This remarkable, fifteen pound conch shell we found washed up on the beach as we walked in the powerful surf will not be coming home with us. Honey refused to add another pound to our luggage. He would prefer I stuck to small souvenirs like a new pair of silver earrings--stuff I could tuck into my purse. How mean. How no fun. How adult.
Disappointed, I offered it to the kid in the next lounge chair who had had showed me his collection of tiny shells he found along the shore, but his mom said no too. His face dropped. Some folks have totally lost it-- the awe of childhood. So back to the beach it will go to thrill some other kid whose adult will say " I'm not carrying that thing ," or "you know how much it would cost to ship?" I say who cares. It's an awesome memory of an awesome romp in an awesome sea that's priceless.
I didn't feel like painting today, but did. The painting looks it. I suspect I have to get off this lounge and move to some new spot. Last year's pen and ink of this view was fresher and more successful. I did, however,forget the conch once I started to splash around. Painting poolside is so much more enjoyable than reading, but a lot less exciting than hunting for seashells along the seashore--at least that's what Sally says. If you don't know who Sally is, shame on you.