Yes, I am still talking about Father's Day.
Anyway, we spent the day with my family at my Grandparent's beach house.
We did this because, sadly, my Grandparent's have decided to sell their home... and next summer new owners will have their own Father's Day celebration here...
...After they (meaning the new owners) more than likely tear it down and build a massive, hideous, Mc-Mansion with 10 sky lights and a toilet seat that closes all by itself.
Change is hard.
No one likes it.
Obviously I am no exception.
I am wearing my bitchy face as I type this.
I'll be honest....
I kind of get wrapped up in the chaos of my own life, and sometimes have a hard time paying attention to what is going on around me.
I knew it was our last day as one big extended family at the beach house...
... but it didn't really mean all that much to me until I went inside to put the Dolly down for a nap.
It occurred to me that I was nursing her in a room that my mother had nursed me in.
I was probably sitting in the very same rocking chair, singing the very same song... 28 years later.
There is no other room or place in my life, that I can say that about.
This house is the only place in the world that I experienced as a baby... that my children also experienced, as babies.
Does that make sense??
After I put the Doll down, I went back to the beach with new eyes... ones that wanted to remember.
My Grandparent's have another home they live in during the winter months... they say that they can't keep up with the beach house anymore... hence putting it on the market.
But... if you were to spend even five seconds looking around, you'd realize no stone has ever been left untouched... that this is a home that is loved.
For example, they use seashells instead of mulch in their gardens.
This "Alice in Wonderland," tree overlooks a hammock that my cousins and I used to flip each other in for hours.
We'd pull the Hell out of a rope my Grandfather had fastened to make it swing back and forth... we'd pull that thing until we knocked the ever loving daylights out of each other on the ground.
Years later, my Dad held Ladybug as she pulled on that very same rope, under that crazy ass tree, full of bird houses built by my Grandfather....
The man who named this house, "On The Rocks,"... because that's how he likes his drinks.
Who is the only person on Earth with more hats than Lovebug.
I remember seeing these nails on the patio when I was little and adding up the numbers, like a math problem.
I had no appreciation for the fact that the patio was actually built that year.
1938... was apparently a year that no one minded pounding fifty nails into concrete.
I would have totally given up after the 1.
Every summer of my life was spent on the sand with my cousins... napping in the 3rd floor bedroom... listening to my Grandmother's wind chimes.
I spent hours, hours, hours collecting sea glass to add to my Grandmother's large collection... and I (kind of morbidly) asked my Grandparent's more than 10 years ago if I could have my Grandfather's glider couch when they die.
I didn't appreciate how much Father's Day meant to my Grandparent's until I watched my own children... the 4th generation, experience Father's Day there too.
The home where my siblings and I flew kites, and collected hermit crabs.
Where the floors are painted kelly green, and are never, ever sandy.
Where all the kids piled into the outdoor shower, played bocce ball, and sat in the foot bath... not all at the same time.
Where my Father and my Uncles worked together to build a Jetty to help save our sand...
Where for decades, my cousin's and I dodged concussions while reaching into a "slam-down" wood box filled with sand toys...
Where my father met my mother 36 summers ago.
Where, at least for my siblings and I... it all began.