Sunday: coffee, edited photos, wrote, edited photos, tossed tennis balls in the backyard, heated up leftovers, sat in front of the fan, repeated the whole sequence (minus the extra ball toss).
Late in the afternoon, we walked down to the beach. I carried the little past the rocky shore to the sandbar where we waded into cold lapping waves. We watched the swimmer’s daisy yellow bathing cap make a zigzag pattern as she bobbed up and down inching her way to shore. It was the first time I felt at ease the entire day and could have stayed in the water then on the beach all night. Long enough for dinner and a campfire anyway.
Another early morning. This time with talk of the beaches plus lemons. Why lemons? Why not. I made blueberry pancakes for the boys, coffee for the rest of us. Still too early for breakfast. The sun glowed as orange as the tiger lilies out front which I thought about as the little one and I snipped flowers for the table. White daisies, blue hydrangeas, and a cluster of pink feathery flowers. He carried a daisy in his hand.
Sunday: 4 am “Go to beach,” he pulled old paperbacks off the shelves and made up stories while I tried to convince him to sleep, crowded beaches, sunbathers set up in the parking lot and out in the road next to their cars, picnic lunch on the deck, another trip to the beach, the second one we made it to the sand and water.