We’re at the beach. Mo is in recovery mode from having to be friendly all morning at the book festival. I am in recovery mode from reading an endless number of congressional candidate profiles after midnight (it’s actually illegal to force employees to do this in many states, but Texas is non-union, so …)
We’re sitting in our little beach chairs. I guess we’ve acclimated to life here because we have “beach chairs,” which are different than lawn chairs in that they look like they’re made for lawn gnomes, who I guess actually would be beach gnomes. Which would be different than range gnomes (gnomes, gnomes on the range, where the deer and the antelope play. Not that I recall ever seeing deer and antelope playing. That is actually illegal in some states, but not in Texas, because we’re non-union. I might have mentioned that already.)
Anyhow. Mo is sitting in her gnome chair and says sometimes she wishes we had a kid. Why, I ask. Because I really want a daiquiri. If we had a kid I could send him for a daiquiri.
Sadly, I’m six hours away from Ma on Mother’s Day weekend. If she needs a daiquiri (although I don’t think she’s ever had one), she’s on her own. This makes me sad.
It’s the perfect beach day. Warm but not crazy hot, enough people to entertain us, not a single pigeon bombing. All is well.
Off to the left of us is a family. Mo says they would make a great painting. In the same way I view life as a series of potential runs, Mo sees it as potential paintings.
A mom and dad are standing with their kid. They have several children running around, but this guy is little and seems a bit scared.
Dad is a really big guy. Man’s man. And yet he never lets go of his son’s hand. Mom comes and goes, chasing after the other kids, but Dad just stands with the kid, holding hands and watching the ocean.
Mom returns, and the three of them stand together for what seems like forever. Mom on one side in a beautiful dress that flows in the breeze. Dad on the other in his manly man Long Shorts. When a big wave rolls in, they just lift the little guy up. His own waterproof elevator.
We’re probably a hundred yards away, but you can feel the love drifting across the sand. We’re happy.
We eventually take off in search of fish or nachos (the two basic food groups), and they’re still there as we leave. I suspect today they’re having a Happy Mother’s Day.
Sorry I’m not there, Ma. We’ll be down in a couple of weeks.
And I promise to bring you a daiquiri …