Last year my family rented a beach house the very first week of summer. It was so much fun that we wanted to put something similar together this year, too. It's tough to coordinate the busy schedules of 7 adults and the five kids, and this was the week when most of us could get together. Different house, different beach, even a different state, but same kind of vibe except for the fact that this time it is the end of the season-- school starts the day after tomorrow down here.
A veteran vacation renter, I never truly appreciated the wear and tear a place such as this suffers. After twelve solid weeks of family fun, this lovely beach house we're staying in could use some serious TLC. For example, the upper screen on the door to the oceanfront porch succumbed to the coastal breeze this afternoon and bid its spline good bye forever; now it flops forward like the dog-eared page of a paperback, marking our place here. This house has broken blinds, crooked grates, bifold doors that never meet, and all sorts of things corroded from salt, sand, and humidity. At dinner time we play an informal game of musical chairs to avoid the one with the saggy seat, although my brother graciously traded with me tonight, "Perfect for my boney butt," he said.
To begin with, these imperfections annoyed me considerably: every vacationer visualizes the ideal space for that long-awaited retreat, but gradually I've come to recognize them as what they are: badges of the pleasure and enjoyment that this place has provided to all the other people who have stayed here this summer. I'm sure we'll do a little damage of our own.
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