Is it Me?

I'm not particularly excited about the Fourth of July this year. To be honest, I'm never that into the holiday, perhaps because one, it falls right after my birthday, and two, it's in the summer, so it's never even been a day off for me. I understand that to some, this may be a marquee year, in that it is the 250th anniversary of the founding of our nation (or as a rather pompous friend of mine chooses to optimistically call it, the quarter-millennium), but to me that level of enthusiasm seems a little, ahem, trumped up. 

Maybe it's because of the divisive politics of our time, the tussle to righteously claim the soul of the country, and thereby the right to celebrate it. But, really, I think it's because I was around to celebrate the bicentennial and all the 200th anniversaries of everything leading up to it, and honestly? Half a hundred just doesn't seem that legit.

Lost Opportunity

Dinner was over, and the sunlight was waning to summer gold when I heard it: the unmistakable jingle of an ice cream truck sounded from somewhere nearby. My jaw dropped in disbelief. In the 28 years we've lived in this condo complex, tucked away from the rest of the county as it is, there has never been an ice cream truck.

My first instinct was to grab a dime and run for my popsicle. In fact, I did leap off the couch and crane my neck, peering through the window to see if my ears deceived me. A moment later, the Mr. Softee truck cruised into view, and I opened the sliding glass door and stepped out on the balcony, my thoughts racing.

Clearly? A dime would not be sufficient, and anyway, I would want something better than a popsicle, which was the only thing my brother, sister, and I were ever allowed to buy. What was on the menu? I wondered. And how do you even conduct a transaction with the ice cream man these days? Can I tap my watch? Use a credit card? Must I have cash?

But before I could form a plan of action, the jingle started up again, and the truck rolled away, probably because there were no customers. 

I sighed and returned to the couch. Maybe I'll be more prepared in 2054.

A Dozen Signs of Summer

Nothing is comfier than shorts, a tank top, and slides
The pool is a daily destination
All the fruit is delicious-- even when it comes from the grocery store
The air outside surrounds you like a warm hug
The air inside greets you like a cool kiss
Bottomless iced tea and lemonade
Rain is great:  it's good for the garden and a good time to go to the movies
The snack bag is packed and ready to go at a moment's notice
Your main accessories are a ball cap and sunglasses
Pickleball is back on the morning schedule
Sliced tomatoes are a side at every meal
Heidi is home all day

Pinch Me

I picked up a pound of jumbo lump crab meat on my way to the beach on Tuesday night. My plan was to make crab cakes for dinner, but by the time we had unpacked, I'd walked the dog, and Heidi had finished her board meeting call, a simple tossed salad with a lemony deviled crab on top seemed more reasonable. 

It was delicious, and there was plenty of crab meat left-- enough to have crab and egg breakfast sandwiches every morning for the rest of the week. I think we may have found a new beach tradition!

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.