In recent news: I was shocked to learn that the Duchess was willing to put aside her differences with NYC's Fire Island and deign to return to its sordid shores.
So she, Tess and I got in the van with some of my favorite NYC imports, sorry Rachel, you're Canadian now so it's true, eh? We drove to Fire Island, hopped on board a boat, sung several verses of the Lonely Island song most likely to get stuck in your head, felt the wind in our hair, befriended a dog, got annoyed at people who were not us and coveted the houses that lined the shore on our way to our destination.
Once there we made a bee-line for the beach. It was hot, and as you can tell from this picture,
so were we.
The water, however was freezing. Dave and I were happy to brave the waves and the cold
Thomas, not so much.
We napped, noshed, laughed, read magazines and loudly mimicked the obnoxious behavior (and Long Island accents) of the one party that had to sit next to us on an almost deserted beach. We marveled in awe at the world's largest beer belly and split our time baby slash Sun worshiping all the live-long day.
We spent the late afternoon walking through the town. Boardwalks span the entire island. Fire Island's terrain varies from jungle fever to beach couture. Everyone (and I mean everyone) rides bikes to get to and fro. There is lots of to and fro to be had.
I sketched on the sand. Once the sun fueled me enough to lift a pen, I abandoned sand sketching for my sketchbook. I penned lots of little thumbnails, each tiny line mocks of people far enough away to look like they were shot with Super 8. These were my favorite.
The day's end found us walking along the boardwalks or sitting, exhausted at the edge of a pier. People watching was prime and the company was grand. That evening on the boat back to shore, the sun waved good bye - a sunset cherry on our sundae of calm and happy content.