Below is a summary of my recent ProJo publication … link here …
Our summer Sunday ritual was to go to Lido Beach in Narragansett. Excitement grew when I opened my eyes and saw rays of bright sun filtering through the blinds. I jumped out of bed.
Dad made numerous trips up and down the stairs to pack items that would define the day; dishes, a pan of macaroni, meatballs and gravy, a coffee pot, sheets for a tent, chairs, a folding table, boccie balls, baseballs, bats, gloves, pails and shovels.
They would not let us go swimming for one hour after eating !! WHAT??
We parked next to my aunt and uncle and made a tent by tying sheets from one car to the other. Trunks open, folding chairs and tables out, blankets down, it was time for lunch. The Sterno fuel was lit and the macaroni and meatballs were reheated. The aroma of sauce mixed with the salt air whetted our appetites. How good it was to squeeze a torpedo roll softened and stuffed with warmed meatballs.
We danced atop the hot sand while running to the rolling surf. We stood at water’s edge, sinking our feet deeper into trenches of sand hollowed by the tide. We rode majestic waves that tumbled us to the shore. We stumbled up, twirled and ran in again. The Block Island boat glided on the distant horizon at its predictable hour.
There was more; crabbing, gathering starfish and periwinkles, shells, rocks and driftwood. We built sand castles. We buried each other in the sand. As the sun descended, we headed to the cold outdoor showers, gasping under the frigid water. The sinking sun illumined the evening sky. A mist rolled through.
Sunday at the shore was an experience to embrace and appreciate.