By Georgia Osten
Our original beach house had to be torn down, another built in its place. While it was being built, we would come down almost every weekend and literally camp out in our house, especially after the electricity was installed. I had new beds delivered and we would stack them against the walls when we would leave to go back home for the week. But during the weekend, we’d place them on the floor, put clean sheets on them and get ready to camp out. We had a little space heater and lamps so we could read in bed at night.

On a couple of occasions, we would get a room at the local Bed & Breakfast in our neighborhood, Casa Blanca. So comfortable and welcoming, Casa Blanca was owned and managed by Alex and Brian, who actually became our friends. Upon arriving at the B&B, Alex always had his homemade Flan and coffee set out. He never told me the recipe … The rooms were very elegantly appointed and most of the time, we’d have our choice. One time, we stayed on the entire 3rd floor, which was one huge bedroom with its own bathroom. The room faced the Gulf. Later, the guys told us this room was also occupied by Sarah’s ghost, who lived in the trunk.

We loved to visit and be entertained by these two free spirits, one an artist and the other a cook. Sunday morning, breakfast was served on the main floor, Eggs Benedict over delicate filets, thick slabs of toast and fresh squeezed orange juice. Music always played, mostly Sarah Brightman or the Celtic Women.

The Boys have since left the Peninsula and the venue has been turned into a rental property, sleeping over 35. The opportunity came up recently to help serve breakfast for a very worthy cause at what used to be Casa Blanca. A lot has changed, but I remember the ambiance like it was yesterday. I wanted to walk through the halls and breathe it all in again. I settled myself at the kitchen sink, kind of hoarding the area, washing pan after pan, gazing out the kitchen window, lost in my thoughts, dreaming of a time gone by.

I’ll bet, if The Boys were still there, I’d be tempted to go lease a room for the night, just to be pampered in the morning at one of Brian’s breakfasts.

GO’s Sand Bucket is only one beach bum’s journal of life at the beach, probably something each of you can relate to. Please feel free to email me with your thoughts, visions and/or feelings of just exactly what the beach means to you.

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