A few shots taken at Tybee Island today. Tomorrow it's the road for us.
I was relieved to learn, upon returning to our hotel room, that they've finally buried poor Gerald Ford. Otherwise, you'd be reading quite a different post right now. Entitled something like:
Dear America, Please Bury Gerald Ford. He's Dead, You Know.
Because, seriously. Old Gerry has gotten out more in the past week than in his last ten years combined. They've dragged his poor dead body from one end of this country to another, have they not? I mean, yesterday? They TOOK HIM ON A TOUR OF WASHINGTON MONUMENTS. (HELLO? He's dead, I don't think he enjoyed that very much.) Which begs the question: Who is in charge of these funeral arrangements? P.T. Barnum? What's next? Tossing his corpse down the steps of Air Force One for old time's sake?
I can only imagine what this endless week has been like for poor Betty Ford. Girlfriend hasn't had a drink in ...what? Twenty years? Still, she's held firm and evidently REFUSED to kiss Gerry's flag draped coffin every day like old Piano Legs Reagan had to do.
On a similar note, did you even catch James Brown's funeral? It was an actual rock concert to which poor dead James had a front row seat. The casket was open, placed in front of the stage, and some of the performers actually CLUTCHED the lid to his coffin as they sang into his poor dead face.
It's a good thing I'm on vacation, or I'd be seriously upset about all this.