The morning is ugly even though the sun tried to pop out of the clouds. The humidity is 79%. Today will follow the latest weather pattern: 70’s during the day and 60’s at night. The clouds will hang around the whole day. I’m fine with that as I’m going nowhere. I saw the traffic yesterday and saw the line of cars waiting through light cycles. The line went from one light to another.
Yesterday I actually got my dump sticker and emptied the trunk of all those bags of trash. I evicted a few flies. A very nice man helped me with the trash. Next, I had my car inspected. It was a 45 minute wait, my punishment for going on the last day of the month. A few cars failed ahead of me, but mine was fine. I had been getting a low tire pressure notice so I asked them to check, all four tires needed air. I guess that’s why I was squealing around corners.
When I was a kid, summer weekends were mostly spent with my family. We went to the beach, usually to Gloucester, to Wingaersheek Beach. I loved that beach. I could find neat shells, crabs and even clams. At low tide I could swim in tidal pools. They were deep and warm. I remember the houses which overlooked the beach. I wanted to live in one. My mother never swam but sat on the blanket and kept an eye on my two sisters. A famous mom story happened on this beach. She was yelling at us, my brother and me, for throwing stones. We stopped. She yelled again and said we had hit her on the head, perplexing to us as we hadn’t thrown a stone. My father checked for any injury. She screamed. A passing seagull had dropped his poop and had hit her, no aiming involved, just circumstance. She ran gagging to the water, and my father washed out the offending fecal matter. We laughed but not where she could see us.
My mother packed great beach lunches. We had a variety of sandwiches, chips, fruit, cookies and peppers and eggs. That last dish came from my aunt who had given my mother the recipe. It has stayed with me. I’ve made it to bring to band concerts and for deck dinners. I remember that by the end of the afternoon everything left was sandy. Even the cookies tasted gritty.
My father didn’t let us in the car until he had washed the sand from our feet. We waited in line, the four of us. He’d have us sit one at a time on the end of the seat with our feet hanging out so he could wash them. Once they were clean, we’d swing our feet around into the car.
When I was in bed after a day of swimming, I’d rest my head on the pillow when I was falling asleep. Sometimes a bit of water would run from my ears. It always felt warm.
