She had no interest whatsoever. The clash was inevitable. The scene had occurred a million times over the years in all parts of our country. Yes, mostly in the Fall. Though no scorn was intended, and certainly never acknowledged, the perception was there, and the perception was real. The transition was soon completed. The delightful and compassionate Cleo had suddenly transformed into a high spirited Lioness, and her shocked and bewildered prey was helpless. Doomed. His only defense, to stand his ground, in a losing battle. His weakened bleat of ‘hi, babe” was all wrong. Instead of a soothing gesture, it rather had about the same effect as a surface to air missile caught on radar to further fuel the fire of the assailant. The prey was history.
The single stride-by sent volumes. The diamond blue laser beams of the eyes from the core of the iceberg would pierce any soul. Would instantly chill any spine. The attack was swift and decisive. The iceberg was mountainous. No thaw in the foreseeable future. No hope. The prey had lots of work. Hope against hope. Against all odds. The evening passed into the morrow. The mountain grew as with incessant heavy snowfall. The prey was ordered to stop all efforts. The dawn brought the sun. A warming sun. And through no effort of the prey, the sun seemed to have some effect. There was an imperceptible movement. The berg at last seemed to experience a hair-like crack. Barely discernable by the naked eye. But hair-like none the less. The peace talks started slowly. Crept only slightly, but noticeable. Then, in an ever increasing and spiraling rush, the berg plunged into the depths of the ocean with only the primordial tip exposed! The thaw was nearly complete, yet all would know the mountain was still very real and prevalent, simply submerged for the moment. The tip can sometimes be lost from its prominence when a torrent of tropical swells align with a rising tide as controlled by the phasing of the moon and the whole world it seems can be at peace. Woe be unto the unsuspecting soul whom should forget the power and the damaging demise that the mountainous berg can bring, even while submerged in the cobalt depths, for much like the technical designers of the Titanic itself, they had erred in their judgment. The world was at peace again, at least for a while. Some lessons were learned. Some warnings were tendered. Some lines were erased. Some ties knotted tighter. Good times could be enjoyed once again. After a time of peace, certain truths would surface. When queried, she admitted that for no apparent reason, she had simply decided that she had been so nice and pleasant long enough, that it was just time to not be so nice anymore. Searching the heavens for some rationale in that reasoning, I have come to the following conclusion. The Almighty himself created them. They seem to be controlled by some kind of rule or decree or caveat or something that makes them do things a certain way, whether rational or not. It seems to just be the nature of the beast. Perhaps it’s in their genes. Perhaps it truly is a “Caveat de Femme”.
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
It was a cold January afternoon when Buddy and Olivia arrived at Sea Island. They came from different corners of the state to a Georgia Association of Realtors’ convention, a black tie affair that attracted nearly six hundred participants. Buddy was divorced and Olivia was a widow. Olivia smiled as she watched Buddy flirt with the young lady at the ticket counter. Little did she know his attention would become focused on her later in the evening. Whether the meeting came by chance or by destiny, the two lonely souls needed “A Walk On The Beach”. Soothing music by the band after dinner was an invitation to dance. The ballroom was packed. Buddy was in the hunt. He circled the room three times leaving no stone unturned. Near the end of the third lap, he was stopped dead in his tracks. There she sat, wearing a low-cut sequined blouse, and the baby blues and the smile and the silky blond hair sent tremors through his heart. “Her beauty radiated like a beacon from a lighthouse!” It would be their first dance of many over the next few years, and at one point they danced alone to cheers from the crowd. The courtship blossomed after that first meeting, but there were challenges. Olivia lived on Tybee Island and Buddy lived in Moultrie, some four and a half hours away. Buddy did most of the driving, of course, for the chase was on. Tybee became their playground with long walks on the beach, dinner parties and romantic sunsets. Share the intimacy, humor and trials of this true love story as it unfolds through their e-mails. Feel the warmth and passion of the relationship as two adults strive to give love a second chance.
About the Author
Buddy McCoy was born in Colquitt County, Georgia in the small town of Berlin where he learned to fish along the banks of the Little River and the Okapilco creek and hunt quail with his Uncle B. That area became his paradise in the wilderness and helped create a passion for the outdoors that would last a lifetime. He graduated from Moultrie High School where he captained his football team and was an All State player. He went to Georgia Tech on a football scholarship and became a three year starter and letterman on Coach Bobby Dodd’s last three teams, playing in the Gator Bowl and Orange Bowl. He was a member of Phi Delta Theta Fraternity and was named to their 1966 All American team. He graduated from Tech with a degree in Civil Engineering. Shortly after graduation he became Albany, Georgia's City Engineer. He worked closely with Jim Fowler from Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom while helping build Chehaw Wild Animal Park, and became the founding President of Chehaw Wildlife Society. He later practiced as a private consultant for nearly 30 years while licensed as a Registered Land Surveyor and a Professional Engineer. During that time he wrote many technical reports. His love of the great outdoors, especially while hunting and fishing, inspired him to write short stories about his adventures to share with his four children whom were literally scattered all over the world. Over the years e-mail facilitated their communication and his stories helped form the basis for "A Walk On The Beach, A True Love Story From Tybee Island”, his first publication. He is a Past President of the Albany, Georgia Tech Alumni Club, a past President of the Moultrie Board of Realtors, and currently practices as a Licensed Realtor in Moultrie, Georgia. He was recently inducted into the Colquitt County Sports Hall Of Fame.