I had a really nice trip to RI for my mother's birthday. Jenica rode with me, allowing us to spend plenty of time speaking libraryspeak. More cool, though, was looking up things on her iPhon*. "Check out Clinton Correctional Facility and the chapel there." "Let's see what the weather in Naples is." More interesting things, very entertaining and good for driving.
This is the beach my sister likes to go to, her favorite swimming spot because there's never any surf. NOT. There was a Nor'easter in RI while we were there, and this is the most amazing surf. At a beach protected by a breakwater, in the Harbor of Refuge. It's called Salty Brine beach, named after one of those really dorky broadcasters. Yes, he was called Salty Brine. Even though I haven't lived in RI for 25 years I can still picture him. Swell, taking up space in my brain.
Anyway, Mark calls this Trailer Trash Beach because of the people who go there (no offense to those who live in trailers). My mother says "DON'T CALL IT THAT!"
There's never surf there and it's very shallow. What was so cool about our long walk there was the roar of the surf and the sizes of the waves. I hope my sister gets to see it like this sometime, it was so cool.
The beach walk was great--it was raining, but not too hard, and it was warm. My first spring walk in warm rain. Mark & I seem to have established a routine of going to this beach to find shells. This was only our second time doing it, but we walk with our heads looking down, scanning the sand for good shells. There aren't very many kinds of shells (well, that we find anyway). Mark found a toenail shell, which is really gross because it looks like an old man's yellowed toenail. Mostly we looked for prized scallop shells, and I found two periwinkle shells (which would totally gross me out if the snails were in them). This trip there were HUGE clam shells.
My mother is now 84. No one in the family can believe it, including her.
I'm going back to RI for Easter. That's coming right up. There will be daffodils and forsythia in bloom then. My mother cut some branches of forsythia for me to bring home and force to bloom. Yes, that's right, FORCE them to bloom--"Now bloom, damn it, or I'll turn you into firewood."
We have mud, deep mud here now. It's way goopy and I can't drive in it to my house, but it freezes every night so I can at least walk to my car at the end of the driveway without getting mud up to my ankles. I've had my car stuck in the mud, up to the floorboards, twice. Not much makes you feel stoopider than getting your car stuck in the mud. Once the mud froze and I had to get a big tow truck pull it out. Then I threw frozen mud to all who drove in back of me. I was not popular on the roadways.
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