It was inevitable.
It was time to leave Bermtopia-by-the-Sea. Check-out -- 11 a.m.
Arch Cape seemed to know. We woke up to wild winds and driving rain as if the beach was asking, "Do you REALLY want to put up with this?" Despite this, Ben lingered over every rock and piece of drift wood on our morning walk. I think the answer was "Yes."
We'll stay longer next year.
We waited till the very last minute to pack up our brave little Christmas tree, Young Bob Flynn's Christmas gift to our band of merry men (and women).
In between gathering up Christmas presents and dirty socks. . . cleaning out the fridge. . . and fussing with the last loads of laundry and dirty dishes, we each took time to perch on the couch and chairs by the picture window thoughtfully watching the rioting sea.
It was a good Christmas.
And then there was nothing to do. Bags were packed, boxes topped off. I slipped on my coat, grabbed my camera and disappeared down Sally's Alley for one last moment with one of the places I love most in the world.
It was wild -- the wind grabbed rain and white caps and tossed them up like some crazy coastal confetti. And then, the Number 2 Son was standing silently behind me. Moments later, the Number 1 arrived.
We stood, buffeted by wind and rain, for a few moments before the N2S looked over my head to his brother and said with a trademark crooked smile:
"So, what do you think, Robert?" and tipped his head toward the surf.
Our outdoor educator, the N1S, raised his eyebrows, looked toward the sea thoughtfully and grinned.
|This would be when they looked toward shore, gave me a wave |
and did a full body dunk.
Were there any happier holidays than this?
But happier, I think not. We are lucky people.