where's ann richards when I need her?

Summertime and the livin’ is easy …

Dear Lexy,

It’s the rare overcast morning. Thunder is occasionally discernible out through the inlet. The light here is like nowhere else I’ve ever been. It diffuses and extrapolates all the colors outward toward the treetops. The blues become greens become yellows even before you can notice it. The yellow sandbar, white seashells lining up below the surface of the bay, the clumps of bright green beach grass in their near perfect geometric patterns. Clustering surf moving to and from the rocky shore. Today the pond reflects the sky’s murky grey, contrasting the bright blue stripes of the moored boats, and of the children’s Mets t-shirts.

They loved the game, insisted today on wearing their new t-shirts again. Charlie, in particular, is decked out in his blue Mets batting helmet, wristband, jersey, and cleats. He wore his cleats with his red baseball socks to the game. The afternoon was bright and hot. We sat on the first base line and all got a little sun.

It’s started raining now. No beach today. Instead, Jeff’s going to write a review, and my dad and I are taking the kids to the county courthouse in search of historical records. I’ve been scanning old photos and combing archives with a vengeance. One thing I discovered is that my great-grandmother didn’t want her grandchildren growing up near Herb McCarthy’s famous Bowden Square restaurant (it was behind her house, counted Truman Capote among the regulars, and was apparently a little too raucous for her taste, though I have a suspicion that my great grandfather kinda dug it), and so in the early 1960s she nearly sold the home that my great great great grandfather Halsey built around 1830. Another thing I found was that great great great grandmother’s Common Place Book—a book inscribed with quotes and poetry from her friends and “dedicated to friendship.” I like that idea a lot. Dedicated to friendship.

And with that, I need to change the baby’s dirty diaper. XO