Watching the sun sink into the land and water on the northern tip of Plum Island used to be one of my favorite summertime activities. Or maybe it wasn’t an activity because all I was doing was lying supine and listening to the waves. My wife was drowsing next to me, and our four children were busy building a tidal diversion system to rescue the enormous sandcastle they had spent the afternoon building. I heard yells of dismay as a chunk of their work fell into the tide. The oldest had a bit of pique while urging his younger siblings to more extraordinary efforts.
I rolled over and nuzzled my wife and whispered, “Where for dinner tonight? This crew’s next act is going to be finishing off the snacks and then demanding dinner.” she kissed me and said,” definitely the Grog, if we get going now we’ll be there before the crowd. They’ll have paper and crayons for the kids, too.”
Stretching, I got up and hollered out, “OK, you lot! Let’s eat! Pronto!”
Walking towards the car, the two boys argued about next weekend’s rematch with the sea and how they’d build the seawalls higher. The two girls were busy finishing off the cookies. Then, suddenly, the oldest shouted, “Hey! Where are all the cookies?” the girls giggled and ran for the car.