Menemsha. Martha's Vineyard.
12:14 pm. Monday. 2012. 28 May.
Clumsily toddled along nippy shores and murmuring waves.
Sunk my bare feet into sunkissed sands.
What I'd give to start each day with a walk along a quiet beach.
The salty edge.
The still calm.
The soft breeze.
I'd be a whole new person.
Stood on a narrow bridge over the stillest pond I can remember.
Heard a plump little frog plop squarely into that pond.
And then another!
Couldn't quite put my finger on the sound.
Maybe it was my first frog plop?
It's quite delightful.
That curious perfection ringing in my ear.
I'm one impatient little diva.
Let a few tiny drops of yolk into the separated egg whites.
Cheesecake turned out more than fine.
Thank you very much.
I can understand the hype a little better now.
Baked panko-crusted eggplant.
It had been a long time since I had been away.
A proper trip.
One that requires extensive time on a moving vessel of some sort.
As someone pointed out.
Six hours is like.
(Hab you seen that dairy campaign?
Featuring a talking cow with a Korean accent?
It's good stuff.)
I'm proud of myself.
For acknowledging that I'm still learning me.
That maybe I'm not always able.
But this time.
And for being able.