So, the computer's on its last, emphysemic, wheezing gasps, and I cannot, nay WILL NOT, wrap my head around buying a new one. Never mind.
So, I'm in the midst of baking not one, not two, not even the three called-for, but four...that's right...FOUR pound cakes. And it's 9pm. Which means bedtime is going to be well past my happy time tonight. Never mind. (I plan to post the recipe to share on that one, later this week, provided they taste as wonderful as they smell.) Baking til the wee hours? Never freaking mind.
So, the laundry's piled up, the house could do with a tidy-up, the weather wasn't as warm as promised today...Never Mind. Because nothing, nothing, is that much of a bother, when you've just returned from a trip to the beach.
Which has me realizing we really do not get away often enough. Nor does our entire culture, for that matter, get away enough. Ah, experiencing some nostalgia for our former life...on the beach. In Europe...the land that goes on holiday. With alarming (for us nose-to-the-grindstone Yanks) regularity. Never mind.
Here's how it went down.
Oregon Coast. A beach front cabin. The mister, the kiddos, and myself. Blessedly alone, together.
Plenty of time spent playing in the sand...
...flying kites...
...exploring...
...catching waves a major priority (for all but this photographer)...
...and plenty of time spent gazing out at the ocean.
Ah...what's that there? Tyler's Beachcomber? That's right! Off the needles the very first day at the beach! Phew...I managed it!
And he actually loves it. This gal here, the one typing while looking at the photo of an awesomely grinning boy, is one proud and happy gal.
What a lovely weekend away. It is so good to just go...and be.
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