The Living is Easy
Perhaps a bit too easy. These are days that roll into one another and back out again, just like the tide. A weekend begins as a blank slate, with no fixed plans, yet by Sunday evening ends with pink noses, salty hair, sandy ankles, bellies full, beach time and picnic time, an endless parade of familiar faces and a stack of polaroids. Realizing you haven’t been inside once, except perhaps to sleep.
Friday night in Boston with dear old friends included a romp through their thriving community garden plot and feasting from it. This is Lisa with the garden’s riches, which made a fine rhubarb crisp that night.
Saturday began simply enough, but by 10pm I’d done a full day at the beach, sunset lobster rolls on the granite wharf, followed by ice cream and wine harborside over stories of teenage love triangles growing up in a small coastal town. And that was only the second half of the day.
By Sunday morning, my dance card was full with an afternoon birthday party, featuring a fantastic backyard surf-and-turf spread, and an evening spent with two children in my charge.
The latter was my final knockout.