We always say, "A rainy day at the beach is still a day a the beach," but that attitude was definitely put the to the test today. 37 degrees, with driving rain and wind speed of up to 20 mph made even a short little walk on the beach a stinging trial of fortitude. Amid the blowing foam and flotsam were four sets of wings on the sand literally torn from the backs of the birds they once thrust into flight.
Back at our little bayside cottage we tossed our sopping clothes and even our coats in the dryer before heading out on our next adventure. When the timer buzzed and I opened the metal latch to fetch Heidi's jacket, the metallic smell of static and hot nylon nudged my nose with nostalgia. The heft and warmth of the freshly tumbled coat transported me back fifty years to the snow days of my childhood.
When the cold and wet got the best of us and pink-cheeked we returned to the house, my mom gathered our stripped snow clothes and popped them in the dryer while we sipped steaming mugs of spiced tea and orange juice served with buttered slices of freshly baked Sally Lunn. And when we were ready to bundle up and go back out to play, Mom held our jackets right from the dryer and we slid our arms into them like receiving a warm hug, and then, so fortified, we readily faced the elements without hesitation.
Ah, that dryer smell! I think I just got whisked back to 1980.
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