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10 June 2017


If you have a key to the house and permission to enter, it doesn't count as stealing, even if it sure feels like it, right?
That boom box? Flashback gold.
And those girls? Making me laugh since 1999...


Usually the end of vacation finds me ready to be home, but not this time. Two days was not nearly enough. I felt the acedia coming on. Leaving the beach and friends leaving and a dear saint departed to glory, and I resist that heaviness of the urge to flee. I creep on to normal, to obeying the calendar, to making a giant salad and driving down the road to gather. The plodding pays off; the reward comes sitting around the table with close ones who make no demands and community that is easy. Again, more grace than I deserve.

02 June 2017


Sunrise walk barefoot and hot coffee and slow reading and slow moving.
Turtles with prostheses and turtles crawling and turtles waving hello during underwater ballet.
Pistachio frozen yogurt with mini chocolate chips.
Salad and salsa and crispy pita chips.
Sand and sun and reapply and reapply.
A fat green tube and bobbing and bopping over and under and through the waves.
Conjunto tunes and children running and bright umbrellas and seagulls stalking.
Crispy around the edges.
Grilled shrimp and grilled fish and creamy slaw and tangy sauce.
Quiet in the near dark.
Slide in and still between clean cool sheets.


At the Sea-Side

When I was down beside the sea 
A wooden spade they gave to me 
To dig the sandy shore. 
My holes were empty like a cup. 
In every hole the sea came up 
Till it could come no more.
-Robert Louis Stevenson, 1947