Our most recent day at the beach was a
washout. We did everything right this time. We arrived early. We snagged a closer parking spot. We even remembered to bring the dolly. The
weather was, initially at least, comfortable and breezy. We were thoroughly
enjoying ourselves, eating muffins and drinking tea, watching the waves, when,
craning my neck like a hungry owl searching for prey, I spotted some ominous
looking, nearly black clouds, slowly approaching. Being ever wary, I could not take my eyes off
of them, and turned my chair so that I had a bird’s eye view.
My friend, realizing that our conversation had become completely one sided, due
to my obsession with the approaching storm, pulled a magazine out of her bag
and began to read. I quickly snapped a few pictures to send to 30-something
son, and realized the storm looked even more perilous in pictures. My friend
showed scant interest as I related to her how people were beginning to leave
the beach. She deemed it safe to stay as long as the red flag wasn’t raised. I
deemed it somewhat safe to stay as long as I didn’t hear thunder or spot any
lightning, and believe me, I was watching for it, the way an outfielder in a
sunny ball park seeks a fly ball. The storm finally did arrive, and once
overhead, gushed all over us, and all of the other stubborn, optimistic, beach
lovers who had likewise futilely wished the storm would pass us by. Most of us
gathered in an open, yet covered, area, where we could watch the storm, as well
as the people fleeing it. Once the lightning and thunder started, my friend
watched in amazement as I ducked behind a pillar. I tried to be discreet, but I was incapable of fooling my astute
friend. Yes, I was hiding from the lightning…
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