Ian walked into the little book room where his grandparents were sleeping on the futon/air mattress combo and serenaded them with the theme song from Star Wars. I snuck a bottle of chilled white wine into the swim club. One set of white legs is covered in Dora bandaids, while the other set is festooned with more manly skin-colored bandaids. Charred meat on the grill. Candles on the porch. Ice cream at the pool. Leftovers for lunch. Where are the bathing suits and sun screen and beach towels? Will my white legs blind the children?
I’m recovering from a weekend of guests and excess. The words will resume after I jump start my brain. All I can manage at this moment are some photos.
Apt. 11d 