Staying on the positive side of overcast and chilly

I'm sitting in the sunroom, the one room on the first floor of the house with a view of the ocean, its three tall un-paned windows framing the huge oaks that lead to the water, their limbs dripping Spanish-moss.  The room's two leather chairs and companion ottomans have been turned to face the windows, a move that the landlady encouraged when she met us at the property to hand off the key and offer up restaurant and tourist recommendations. We brought the matching leather chair from the TV room into the sunroom so that we'd each have a chair, and now the room feels a bit like a VIP box at a concert, the three of us girls sitting in a row and looking out at a stage showcasing the smooth waters of St. Helena Sound and the neighboring shore of Edisto Island.

The secluded house is situated on a narrow strip of land that leads down to the ocean.

The few homes here means that the beach is empty of people.

And, as you can see by the screen grab, I've not had much phone service.

I wish I could say that the weather has been ideal. No one more than my college-aged companions would have wanted these first few days to be beach worthy. There've been no tan lines, no retreats to the house to escape the heat of sunning on the sand, no trips down to the water with beach chairs, books, towels and cooler in tow. The weather has been chilly and overcast. My walks on the shell-strewn beach have been made in sweaters and coats, with one evening my hood tied close enough just so I could see, the rain pelting and wind gusting, Gideon running and jumping like it was the best day of his life.

Even Gideon enjoys the sunroom. Bird watching and beach reads.

The beach is piled with oyster and clam shells. 

The house, below right. You can see our sunroom and the adjacent screened porch.

The girls have been good sports. They float from one room to the other, carrying their blankets. Pinterest, Netflix, a big screen in the TV room with cable (a treat for the three of us who don't get cable at home), a jigsaw puzzle taking up half the real estate on the dining room table, Facebook, naps, books, snack foods and rest . . .  lots of it, more than we ever thought we'd have and, honestly, quite enough for this old gal. We've gotten out of the house — mani/pedis, good meals out, shopping/thrifting. We've drank wine and margaritas and talked and laughed. Enjoyed coffee each morning, our wake-up alarm simply the light pouring through the window blinds.

Lunch here our first day — the best she-crab soup I've ever had.

The weather should take a turn tomorrow. We'd like to go to Hunting Island, maybe Charleston. But for now, I sit in the sunroom. Gideon is curled on this bed. Once I finish this post, I'm back to reading, making a dent in the stack of library books I brought with me. The only distractions are the squirrels in the yard and a bird who has been making a nest all week on the screened-in porch. She flies from her nest in the rafters to the outside and back again, the wind chimes making the perfect lullaby for the babies to come. The intermittent groaning of the old refrigerator and the clicking of the dishwasher on its dry cycle make me feel at home and miss home at the same time. Harleigh just headed out for a run and Christina is singing in the kitchen. I'm hopeful for a sunny rest-of-the-week. If there's one thing I need for a vacation, it's sunshine. And lots of it. If it alludes us the rest of my time here, at least I'm surrounded with three easy-going, loving natures (two girls and a dog) who remind me that sunshine and warmth needn't come from a big ball of fire in the sky.

Early mornings and early evenings on the beach.

Our favorite time of day for strolls and shelling.