Over Thanksgiving, Florida did her best, brisk November impersonation. Winter light is such a dead giveaway.
We walked on the beach one day and the tide was so high we skirted the ledge of the dunes, like carving bites out of spongey cake with our feet. The entire shoreline was littered with reeds, and the three of us—mom, dad and I—gathered as much trash as we could carry on the loop back. The whole scene was pretty unforgiving and inhospitable.
It’s funny now that “going home” is like visiting a crime scene. I tend to feel a little radioactive when I’m not among strangers, but my family is pretty valiant.
I’m pretty sure my grandmother, now 97, didn’t recognize me when we came to visit her. In fact, I think I made her uncomfortable, which is probably all in my head. But so is dementia, so.
-C.
[Deets for the cheap seats: Endless Rose lace dress, Rag & Bone Newbury booties.]
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