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Healthy, happy children.
The means to care for an ailing dog.
A job. With benefits. Interesting work.
A wam cat next to me, hunkering close and losing his shit (like the rest of the pack) because their canine leader is hospitalized.
A sport I love. An obsession (weight lifting) that’s actually healthy.
Swimming. At all. Regardless of speed.
Perspective. Hard earned.
A stolen 3 day weekend on the beach.
Love. Deeper now than I ever thought it could be when I met him 17 years and 1 day ago.
Steak. Nom, nom.
The first time the sun roof’s motor broke, it was Easter Sunday. As if it were a log splitter, four cousins used the force of the sliding glass to pulverize sticks. Punishments were harsh and swift. But I couldn’t help smiling every time I imagined the four of them experimenting with their father’s / uncle’s almost new car to see what havoc it could wreak on a stick.
This time, a Thule soft-pack luggage carrier rested on top of the car, balancing precipitously in front of the Four Bicycles of the Apocalypse. Just a few days into our vacation, we were leaving our temporary digs and headed for Chappy as we waited for the next week’s vacation house to become available to us. We’d heard the seas were rough from Hurricane Bill, and we wanted to see it first-hand. Parked in a precious and rare spot in the parking lot of Espresso Love in Edgartown, I noticed the sunroof was open, so I tried to close it.
Click. Click. Click click click click.
Why would we ever want to leave? More after the jump.
The hurricane left angry seas in its wake, making today the first day we swam in the ocean. But it’s aallllllll goooood. Except for the broken sunroof. And the dog who was certain the skunk was an innocent little kitty who was dying to say HI!
republished with pictures that didn’t stick in the WordPress iPhone app
Even with the dogs and the cats, it’s so still.
Away for five days with their great aunt, the boys aren’t here.
They aren’t in their beds, whispering to each other from seven feet apart as we insist they hush up and go to sleep.
They aren’t asking for one more drink of water, one more story, one more joke.
Earlier today I tweeted “I sit on the floor, sorting months of mail. File, recycle, shred. The cat and dog have their morning brawl atop the neat stacks. Thanks guys.”
It’s quite the spring break I’m having here. I’ve now made two runs to the dump (details to follow in a guest blog post soon – believe me, I’ll be linking to it since it’s the only writing of any sort I’ve done in at least a month). The utensil drawer is sparkling clean. I can see the floor in my closet.
Short on fun. Long on productivity. I think the animals are encouraging me to abandon the house and go soak up the sun while it’s shining.
But first I’ve got to get to the bottom of a drawer or two…
I got so lucky with the header picture.
Yes, I’ve posted this picture before. I took it at South Beach, trying to capture my boys in silhouette.
It’s now among my very favorite pictures, ever. Sure, Alison Shaw, you’ve got the pole position (and the second… and the third…) in my dining room. Truth be told, your prints are the first and only serious pieces of art we’ve owned.
But I’m claiming the blog header as my own.
I have so very much to say. But It’s going to have to keep for a bit while my brain attempts to make sense of the impossible. Back soon.
Remember last summer when we thought spending a few weeks at the beach seemed perfectly reasonable? I do. Vaguely.
Taking hundreds of pictures during our Vineyard trip last August was a clutch move. Sure, the memories will sustain us for a while. More importantly, my laptop is throwing off a lot of heat as I fix the tilted horizons and try to eliminate zombie dog eyes… and I’m sure running a computer is far cheaper than turning the heat up above 58 degrees.
Viewing the world from the late November market’s underbelly, hitting the road for two weeks seems a little extravagant. But I wouldn’t want the money back. Blowing it on an overland parking permit, Back Door Donuts, Sharkey’s margaritas and fishing poles (the ones a certain dog who shall remain nameless ate somewhere between Providence and New London) sure was fun. Pull up a chair and warm your hands by the CPU with me as I stroll down memory lane.
I’m still enamored of the clams in the bucket. If I took one picture of these, I took 4 dozen. Greedy greedy greedy.
The Edgartown Lighthouse is beautiful inside and out. And, yeah, I remember those flip flops. I think Talullah ate them some time in early September.