And just as quickly as we came, so abruptly
did we leave. If I were inclined to ominous Biblical metaphors, I might even
say, like a thief in the night. However, before our ascension to 30,000 feet,
buoyed by Hawaiian Airlines Aloha spirit, we squeezed in several other iconic
East Coast events.
The Doylestown Memorial Day Parade
is as charming as it is impressive for small-town regalia and since I marched
in it with a tentative buck-toothed smile and a beaver-like hair-cut in 1988, I
always feel a certain nostalgic compulsion to jump into the processional
down East Court Street. Fortunately, I resisted that impulse by stuffing my
face with munchkins and reminding myself of the children I am charged to
only embarrass in their adolescence. Oblivious to my wistfulness and the miracle
working of my braces, my kids could not have enjoyed a fleet of arthritic veterans
more since the company of their favorite cousins made even a
"candy-less" parade thrilling.
Additionally, we spent a truly
perfect day at the beach in Ocean City, NJ with my cousin Laura
and her fetching entourage. Now what the Atlantic Ocean lacks in comparative
clarity, cleanliness and warmth, it makes up for with skeeball, Mack and Mancos
and Kohrs Brother ice-cream. Catching crabs (crustacean-variety) and
wading in the water and building castles in the sand consumed six hours of a
tantrum-free afternoon. Side commentary: the lifeguards looked like children,
which Laura insists is a function of my age, not theirs. Touché. It was Jersey
shore paradise- so take that all you Pacific Ocean elitists.
After church softball games, Chick-Fil-feasting, quaint parades, baby kissing, family
picnics, dinner parties, a Dunkin Donuts intravenous and three weeks as a single parent, when Caid scribbled
on my mom's yellow sofa with red marker, we knew it was time to take our leave.
Admittedly, flying military stand-by inspires a certain Draconian flexibility
and yet here I am, computer-side, plotting our next tentative return to the
land of those I love.
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