Monday, September 19, 2005
A near-perfect Long Island day today. Brilliant blue skies, temps in the 80s ... and no fee at the town beaches! And I'm telling ya, it was anarchy down there at Centerport Beach. People had their dogs, were fishing off the beach, paddling kayaks, swimming with no lifeguard on duty ... just crazy.
I always get wistful at the beach in September, because I know it's probably going to be the last time I swim until next summer. So I stare at the sky and the ocean and the fringe of green trees along the shore, trying to memorize what summer looks like and the feel of sun on my skin.
We jammed little big man into one of his last remaining swim diapers, waded out to a sandbar and swished him around in the water, which had lovely warm spots where the sun had heated it up. LBM likes water. He carefully dips his hands in it and examines them. Then he'll get into it and kick his arms and legs, and smack his palms on the surface. I am proud to say he is very unbabylike when he splashes his face, meaning he doesn't cry. He frowns a bit, like he's considering the experience very carefully.
The tide was very high -- a storm surge from Ophelia? -- and huge schools of small fish were swimming along the shoreline, swaying and turning together like a ballet troupe, even forming little fish vortexes. They looked like they should be part of an Andy Goldsworthy installation. Not that he's ever done fish, but they could be very pretty.
And to cap it, a late lunch at The Shack, the Route 25A institution where you sit outside and eat fried seafood and look at the trees and the traffic going past. It's got the nicest Web site for a fried-food stand I've ever seen. I also signed up for their e-mail list, just because I want to see what kinds of e-mails The Shack sends out. I see their soft-shell crab sandwich I like is no longer called the Eugene Levy. What happened? Did he fail to tip the wait staff?
I always get wistful at the beach in September, because I know it's probably going to be the last time I swim until next summer. So I stare at the sky and the ocean and the fringe of green trees along the shore, trying to memorize what summer looks like and the feel of sun on my skin.
We jammed little big man into one of his last remaining swim diapers, waded out to a sandbar and swished him around in the water, which had lovely warm spots where the sun had heated it up. LBM likes water. He carefully dips his hands in it and examines them. Then he'll get into it and kick his arms and legs, and smack his palms on the surface. I am proud to say he is very unbabylike when he splashes his face, meaning he doesn't cry. He frowns a bit, like he's considering the experience very carefully.
The tide was very high -- a storm surge from Ophelia? -- and huge schools of small fish were swimming along the shoreline, swaying and turning together like a ballet troupe, even forming little fish vortexes. They looked like they should be part of an Andy Goldsworthy installation. Not that he's ever done fish, but they could be very pretty.
And to cap it, a late lunch at The Shack, the Route 25A institution where you sit outside and eat fried seafood and look at the trees and the traffic going past. It's got the nicest Web site for a fried-food stand I've ever seen. I also signed up for their e-mail list, just because I want to see what kinds of e-mails The Shack sends out. I see their soft-shell crab sandwich I like is no longer called the Eugene Levy. What happened? Did he fail to tip the wait staff?
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That WAS an impressive site. Funny, I've never been. I guess I'll have to come summer with y'all sometime and check it out. And what makes a chowder "Long Island"?
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