surf

Funny, but for 3 days I had no anxiety "attacks". Just me and the beach and the 2 guys who are still all mine. And the one who felt guilty about it being a working (mini) vacation didn't mind the clothes and jewelry I found in the cute little beachy artsy shoppes (shops might be Walmart so the spelling is key here). Even the time Caleb's crutches washed away in the surf and we had to have new ones expressed to the nearest pharmacy (because it's not like the shops (or shoppes) at the beach stock child size fore-arm crutches), and just use the one meanwhile that his dedicated father had found out in the breakers, I relax on the beach. It must be the assault on your senses by the slamming, banging waves, and the wind all over, and the sunlight even on an overcast day and the heat and the smells and there's just no room for anything else.

Then we came home and 1)I brought some sort of the whole right side of my face is swollen ear infection with me 2)Caleb had not done any kitchen work while we were gone which is his one real job 3)my mom was feeling too 92, grumpy and miserable, enough that she was bothered that I had new stuff and a teapot for my sister but only leftover oysterettes from a restaurant for her 4)many emails awaited re: various academic type meetings and advisees etc. 5)some worker guy pulled out a perfectly gorgeous lavendar and sprawling rosemary at my mom's house before they decided they didn't need to cut through that wall after all and 6)I was reminded that I am mad at several people all named Bob. Caught in all those waves... but wait 1)penicillin and vicodin 2)a repentant reformed Caleb, well no not quite, but he did try hard to catch-up and apologised 3)my Mom told me about the grumpiness due to the oysterettes so I could laugh with her -and admitted they were good oysterettes after all 4)my advisee graduate student told me I was "awesome" 5)maybe we saved the lavendar and I'm cooking with the rosemary and afterall the work is finally getting done and 6)... nope, still pretty ticked at the Bobs. Surf's up. Everybody jump in.

And I think I want a convertible for my 50th birthday even if I couldn't actually take either the 92 or 5 year old in it.