My wife's family gathered for a week at the beach last week, and I managed to join them for most of that time, enjoying that mystic place where ocean and land meet and battle for space. My exercise for the week consisted of nothing more strenuous than long walks on the beach. Too windy and cold most of the week, the chill kept us out of the water and huddled in sweatshirts and jeans on the porch overlooking the renourished beach's high dunes. Internet access and daily newspapers available a block away kept us connected to the outside world.
In years past — our beach trips with my wife's sister's family go back 32 years — these vacations have been more isolated. No cell phones. No Internet. Often no television or news radio. We walked and sat on the beach by day and played bridge or Trivial Pursuit by night. And we read. Everyone had a book or two or three to occupy quiet afternoons.
Some things have not changed. Last week I read one book and half of another (one fiction, one nonfiction). We walked and sat on the porch or the beach. We even played one round of Trivial Pursuit (new edition). Golf or fishing enticed some; I submitted another job application. But the biggest chore of decades ago, getting little children to bed, has been changed to the difficulty of coordinating the comings and goings of dispersed children and grandchildren, ensuring the safety and enjoyment of my wife's dad and stepmother, who have been ailing and for whom this trip was designed, and keeping everyone's diverging tastes (in food, activities and sound) compatible. My sister-in-law counted 27 family members present for some part of the week, but I lost count.
It was a successful trip, by all accounts, but I am glad, nonetheless, to be home.
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