Another week of wet, 95 degree days. Afternoons growing sweatier by the second. An entire city wondering, "When's it going to rain?" Stir into the stew a bought of Future Fever, and you have a pretty good idea of this last week.
For years I have heard the string of destination, "This is an A train to Far Rockaway/JFK Airport," crackle through crusty subway speakers or felt the disappointment of a Lefferts A rolling up to the platform, forcing me to adjust my beach commute accordingly.
Memorial Day and Labor Day seem strange holidays to signal the "beginning" and "end" of summer to Americans (the mourning of lost soldiers and the rights of American workers?), but I do love the spirit with which we embrace them. Three-day weekends are a unifying gift...
I have a co worker with whom I regularly discuss passions. Hers: trees, leaves and all things outdoors. Mine: beach, beach, beach (to be reductive). She asked me recently, 'Kimmy, why don't you just move to California?' My reply, 'Because I live here.'