Our apartment was on the top (12th) floor, with a balcony overlooking the ocean. I spent a lot of time inside -- the idea of sitting on the beach and dealing with the sand and the wind and the sun wasn't all that appealing to me. Basically, I went down to play in the ocean (with Abby if I was lucky) for half an hour or an hour each day. Abby was very brave in the ocean. She ducked under waves and rode a boogie board for the first time, but one of her favorite activities was dunking her Pop Pop by pushing him over backwards into the waves.
Most of the rest of my time was spent in the apartment. (Or food shopping, which I seem to have done a lot of.) What do you do in an apartment at the beach? Well, if you're lucky, you get to play with your grandson or coddle him while he sleeps. You also get to read. On the balcony. Listening to the ocean. With a glass of beer or wine nearby.
Since retiring, I haven't been reading much. I had pretty much concluded, sadly, that I no longer read books. Well, sir. At the beach I read:
- The Ghost of Monsieur Scarron,
- The Trial of Soren Qvist ,
- Then We Came to the End,
- Netherland,
- Some Day This Pain Will Be Useful to You, and
- the first third or so of The Moviegoer
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