I wish I were at the beach. Even if it were Old Orchard Beach in Maine, I'd rather be at the beach than here. I could put on a sweater over my t-shirt and shorts, and walk along the water's edge freezing off my kneecaps and loving every second of the sensation. The air would be salt-laden, a wonderful lung-cleansing tonic for the soul, and the wind would tousle the seagrass. I would watch the kestrels darting up and over the dunes and listen as they called to each other. The sound of waves alternately caressing then crashing against the rock outcropping up ahead would bring my blood pressure down as if by magic, and I would be free from the constant worries of my life. Free.
Like a bad penny.... We used to scuba dive as our hobby, a hobby which eventually led to the procurement/construction of a small dive trailer to haul four sets of gear and four cylinders. It was a simple but elegant design - a box on a single axle frame, with the beginnings of a mural painted on both sides, and dive flags at either end. The kids had helped paint it, with Stephen taking special pains with the sharks. When we moved to Nashville, we sold it. We didn't dive as often, and we had no place to store it. Nearly ten years have passed since that October in '99 when we came up here, and I hadn't thought much about the trailer. I thought I had seen it the last time we went to Greenfield, but I wasn't sure. Then Saturday my mother-in-law called to say the neighbor across the street had our trailer for sale. The neighbor was asking a certain price, and we offered a little less. She called back later to say it was ours for the picking up. Sunday we made the trip to fet...
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