Beach Week

Wednesday and Thursday of this past week (before I remembered that my family was renting a beach house in the town I grew up in for Friday, Saturday and Sunday) we spent all day at the beach in our town. It's almost eerily idyllic - all healthy, pleasant children racing after fat puppies; silver-haired ladies gracefully doing the breaststroke; middle-aged men laughing heartily in canoes. My town is like a postcard for a turn of the century (19th, not this last one) family resort. But not ritzy and irritating - just the barest whiff of Sag Harbor, not even. We don't even have a bar and grill. Just two delis, a playground, a beach, four art galleries and the library.

Anyways. Friday and Saturday we went down to the town I grew up in - another weathered, Connecticut beach town, although this one has been ruined by fanciness and commuters and the humongous Victoria's Secret display on the corner. My mother's whole family was there - her six brothers, plus their wives, girlfriends and children. A wonderful, vibrant, casual, funny, mildly tipsy collection of excellent people. My little lady had a total blast playing with all her cousins, especially the big girls. And I got some nice mental space and adult socializing time, thank God. I also got to revisit the scene of my youth, which brings up a nice melange of contrasting feelings.