Ebb and Flow –– A Summ’a Holiday Tale

(for your listening pleasure while you read...)

Deb: We just returned from a weeklong holiday with friends. We rented a beautiful beach house and spent a glorious week with Sandy and Greg, two longtime friends whom we see fairly often but have not holidayed with in years. Isn’t it funny when you reach a certain age and “long time friends” replaces “old friends”? I chuckled to myself when I caught myself typing it. These long time friends called us out of the blue with this cottage suggestion, assuming I think that we would not be free, which is usually the case. The fact that we were was in itself a good omen. Riffing off Friday’s blog-post about walking through an open door, we walked through that open door without hesitation and were rewarded tenfold for doing so.

Four ebbin' friends

Even good friends, dear friends, fun friends, can be tough to live with. But this holiday was chilly goodness from the get-go. Easy peasy lemon squeezie into a martini.

Colin and Deb 4-ever!!!!

I marveled as, day after day, we just ebbed and flowed with the tide. Everyone did exactly what they wanted when they wanted, and we all came together as naturally as the sunrise. The same sunrise that none of us saw, by the by. At this point I might moan and shake my head at the regret of that, but it was never my intention to see a sunrise, nor do I think it was anyone else's. For any one of you who might be inclined to ask why we didn’t see a sunrise, my answer would be: “Didn’t want to. Too damn early.” If the sunrise gets its shit together for the 9am slot, I’m in. 

But we did see plenty of sunsets, which we celebrated with Cocktails. Cocktails were held strictly at 5pm, except on those occasions when they were funned over by accident. When this happened someone would invariably start to whine, reminding us to stay within the parameters of the previously established cocktail timeframe.

M'honey

We did make ourselves some delicious simple summer meals and ate as the sun was sinking  (for a fab fun fact on the sinking sun click the youtube link below). We played games at night and, one by one, we disappeared from the day as easily as we had arrived. All different timing, depending on the night and the pepe.

Dishes got washed, meals got cooked, tables got set, wine got poured, and it all worked seamlessly without so much as a rumble. Relaxed, simple, and easy was the order of the day. Someone flowed in, someone flowed out. And the wine joined in with the flowing.

Loving and relaxed

As I lounged with my book, I would think “it would be great to hear some tunes” and before I finished the thought, on came tunes. Or I would bring out chips in a bowl, just as someone else was opening dip. Oh, and in case this affects your holiday plans, there are no chips and dip left in the whole of Huron county.

Any time of the day you could find us sitting together in silence or sitting together laughing our asses off. Isn’t it heaven on a stick when you are so comfortable with people that you can sit in silence?

Morning walk after a storm

Halfway through the week––during kite day, I believe––we employed the notion of the beach cocktail or “pre”-cocktail cocktail. This came in the form of a cold dry rose or a cold beer. Come on! Holiday!!!

Let's go fly a kite

I'm doing it I'm doing it!!!

It was one glorious week that we are hell-bent on repeating. Nothing to do, nothing to distract. The howling thunderstorm replaced the solicitor, and the seagull screech, the hammering of a street reno.

The waves lulled us to sleep and woke us up.

Summ’atime. Go with the flow baby, go with the flow.

Summ'a girl with wine

Barbara: Sigh. I know I’ve had my own holidays, and will continue to do so obviously, but there is something so viscerally lovely about hearing someone else’s holiday experience (well, maybe it requires a Deb-level description, sigh, oh sigh, so good). But still. I love it. 

It’s like watching movies with gorgeous homes and wishing you could live there. (The beach house in Something’s Gotta Give? Oh yeah, baby.) They call it “real estate porn” and I get it. Makes me hot. So, in that vein, I think this kind of post should be called “holiday porn”. Give it to me and give it to me good.

Thanks, Deb, for sharing your most intimate experience ;) 

(and, btw, thanks Deb for this fascinating––and funny––video!)