Flashes of Panic

That’s what my younger niece says when she wants to ride on my shoulders again. We took the girls with us to Reid State Park while hunting another cache; they like geocaching because there are often toddler-grade toys in the boxes. Due to closed gates in the park, the short walk to the cache became a nearly two-mile hike down and back on One Mile Beach (which is actually somewhat less than a mile.)

The pink ladies were pretty patient with us, but anyone who writes a personals ad with clichéd phrases about “long walks on the beach” should try taking them along. Sasha was pretty good, but that might be because she was able to manipulate her uncle into carrying her most of the way on his shoulders. She wanted to get down when it looked like her sister had found something interesting on the beach, and back up when we were back on the move. My back was quite sore the next day. While up, we would sing marching music; I covered the beat and most of the brass, and she would keep time on my head. The only march I could remember end-to-end was Anchors Aweigh, but I filled the gaps with half-improvised bits of all the Sousa and R.B. Hall we played in the Municipal Band.

We had a deal where I would hold on to her ankles and she would hang on to my head, but as she got tired and flopped forward over my head I would first see her little fingers curling over the bill of my hat, then come down and latch on to my sunglasses.

It was, of course, an absolutely stellar day, with both Seguin and Damriscove islands visible from the beach, not to mention Newagen, the Cuckolds, etc. I think my father was itching to get the boat in the water.

Now Playing: Fireplace from Document by R.E.M.