Delights: July 28 to August 3

July 28:  The beach today offered endless entertainment. A kitesurfer allowed the wind to lift him into a 360-degree spin. A dad, taking sweet selfies with his wife and ten-year old daughter, unsuccessfully implored his already-sunning teenaged daughter to join them. Grandparents sitting in the surf built a sand mountain for a toddler to climb when the waves splashed through. A man in a perfect face-up float drifted with the current nearly fifty yards across my view. Three teenaged boys, arms draped across each other’s shoulders, ran together into the waves. And a three-generation family planted their umbrellas to overlap my own, with one child playing at my feet; I hope I’m not in their photos, but perhaps they’ll invite me to lunch.

July 29: Grilled chicken, a tri-colored caprese salad with sun-warm tomatoes and basil, sweet pearly-white corn from the neighborhood farmstand, and a clutch of zinnias in a ribbon-wrapped Mason jar. 

My dear friends and I savored our restaurant dinner last night of cocktails, locally caught sea bass and curried shrimp. But tonight, after a gorgeous beach day, simple home cooking seemed the best choice. And oh my, were we right.

July 30: Said the lifeguard to the six-year old girl after she out-ran them to the lifeguard stand: “Why don’t you join us?” Mom: “Maybe after she learns to blow bubbles underwater!” And so began the surf rescue talk hosted by the Assateague lifeguards. The little girl, with her watermelon-colored sleeves and bucket hat, clambered onto the ATV equipment, asked many questions and told the lifeguards about the jellyfish she’d seen. 

Then, speaking for all off us, she put her hands on her hips and exclaimed “What?!” after the lifeguards — all young women — said they carry people on their backs. The little girl (and the rest of us) watched avidly as the guards showed exactly that in a mock surf rescue.

I imagine the little girl turning to her mother on their way home: I’m ready for more swimming lessons now.

Bonus: My friend eased our car through the Assateague welcome gate and surveyed the parking lot. We had arrived fairly early in the morning, so parked cars were few. Abundant, however, were the ponies (at least twelve) clustered near one of the parking lot entrances and spilling into the road. Which beach today? The simplest reply: “This one. Just turn left at the horse.”

July 31:  Kevin is home! The sixth longest, sixth hilliest, most crowded RAGBRAI is over. Kevin has made it back to Virginia with his camping gear, bike gear, and many stories of extreme heat, delicious food, and bike accidents (thank goodness Kevin stayed upright all 500 miles). Kevin talked about the many, many riders: cresting a hill, he could see thousands of riders before him and the thousands of riders behind. Kevin didn’t take a photo — it would have been amazing — because, he said, “I didn’t want to lose my place in the horde.” 

Kevin’s only mishap occurred when he heard the sinister growl of metal shredding metal. Fearing a busted wheel, Kevin pulled over. The metal strap-hook of his rear carrier had gotten tangled in the bicycle’s bladed spokes, so that the carrier’s red cord twisted through the wheel in a hobbling mess. “A mechanically minded rider pulled over and helped me solve the problem in a methodical way. And a mom hung around too.” Then Kevin paused. “Everyone on the ride was very kind.”

Bonus: Jeremiah and I saw Barbie yesterday. Tonight, we plotted the very necessary sequel Ken, where the Barbies, in their matriarchy paradise, create warm and welcoming room for the Kens, help them heal their (and everyone’s) scars from toxic masculinity, and establish a society where everyone thrives amid respect, opportunity and self-actualization. The Barbies — currently begrudging even the tiniest concessions to the Kens — would see the benefits to women of a thorough detox. And they would finally build the Kens some houses, for crying out loud. 

August 1: I came across a crisp tea towel, brightly striped in green and white, that now bore new red splotches. I worked and worked at the stain, grimly determined to restore the tea towel’s true colors. 

I finally resigned myself to the splotches and allowed myself to mope about my tea towel. Then I remembered how the stains arrived: through the generosity of an early-rising houseguest who surprised us all with a luscious farmers-market fruit salad bursting with cantaloupe, peaches, plums and more. So I’ve decided: when next I use the towel reddened by peachy, plummy love, I will smile and thank my friend all over again.

Bonus: That change of heart might sound rather precious, but I was prompted to write it down just now because, when I altered the narrative, my heart rate changed, my breathing regulated and my jaw unclenched. My body was applauding me: I had been holding on to a dopey tea towel and overlooking the gift it signified.

August 2: So you know how a family of beachgoers got a little too close to my self-declared “space.” (I decided to make the best of it.) This afternoon, as Jeremiah and I sat in our usual shady breezy perfect seats for a Nationals baseball game, we were startled by dozens of people suddenly sliding into the seats directly in front of us. 

Our section is usually pretty empty for day games, so we welcomed more fans. Except this was clearly an office outing: only one person wore Nats gear, most people spent the afternoon facing away from the field, and one guy kept standing up to talk to the person behind him for long stretches while baseball was happening. Another guy even tried to move into Jeremiah’s (briefly empty) seat because he wanted to talk to the man in front of us. 

Plus, the Nats were losing.

Eventually the usher helped us find new seats. But while still ensconced as crabby boulders in our neighbors’ laughing stream, I asked Jeremiah what he thought my Delight should be today. “Well,” Jeremiah said, “It is Library of Congress Day.”

Bonus: The office colleagues were having loads of fun. And the Nats won the game in the bottom of the ninth inning. Can I count those too, please?

August 3: When fire fighters grab a bite to eat after a call, I guess it makes sense that they travel in the truck they were driving. This afternoon, I watched a handful of fire fighters ascend their huge hook & ladder truck, smoothies in hand, and pull away from the curb. 

I just wish I’d seen them parallel park.

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If you’d like to browse my past delights, please consult the “word cloud” featured at the very bottom of this post. Find a theme or two that interests you and sift through the sands. Or learn a bit more about my Blog by visiting my Welcome page. You’ll also see links to four essays that were published in print magazines. I’m glad you’re here!