March 22nd, 2023
6:33, from the Balcony.
March 18th, 2023
The complex business of replenishing a beach…

… goes on in front of our Rehoboth Beach balcony. We love to watch it.

Everyone does. It draws crowds.

October 5th, 2022
We saw lots of mantis shrimp on the beach…

… something you never see. Storm must have “stirred them up.” One was still alive, and I asked my sister to pick it up and put it in the surf. She declined, which turned out to be very smart. They’re vicious.

October 5th, 2022
Still a pretty riled up ocean, but this morning…

… the sun came out – briefly – and we all ran down to the beach to celebrate.

October 4th, 2022
UD posts from Azafran Restaurant.
October 4th, 2022
Pressed against the wind and the rain on the boardwalk, we laughed wildly while I sang “It’s a Lovely Day Today” at the top of my lungs.

Being on the tail end of a hurricane turns out to be a real tonic for ol’ UD, who must share this odd trait with others, because she’s far from alone beside the raging ocean. The restaurants – on a dreary sodden Monday night – were packed; we had to wait at the bar for a table, but that was fine cuz the bartender wanted to know the details of the Rapoport/Ocean City legal case, so actually we had to tear ourselves away from him.

Obviously there’s a drama to it all – the shimmying trees, the wind/waves roar, the watery watery world – and everyone’s pleasantly stirred. The inner/outer contrast is a thing too – our zennish hotel has hearths aplenty, and perfumes from their spa drift along the air; and in case you need more tranquillizing, they’ve just this year inserted a glowing bar into the glowing lobby.

My drink, however, is black, fruit-flavored, tea; and I stare at a fireplace and watch my tea’s smoke curl up while I listen to an audiobook version of AVENTURES D’ALICE AU PAYS DES MERVEILLES (one must continue to set oneself challenges, even into one’s dotage) through my earbuds.

October 3rd, 2022
Rainy Days in Rehoboth

Off to two days at the soggy beach. Blogging continues.

June 3rd, 2022
Morning After the Storm

Emerging from the cool mist: A bird, a kayaker, and a boardwalk stroller.

A little corner of corn, along with a mulberry tree full of red winged blackbirds.

June 2nd, 2022
A pair of presidential helicopters flying over the beach…

… signaled, this morning, the imminent appearance of the Bidens, who have a place down the block.

June 1st, 2022
Beautifully distressed, beautifully planted…

… green containers in front of a Rehoboth Beach house.

May 31st, 2022
We’d walked past the boardwalk lamps…

… and now, at one in the morning, it was just beach, stars, and dark sky. The waves pounded rather scarily. On the blue tarp path to the sand, a solitary person startled us. “I was lying down on the path for the meteor shower, but I got up when I heard you.” A slender young man, maybe seventeen, wearing a hockey uniform, appeared in our flashlight. “My mom told me there might be a meteor shower.”

“Might even be a meteor storm,” said UD. “But might be nothing.”

“I’ve seen twelve meteors already,” he said, excited. Also genial, polite.

“That’s promising! Any of them have tails with fireballs?”

“No, but most of them were very bright.”

UD liked his excitement, recognized it as the same species as hers — the anticipation of an insane cosmic shakeup. As in – why should that not be? Why should the infinitely firm (yeah I know it’s not really; but that’s how it looks to us) firmament not do a big ol’ break dance and splatter itself with sweat? Why shouldn’t that occasionally be? Not Stars Fall From Heaven stuff, but the universe for, say, twenty minutes, losing its glacial poise – its gassy poise. Letting its freak flag fly…

And here were Les UDs, ideally situated – prone under a huge clear sky on an empty stretch of soft sand. Light breeze, seventy degrees.


And certes, as soon as we lay down, bright meteors (and jets, and satellites; and, over there, bejeweled container ships) blasted out of the black, their silver stilettos thrilling the three of us… But there weren’t many of them — not a shower, not a storm, not even a swarm; merely jabs here and there concerning the death of comets.

And fine. Our humble humanoid charge was to thank the divine withholder for at least this much glint, even this weakly dropped hint of the amazement up there.

Mr UD babbled throughout about big bang controversies and changes in the laws of physics and UD tried to follow as her eyes swept the sky.

After, UD told the hockey kid about Cherry Springs State Park. He whipped out his phone and read, entranced. We left him there (Mr UD made sure also to mention Big Meadows) in the bowl of the universe, in his little circle of cellphone light.

May 28th, 2022
2 Beach Pics
Dude catches a fish just as Mr UD stops to chat with him. Mr UD says he brings him luck. Dude agrees. Dude’s waving the fish at UD, who asked him to wave the fish at her.
Diapered, bootied, and pompadoured ducks on the boardwalk.
May 27th, 2022
With all the storms kicking up the tides…
… stone collectors pace the shore all day, looking for beauties. Here’s one UD found. She calls it Australia, because its brown imprint seems more or less the shape of that country. Its delicate lines even mark latitude and longitude. Or are they a map of flight paths?
May 27th, 2022
Sisyphean Sweeper in the Soup

Day Two of our mutual observation of the Sisyphean Sand Sweeper, who emerges cinematically from the sea mist.

There he is, far right on the boardwalk, having brushed his bit of silt beachward… He grasps his broom in his right hand as he boards his bicycle … “Does he just do this one opening,” asks Mr UD as we watch him wobble off, “or does he do a line of them?”

He disappears into the haze.

And ol’ UD instantly thought of Don DeLillo’s story, “Midnight in Dostoevsky,” which, as the title suggests, evokes a darker than dark, zero-visibility world, and places in it an intriguing person who emerges from the cloud of unknowing; it then adds two observers who, day after day, discuss among themselves this human apparition. In the story, it’s a rather shabby old man in a snowy empty upstate NY town who every day takes a solitary walk in the snow; here, in our fashionable Delaware beach town, it’s a thready old guy who appears every morning to accomplish obscure self-appointed rounds.

May 26th, 2022
UD’s homemade beach stones…

… Ready for the oven.

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