Lest I Forget

The rain was so heavy, it seemed like a solid sheet of water hitting our car, the roof sounding like a tin one on an old cottage. And that is how our whirlwind of a week at the beach began, driving to South Carolina in two cars in the pouring rain. We arrived just before midnight at the house on the ocean's shore. The kids' cousins had been asleep for hours, but the adults had stayed up. It seemed only minutes after I had fallen asleep that Peter's fussing roused me and I looked at the time. 5:30 am. I groggily made my way down the unfamiliar stairs and found the door to the porch. With the sun slowly bringing morning's light over the water, he and I cuddled and savored the quiet, for there were 17 other souls in that house. Quiet is not one of the words I would use to describe our week. It was Sunday, but Mass would not be until 11:45, so we ventured onto the beach and took the first of many walks. The sand on Edisto was coarser than Folly Beach, and the beach had ...

Whew! What a month. We are back from Kitty Hawk. Peter and I hung out together on our first day early enough to watch the sun rise over the ocean. It was unseasonably cool that first day. The kids wanted desperately to get in the pool. Through chattering teeth, they swore that they were having a good time and were not too cold. I think he looks cold. Olivia and I had the same plan. Hang out poolside. Doesn't everyone use flippers as float paddles? They work ever so well! Poolside with the camera. My goal was to stay right there in that lounge chair. I had no desire to set foot in that pool. After lunch, we headed out to the Wright Brothers Memorial. My sister and her family met us there. Jack has been fascinated by all things relating to the Wright Brothers lately, and we were not disappointed. The man giving a talk impressed us with his knowledge and his love for the subject. They wanted to leave flowers on the memor...

Anna is joining in the Young Writers Club again this week. Every year we go the the beach with Grandma and Pa and aunts and uncles and cousins. And every evening we go crab hunting in the dark with Aunt Holly. And sometimes we walk to the pier. And we jump waves. And we make sandcastles and dribble castles and we boogie-board the waves. The end. I wanted to add her original work because it fills an entire page. She worked on this for several days. We talked about all the things that make the beach trip special and made a list on the dry-erase board. Then she set to work, every so often calling out to me "How do you spell....?" and I would ask her to just sound it out and to not worry about that, but work on remembering all the details.

As I sit here in the still of the morning, smelling the coffee brew, with the kids still sleeping, I actually have a moment to breath. And think. Last week, we went on our annual vacation to Folly Beach, SC. We go with my parents, my sisters, and their families. We stay in one big house and have a wonderful time catching up and enjoying one another's company. With all those people, it is not a quiet time. So I try to awaken early each day to have that quiet with God. I slip downstairs and tip-toe out the door to the most lovely ocean view. Usually, the sun is just peeking over the edge of the horizon and the beach is speckled with only a few other people. There are those who are setting up their poles to do a little fishing. There are people out walking their dogs. I even see a woman doing some kind of meditative thing while sitting in the surf. I walked and walked and wondered. This year, the beach trip coincided with another annual event. The day Ben died. How could it be three y...