It’s a Sunday.
Suspicious Minds, right off Elvis’s #1 hits album, is streaming on Tidal.
“We can’t go on together,” he wails. “with suspicious minds…”
My love for Elvis is one of my best guarded secrets. This isn’t a hipster thing, I once had an affinity for slick back hair – a strange, school girl crush thing that had me in love with Grease era John Travolta, and of course, the king.
This was most of elementary school and middle school, and while my school mates bought issues of Teen Crush Weekly (or whatever those magazines were called), and cutting out pictures of Jonathan Taylor Thomas and Taylor Hanson (I’m looking at you, Marion!), I was religiously listening to oldies like “Hopelessly Devoted to You”, and “Burning Love”.
This love of oldies extended to beach classics, with many of my summer soundtracks featuring bands like The Beach Boys and The Monkees. That’s probably why, out of all the places I can curl up and work on a Sunday, Cafe del Mar in Wrightsville Beach is rapidly becoming my favorite.
I was turned on to Cafe del Mar for the smoothies (the local’s lunch with added protein powder is my favorite) and awesome breakfast burritos (the chicken is my favorite), but remained for the super chill environment, reliable Wi-Fi, and amazing music selection, including The Everly Brothers, Joe Tex, and of course, the king.
Once the tourists roll in, this will very likely not be an option anymore. The street parking that is ample in the off-season, is impossible in warmer months. The incredible holiday blend (which I’m drinking right now), will be gone. Instead of the local crowd, tanned, tank-top donning surfers with tousled, messy hair, will be replaced with sunburned Ashley’s and Ambers, wearing Hollister short-shorts, and arguing about which Snapchat filter they should use for their selfie.
But for now, it’s rainy and cold. I’m cozy and productive, finishing up a process doc for work, and chatting via Facebook messenger with my friend Dora Sun, who runs the epic Go Wonder girl’s travel community, updating her about my house-hunting, and about her upcoming Edinburgh conference.
My black holiday blend isn’t hot anymore, and there’s only two other people in the cafe. The barista quietly counts the drawer, and for a few minutes, I feel completely at home.
