Spanish moss, sand dollars & shooting stars

Last week, we re-charged our batteries. It was a family affair: 15 people, 1 house, on an island together for a week. Bliss.

I'd honestly planned to blog from the beach, but when the time came to seat myself in front of this screen, I couldn't do it. Between bike rides and sand dollar hunts and pretending to read on the beach while really just chatting about nothing and watching the waves, I couldn't bring myself to post. These days spent together are far too few not to take full advantage of time, on which we're all constantly running low. But at the beach, time is on your side, even if the days fly by. 

Hilton Head Island, South Carolina was a first for us, at least all together. Our family has been on the Delaware beach train (a train I'll always love) for many years. But sometimes, it's nice to branch out and see what it is everyone's been talking about, what we're "missing." 

And it certainly was a different scene down south where the Spanish moss is plentiful; the beaches are as wide as football fields at noon and narrow down to a few meters by 5pm; and the ice cream shop closes at "tiiiin" instead of "ten." Although most places in our neighborhood, we discovered, closed closer to eight o'clock. Sometimes this made us stir-crazy, other times we relished in the nowhere-to-go feeling.

There were only a couple other groups on our strip of beach, meaning plenty of space to spread out and play games. Although the hard, tightly compacted sand makes for hard landings when the games get rough. 

My favorite time of day on the beach is always the late afternoon, when the sun's rays subside and the shadows lengthen. The wind picks up, and with it, the waves bulge higher, each one trying to out-do the last. At a certain point, I'd resign myself to another beach day's end and stroll home, skin salty and brown and dotted with sand. 

But we'd always get back down to the beach at night, long after dinner was over and card games had been played. We searched for turtle eggs to hatch so we could help the tiny creatures survive their perilous journey to the sea (of which we saw none). We also searched for shooting stars (of which we saw many). And one night, we got to see a fierce lightening storm far out in the ocean, shimmering reds and oranges between its frequent flashes of light. 

I don't know where we'll decide to go next year, but as long as there are a few beach chairs and umbrellas by the ocean, I think we'll be all set. 

The Dog Days of Rehoboth Beach

Rehoboth Beach, Delaware: my second States-side home. For as long as I can remember, and then a few years further back, my family has been visiting this small seaside town in Delaware. Today, slightly bigger (and a bit more trashy), Rehoboth still has the charm of boardwalk bars full of salty sea air, beach cottages in leafy neighborhoods, and of course the Paratrooper ferris wheel at Funland. 

I must admit, this castle is not our creation

Last week, NS & I crossed the ocean for our annual family getaway in Rehoboth. We quickly adapted to the beach lifestyle - slow, leisurely days followed by casual family dinners and wild.... or maybe not so wild nights. Admittedly, the wildest it got was our Dragon lair cab ride home from seeing Citizen Cope at the Bottle & Cork (self=proclaimed "The Greatest Rock 'n Roll Bar in the World"). This station wagon cab's roof was covered with parking cones shaped like dragon spikes with the following words across the window - "Enter this really gnarley dragon wagon if you dare." Cabs are surprisingly scarce at the beach, and so we did enter, and made it home in one piece, albeit brains cluttered with some of the dirtiest jokes I've ever heard. 

We enjoyed all the classic beach foods> Kohr Bros ice cream on the boardwalk (despite my sister's insistence that it mysteriously doesn't melt) >Thrasher's french fries (since 1929), soaked in vinegar > Grotto Pizza > smoothies from Greenman (one of the few healthy things we ate the whole week); and the Rehoboth Farmer's Market, full of delicious goodies straight from Deleware's farmlands.

The week was truly wonderful, but flew by far too fast and before we knew it, we were on our way back to Sweden. But there was one last party: celebrating this amazing woman, my grandmother's, 100th BIRTHDAY!!!! Dozens of relatives gathered, from all corners of the nation, to commemorate this milestone on what was named Louise Dodd Day in Maryland. How many people get to have a day named after them?!

Happy Birthday Grandmama! 

Globes, Silly Bands and Scorpion Bowls: Boston in the Summertime

I landed at Boston’s Logan Airport at 11:50am last Friday morning, more than relieved to be off a plane where I’d been squished between the windows to my right and a woman who probably should’ve bought two seats to my left. It felt great to walk again.

By 1:15, I was lounging in the sun with a cranberry-lime seltzer water, soaking in the warmth that I’d been missing from the depths of my air-conditioned office. I was back in Beantown.

A reunion that evening with five of my lovely BC roomies over Upper Crust Pizza and an assortment of beverages was long-overdue and wonderful. We caught up and planned the night ahead – a trip to Atlantic Beer Garden, ABG as the locals say, a new sports bar/ club/ roof deck right on the harbor. Nice location, right next to Cirque du Soleil, with a random assortment of clientele and stairs that smelled like puke. Yum.

Our Saturday morning sleep-in lasted until our stomachs needed more substance than leftover pizza so we headed to brunch, and then on to the M Street Beach, South Boston’s new summer hot spot. It wasn’t Miami (well, I’ve never been there anyway, so who knows), but it was close. Tons of young people everywhere lounging on somewhat seaweed-strewn sand, their coolers kept close. The water was refreshingly cold, and we watched as a long-distance race ended, feeling only slightly unaccomplished as 70-year olds strode ashore from the competition.

The breeze sent us home mid-afternoon for Thai carry-out and preparation for the night ahead. It started with scorpion bowls at Long Wharf's The Landing where we consumed exactly 1 gallon of drink (minus the ice), then onward to the Sail Loft, a tiny, lodge-like bar seemingly on the edge of teetering into the harbor. It was naturally packed in the middle and on the 1 by 1 meter sized deck, and empty in the back.

We decided this would be a good place to distribute the sea creature and dinosaur silly bands we each had brought along to bestow on whoever we felt was worthy. Which included the doorman, the guy who helped me get gum off my sandal, the guy who worked at EasyBake Oven, the Californian who seemed to think he was in the greatest bar in the world, and an assortment of international travellers, who we decided should spread the craze to their respective countries. No word yet on the progress of this endevour, but we should probably be getting commission from the founder of this little money-making trend.

Alas, the weekend sadly came to an end with Sunday brunch at The Beehive on Tremont Street. Mmmmm turkey hash and poached eggs. I hope it won't be another three years before the six of us reunite... until then, I've got my stegosaurus and jellyfish wrapped safely around my wrist.