Right at Home

Back in the 80s, when we lived here at the beach, one of the few grocery options was a rustic chain called Be-lo. The stores were small and under-provisioned, but we made do because we didn't really have a choice. The whole company is long gone now, though, but their locations around here still have grocery stores: a newish Food Lion on Shore Drive and a big Harris Teeter over on 27th and Arctic. 

It was to the Harris Teeter that we went this morning to pick up a few things for the little girls we will be hosting a little later today. The layout of the place was familiar, similar to several of the HTs near us, but with a hefty dose of beach equipment and vacation essentials sprinkled throughout. 

Even so, we noticed that the average age of the shoppers was at least 10 years older than I am. At first, I wondered what was going on that brought all the retirees out on a Thursday morning, but then it hit me. It was Thursday, which is senior discount day at the Harris Teeters near us. And when we checked out, I asked the cashier if it was the same down here. 

Ca-ching! We saved an extra 5% plus all the sale items when I punched in my loyalty number.

Third Watch

"We'd love for you to stay for dinner," our friends with three little girls under the age of five said this afternoon, "but fair warning-- we eat pretty early."

We accepted the gracious invitation, but she was not exaggerating! Dinner was over by 5:15, and the girls were bathed and in their pajamas by quarter to six. Everyone was getting a little cranky, and it was clear that bedtime for all five of them was on the horizon. "I have to grab some sleep when the baby naps," our friend apologized, "at three months, she's not sleeping through the night yet."

We thanked them for a fun day with the kids and a nice dinner, too, and were on our way back to the beach house before six. The whole evening stretched before us, so we drove the strip down to Rudee Inlet to see what was new, took a spin past all the houses I lived in when I was here, and then walked a couple of miles on a piney trail in First Landing State Park (formerly Seashore State Park), which has an entrance just a block from our house. 

Even now, in these longest days of summer, daylight lingers: I just poured an ice-cold beer, and it seems like there are hours more of fun left in this day. (Lucy is wiped out, though!)

Take a Beat

"Would you ever want to live back here again?" Heidi asked me this afternoon as we neared Virginia Beach.

"Not today, I wouldn't," I scoffed. We had been crawling toward the tunnel in torrential rain under a tornado watch for 30 minutes, and the map app predicted it would be at least another 20 minutes, ultimately taking us two hours to go 40 miles.

My mood softened considerably the moment we turned onto Shore Drive and turned 180 when I punched the access code into our rental home, a classic beach cottage that had been renovated into a light and spacious retreat. And by the time we made our way across Atlantic Ave and down the block to the beach, I was wondering why I had ever moved away.

Quite Contrary

I was there first.

In general, I try to avoid gardening when the lady from the next plot is there, mostly because she's snide and judgmental, and I don't really need that vibe when I'm struggling to tame my plot. Oh, sure, it would be easier to tame said plot were I to spend more time there, but I dread running into her, so it's a conundrum.

This morning, my heart sank when I heard the clank of the gate latch and looked up to see her familiar blond pony stalking my way. I'd already fed, watered, and pruned all the vegetables, but there was so much more to be done, I decided to stay. We exchanged pleasantries and small talk about the dry weather and hot day approaching. I weeded my side of the border between our beds and then moved on to the ubiquitous wiregrass along the fence. 

When she went out to the other side of that fence with her shovel and gardening stool, I knew she was modeling what she wanted me to do next, which was clear the fence line and dig up the grass out there. I continued in my own garden, though; Lord knows there was plenty to do in there. I did show her that one of the strands of barbed wire that tops the chainlink fence was broken and sagging into both our gardens.

"Can you stretch it and hook it on that clasp?" she pointed, but I showed her that the snapped wire would no longer stretch that far.

"Who's responsible for the fence, us or the county?" I asked.

"Probably us," she answered in disgust. "Do you want us to cut it or repair it?" she asked. 

"I don't have a strong feeling either way," I replied.

"I'm in charge of the next two work days," she told me. "We'll take care of it then."

I nodded, but before I could return to work, she continued, "Can you believe that every single garden got a satisfactory in the last inspection?"

I inhaled sharply. Here we go, I thought.

"I called them on it," she said. "There are definitely some plots that need attention, at the least." She shook her head. "There are going to be some upset people in the coming weeks," she said, "because I refuse to look the other way."

"Well," I nodded, "you've been here a long time, and you're not afraid to speak your mind."

At that, she guffawed, and I laughed a little, too. "I don't think anyone will be too surprised when they see the inspection," I finished.

Do You Mind?

"How old is elderly?" I Googled this morning.

The AI bot tactfully informed me that there is no set age at which one becomes elderly, but traditionally, in the US at least, anyone over 65 could reasonably be put in that category. 

My query was in response to a headline I had seen about the tragic deaths earlier this week of "three elderly people" hiking in the Grand Canyon. Their ages? 73 (I can see that), 68, and 67. Um...

I remembered a story my mom used to tell about a time there came a knock at her door early one Saturday morning. One of her neighbors had called the police about some suspicious activity, but she was unaware of it when she answered in her pajamas and found a police officer on her front porch. "Is everything all right here?" he asked, looking over her shoulder and into the house. 

She assured him it was, and when his radio squawked, he reported the all clear. "Nobody here but an elderly woman," he told the person on the other end.

She laughed when she recounted the incident, because at 68, she felt anything but elderly. 

I sighed and extended my search. "Is it rude to call someone elderly?"

Swimming in the Memory Lane

We ran into an acquaintance at the pool this afternoon. She is a neighbor, but to be honest, we usually only see her in summer when we all frequent the pool. "Do you have any travel plans this year?" I asked as we waited for the required 15-minute break at the end of the hour.

"Oh," she waved her hand. "No. But I could go to Oakton and back, and never remember even being there, so there's that.' She laughed wryly.

I nodded in amusement and slight confusion.

"But I'm also starting my infusion treatment," she continued. "It's every other week for 18 months, so I don't want to go far."

Again, I nodded, but I was lost.

"I don't remember if I told you or not," she added, "but I have early-stage Alzheimer's. I did the genetic testing, and I qualify for the new treatment. I'm so grateful and optimistic."

I expressed my support, and she went on. "I might tell you all this again," she laughed. "But so what?"

Blue Skies Smilin' at Me

Although the day dawned a bit gray, the first day of summer break turned out to be gorgeous: a high of 82, breezy, with plenty of sunshine by the afternoon. We went to the pool for the first time this season, and the water was pleasant and refreshing. When the guard called for the 15-minute break at the end of the hour, Heidi and I sat wrapped in towels, chatting about the future—in addition to a trip to the beach next week and other travel plans, this summer and fall bring a wedding and 2 babies to our immediate circle. Plus? On a whim, we toured a nearby house for sale yesterday afternoon, and who knows?

Anything seems possible on the first day of summer break.