a nothing day

I get to the beach around noon — just as the company responsible for removing seaweed is finishing up.

"Sorry, we couldn't get it all. The tide came in. We'll be back."

No problem.  Weather compensates for a lot.

I set up. Read a bit (All the Missing Girls by Megan Miranda — good so far). 

Soon M arrives. 

Then my mom. 

Then Tobey (M's husband), her son Sam, and Sam's friend Brian.   

And finally, my sister and her daughter Sally who's home from Spain, where she's been living since January.

We're a very relaxed group.

l to r:  Jean, Sally, M, Sam, Brian, Tobey

l to r: Phyllis, me, Jean and Sally

It's nice when the only plan for the day is to do nothing.

fountain of youth

"Nothing about your mom says 86." 

That's M's assessment of my mother, who will be 87 next month. 

• My mom walks three miles almost every day, rain or shine.

• She drove by herself last year to Alexander's graduation at Cornell, almost 400 miles away.

• She still regularly beats me at gin, and can remember every card played, up to two games back.

• She gardens.

• She is still perfecting her bridge game.

• She uses an ipad (no iPhone yet, but we're still bugging her to get one).

• She plays regular games of mahjong and canasta.

• She is an avid reader, and participates in a book club.

• She has friends of all ages, and is really quite popular.

Today we go to the beach. It's a perfect day, yet again. Sunny. Warm. Low tide. And a beautiful breeze. 

It's close to four. "I think I've had enough sun for today; I'm going back to the house," I say.

"I'll meet you there later; I'm playing bocce at four."

I don't even know what bocce is.

But my mom does.   She's the oldest among her fellow bocce players, but you'd never know it. Her spirit and looks belie her age.

June, Mary Beth, Dorothy, Phyllis

I hope I age as beautifully and as gracefully as my mom.

another sleepover

It was a big occasion when my dad would announce, "After suppa we're going to the drive-in."

Best was going in the beach wagon.  The back seat would fold down and the three kids — my two younger sisters and I — would pile in. We'd bring pillows, blankets, and leave the house in our pajamas. That way, if we happened to fall asleep during the movie, or movies (usually they'd be a double-header), we'd be ready for bed when we got home.

The Skyview in Brockton was the family drive-in of choice. It was less than a 20-minute drive from our home, had great concessions, and a big playground in front of the screen. What was playing was not really that important as it likely wasn't aimed at kids anyway. But it was a nice night out for my parents and the kids got to come along.

I don't really remember if I liked the concept of being bed-ready then, but I do like it now.

So when M picks me up to go to her house for another sleepover, I leave my mom's with teeth-brushed, face-washed, and nightgown on.

M's house, the same one she rented last summer, is about a five-minute drive from my mom's. It is on a private road where every house faces the ocean. My bedroom has water views on two sides, a private bathroom, and crisp white sheets. 

I sleep well, and wake up to this:






Life is good.

sunset at sunrise

I am at the airport in plenty of time.  Almost two hours early. 

I am so ready for the relaxed, all-year summer spirit of Cape Cod.

Arriving at the very small Barnstable airport already makes me feel a million miles from home. 

I have almost nothing to unpack. My mom and I  pick up on our summer long gin tournament, where, in a major upset, I am leading in games, 7 to 3.

We go to our usual local restaurant for dinner.

The average age is 78, but the menu is large and the food excellent. My nephew Jack and M join us. 

I am sleeping at M's tonight; her husband is not here for a couple of days and like me, sleeping alone in a big house is not something she wants to do.

But first, we stop to take in the sunset at sunrise beach. 

 It's nice to be back.

return of the ex-roommate

My ex-roommate (ERM) visits this weekend (he prefers I don't use his name). 

Friday he goes to a party. He comes in to see me when he gets home. He ignores the fact that I'm sleeping, and starts telling me about his night. How can I resist listening, even if my participation is lacking? I haven't seen my ERM  in three weeks and I miss him.

The next morning (before it's even light out) I am awoken again, this time with the unpleasant sounds of my ERM being sick. I suspect the cause of his illness and ask if he is okay. He says he is.

Two hours later I am more fully awake, and getting ready for work. I see small remnants of my house guest's sickness. On the living room rug. In my bathroom. On his bedding, including a new blue coverlet. And then, worst of all, on my light beige Ralph Lauren sofa. 

I awake him. He tries to gain some sympathy by saying I may have ebola.  His humor does not appease me.  

 "GET UP AND TAKE THE COVERS OFF THE SOFA CUSHIONS AND BRING THEM TO THE CLEANERS NOW!!!!"

"I will," he murmurs as he flips over to go back to sleep.

"NOW," I yell.

He gets up.

"And also, spray the bathroom with something. It stinks."

"With what?"

"I don't know. Look at the cleaning supplies and find something. You know where they are. I'm pretty sure I have Febreze somewhere."

Next I see him holding a spray bottle, heading toward the bathroom.

"Wait, What's that?"

In his hand is this: 

By the time I get home Saturday night he's out with friends. And when I leave this morning he is still asleep.

Am hoping the next visit home is a better one.

kissed by joe

Word spreads fast when a celebrity shops at Saks.

"I just got a text that the Vice President is on 6," says a colleague.

I take the escalator up one flight.

At the elevator banks  on the 6th floor stand five or six NYC policemen with helmets on, holding guns. Not little handguns. I'm talking those big assault rifles that look like they could take out a small army.



I go to the back of the store to an exclusive private section for male shoppers. Standing around are several secret service guys; these men appear unarmed.  And there, right in front of me, is Jill Biden. Her husband has just finished shopping and is graciously taking multiple photos with the store employees who have helped him. Of all times not to have my camera or phone with me!

As Joe is walking out, he passes me. I say, "Hi, my name is Lyn,"  while I extend my hand. I don't think I address him as I'm unsure of the protocol  Is it Mr. Vice President? Mr. Biden? A combination of the two? 

"I loved your speech the other night," I begin (I know, not very creative). He smiles and thanks me with a sincerity that feels real. And the whole time we are speaking he is shaking my hand. A long, good, solid shake. Then he surprises me, and kisses me on my right cheek. 

Thank-you, Joe. We will miss you.

file this under helpful to know on a hot summer's day

Today is day six of a heat wave that is scheduled to continue for at least a few more days.

So if you want a very cold glass of water ...

1. Take a refrigerated bottle of water.
2. Wrap in damp paper towel.
3. Put in freezer for 15 minutes.
4. Take out, pour and enjoy.