“This, if I could just stop this for a minute and bottle this right here,” my daughter-in-law said Saturday night. We were at the table on the screen porch at the beach house eating Ryan’s boiled shrimp and Tom’s waygu steak. I had cut flowers from the yard to decorate the table, and we were all full of meat and peas and Brabant potatoes with the crispiest, most heavenly charred onions I’d ever tasted, and I couldn’t have agreed with her more.
Over the weekend, I bought new plants from the nursery that features Chomper the 50-year-old alligator and also the nursery I love where I haven’t been since COVID. Afterwards, I planted the plants in the ground and visited with a friend I hadn’t seen since November. In the dark under the house, we played flashlight tag (twice, once when the neighbor called to see if we were being robbed), and I went two rousing games of Carcassone and didn’t even come in last.
Tom cooked Memphis ribs, and Ryan fixed custom slaw for Friday night supper. For Saturday lunch, my DIL put together sandwiches with Bellegarde Bakery’s fabulous bread. The men cooked blueberry waffles and crawfish eggs for Sunday morning breakfast. In between, I baked butterscotch squares, a true hit.
We were happy.
We were together.
Except when the family went out on the boat, and we decide, all of us together, that the wind was too high for us old people. So Tom and I stayed home. I finished the last of the work needed on a manuscript then napped on the cot on the porch in the sun until it was time to regroup at the yacht club where we crashed a Kentucky Derby party and drank fake mint juleps while Medina Spirit won, against all odds, and I claimed if I’d been betting, I’d have bet on that horse, because Funky Cold Medina, of course.
All weekend, the older boy dreamed his architect dreams, and the younger boy opened his eyes wide, pretending to blush. They both helped me in the games because they are kind boys, and Tom said to them as we left, “Remember, who loves you?”
And they both responded, “You do.”
I haven’t even mentioned redeeming Tom’s birthday certificate from a pre-COVID purchase for the coolest shirt, so cute on him. Mike the neighbor stopping by. My walking on the beach where the seagulls screamed (getting my trophy for steps (twice!). The older boy cocooning in the hammock, and the younger boy coming downstairs to find me to talk. Or so many, many other things.
All of that–all of that–happened in one, glorious weekend.
If only we could bottle it and keep it forever. But we can. Here, in these words. And in our minds, and, mostly, in our hearts.