Day 56: The Way Life Should Be

After last call Em, Conor and I devised a brilliant plan for a late night excursion to Wafflehouse. There we loudly proclaimed our appreciation of their food and service to all the many 2am patrons of that fine establishment, confident that they too would share our enthusiasm. Oh delicious food! Oh dear friends!

Went home and slept a few hours before setting out northward and eastward to Maine with my father. Thoroughly exhausted, I let him drive. It was the first time on this roadtrip that I've been in a passenger seat. Tried to nap as much as possible, so the subject of my year differed would not be discussed in length. My father turned 60 this year, and his driving is deteriorating as he gets older. As much as he worries about me for what he perceives as my Peter Pan tendencies, I worry about him for his denial of his own limitations. It's a strange thing when you grow up enough to recognize that your parents may need your help.

We got to the family beach house in Biddeford Pool, Maine around dinner, the most consistent home I've known. All four sisters, my aunts in every sense except blood or marriage, were there along with many other people beloved as kin. We were hustled into a tent that had been pitched in the yard for a potluck dinner, open bar, and lengthy catchups. A true homecoming to one of the most beautiful places in the world to me. Cool breezes, salt in the air, fresh homemade food, the worn gray shingled buildings, and tinkling of piano keys heard through an open window. After sunset, we had a driftwood bonfire on the beach. Spent time joking with the cousins, over a gin and tonic, under the milky way, to the soft sounds of an outgoing tide.
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