Yep, it's the Fourth of July. Those of you inclined towards waving flags ought to be in a wrist-aching frenzy about now. As for me, it's around 9:30 pm, and I'm back in our apartment, drinking some fine Kirin Ichiban, sweating in a pair of camo shorts and listening to the shelling...er...fireworks going on outside. It's sort've like the opening scene of "Apocalypse Now," only without all the napalm and broken glass. Got back into the city from Strong Island this afternoon around 5pm. Peg and the kids are still out there, and will remain there until the tail end of next weekend. I came back in to attend to the job tomorrow morning, although its demands were already distracting me from seasonal relaxtion, what with this one being sprung and that one getting sentenced. To borrow the motto of another media outlet, the news watch never stops.
Said news developments aside, my long weekend was pleasant enough, although otherwise simple endeavors like beach-going, pool-swimming and even lounging around become arduous logistical operations when you're carting around two little people. Charlotte, our beloved two year old, managed to both develop a whopping goose egg on her forehead after a sudden face plant in my mother's kitchen and fall off a friend's slide into the deep end of a pool (she was fished out within nanoseconds, but it was still a scary experience for all concerned parties), while little Oliver (not yet four months old) suceeded in staying awake, alert and crying his little round head off for a record-breaking thirty-hour period without so much as a fleeting catnap. Couple that with a thick humidity that rivaled pre-monsoon season Cambodia, and you have our holiday in a nutshell.
But it's not all complaints (surprise, surprise). It was lovely to get out of the city and see some long lost friends I hadn't layed eyes on in a while. I got to knock back a few beers in the smooth, warm July evening, surrounded by swaying trees and fireflies. I got to take several dips in my Mom's pool and swoon with my drop-dead gorgeous wife under a starry Summer sky. I got to play a round of golf (admittedly not my sport,....not that I really have one to begin with, but that's another post) with my grand ol' step-father, John, accrueing a sunburn in the process that has made my neck resemble a succulently rare cut of Prime Rib (see pic above). I got to sit by the pool and re-read a dog-eared copy of Jon Krakauer's haunting "Into the Wild," and even finally got to see Steven Spielberg's "Munich" in its rather long-winded entirety, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I got to drive around Quogue in my Mom's old crappy Taurus, listening to a mixtape I made in 1986 and wallowing a wellspring of nostalgia. I even got to sleep a little later than usual when my adoring mother volunteered to keep Charlotte entertained at 6 am. All told, life did not suck.
The memory of this past weekend that pervades, however, is having to say goodbye to little Charlotte seven hours ago, prompting her to burst into tears and break my heart in the process. Friday cannot come soon enough.
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