Bittersweet Beach Memories

Our weekend at the beach was bittersweet.

End of the summer. Off to college for P. Back to classes and school in a few days for J. and K.

None of that is good.

Well, except for the back to school in a few days part. That's really good.

K. needs direction, focus, something-to-do-because-she's-so-bored.
These two make me laugh.

He is wild, crazy, exuberant, loud, energized ALL the time and embodies joie-de-vivre. Look up the phrase in a french dictionary and you'll see J.'s picture right next to it.

P. is quiet, thoughtful, introspective, and calm. Most of all, calm. I don't think I've ever seen her get riled or ruffled.

He makes her laugh. She brings calm to his storm.

We're gonna miss you, P.
This, dear readers, is the most delicious, the most chocolatiest, the most tastiest hot fudge I have had since my childhood. No one makes good hot fudge anymore. That jarred stuff is blech. The squeeze bottle stuff is uck.

But this stuff? Lip smackin' good.

We went to dinner at Arnold's on Saturday and there was a fellow passing out samples of his own homemade hot fudge. He's the guy out on the Cape when you want a hot fudge sundae.

E. was standing in line with Sissy and her husband when the fudge guy went by with samples. She snagged one, ate it, and using sheer stealth, slinked back in line with us to sneak another one.

Wow. That was a lot of s words. What alliteration. That English degree is paying off dividends now, I tell you.

But, seriously, this fudge is GOOD. Go get some next time you're in the area.
We were minding our own business, playing on the beach, building sand castles and engineering dams when we looked down the beach and saw a bunch of banners blowing in the breeze.

Huh. There's a lot of b words. I'm on a roll.

What's a minding-your-own-business kind of girl to do? Why, she walks down the beach to get a closer look at the banners.

And discovers a wedding.

All eleven of us wandered over to the wedding area and waited for the bride. Luckily there were other beachgoers watching along with us. Or else we would have looked funny, standing on the side of the wedding area in our bathing suits. Carrying a camera.

Down the stairs came the bride, to all her guests humming the wedding march.

These people need music lessons. The wedding march morphed into something that ended suspiciously like the happy birthday song.

But she was happy. Her parents were happy. And her spectators were happy.
I left them a wedding present in the sand.