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i laughed, i cried ...

As soon as my oldest rolled off the school bus on Friday afternoon, the long weekend was on.  Glorious sun-shiny beach weather with just the right balance of happy plans and open free-time.  It felt like summer here on the Island, and people flocked in proof.  I always forget we live in a place that's sort of a local destination during the warmer months and it always takes me a bit by surprise when that first day comes where the little parking lot at the top of our street is full of visitors and the sidewalks overflow with beach goers carrying armloads of the necessary gear, chairs, coolers, bags stuffed with toys and trashy reads, and fishing rods for some.  Fishing is also my son's latest obsession, waking up at 5am bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to be the early bird catching the worm, or...err, the early worm catching the fish in this case, and rushing Alex out the door at ungodly hours and in any weather.  You've got to admire his tenacity.  It's all about bait and lures and halibut for him these days.  Hopefully no one will get a hook in their eye.

I enjoy seeing the place buzzing and lively, colorful adirondacks out on the lawns, decks full of friends and scrumptious smells wafting off of grills.  There is enough of a draw to make this feel like a real beach community, but laid-back enough that there's not the crazy overflow that makes one want to curse through the entire summer season.  It's so nice that we don't have to go anywhere to have a slice of a little summer holiday, whenever we want, May through September.  So there was much summery merriment had, kayak trips, eating sweet and salty local steamers on our deck, beach forays, even a lazy early wander up to Mad Martha's for chocolate-chip and coconut pancakes, the lone breakfast joint on the island which as luck has it is just a mere steps away from our humble abode.  There is always something to discover here, lately, wild irises, a red bird who visits daily, a robin's nest in our lilac bush, and always life, feathered and otherwise, floating, flying and sailing over the surface of the basin complete with breathtaking sunsets.  At times it's quite idyllic and I imagine that in a past life I must have saved a poor drowning soul from a certain untimely peril at sea to have landed this front row seat to such glorious coastal abundance.  It's truly a balm for my restless spirit, and the grandest entertainment for boys even of the grown-up variety.

I spent a lot of time writing and reading as well this weekend, with the requisite box of kleenex beside me, pulling out old journals and pouring over articles referencing how to write a memoir, just for heck of it.  Turns out I have a pretty good intuitive feel for the process and was pleasantly surprised by this fact since I have no formal training in writing at all, save for my 11th grade AP English class which I imagine hardly counts.  It is when I fell in love with T.S. Eloit, found I had a passion for the subtext of the written word, and realized that I could deconstruct an essay with the best of them, so it was in no way a lost endeavor.  I owe that successful experience to the persuasive confidence of my boyfriend at the time who was the one who talked me into that class, a far reaching epiphany I'll always be grateful for.  Underestimating your abilities is surely the way to go.