We have a good friend who owns a condo at Sea Colony at the Delaware Shore. We know he's a good friend, because he invites us to use it off season whenever we'd like. We are here now, alternating between resting poolside and meditating seaside. Anywhere we go, we fall under (or more accurately throw ourselves under) the hypnosis of the sea. The waves pound in and grab your grievances, sorrows and annoyances and pull them out to be purified in the salty depths. The mind becomes tranquil. This naturally leaves you exhausted, and you have to go up and nap on a loungecahir on the balcony.
Our mornings as begin as they do anywhere. We arise and shake out the kinks, stumble to the kitchen and make coffee. You have you have to have coffee, not so much for the caffein as for the opportunity to sit quietly, stare into space and think deep thoughts. But now that there are no longer toys and diapers to clean up, no teens to stay up late and worry about, no good examples to set, we practice a seashore ritual that we're never involved in at home.
After a few sips of that familiar blend of murky sweetness and milk, we look at each other wistfully, cajole and plead, and one of us (reserving to call in a return favor later)sets down the cup and walks over to the little bakery to get donuts. Donuts, those magical, little fried cakes of sugar and fat. Cakelike sprinkled with sugar, custard filled or chocolate frosted? The decisions get difficult, especially when one has an eye to pleasing a spouse. "May I help you?" is answered on my part with, "I'm thinking." The decision is made more difficult as one chooses a donut or two for breakfast with plans for keeping a third in reserve for dessert after dinner. Mmmmm.
The call of the waves, the lure of the lard: I try to mitigate the donut damage by slicing a juicy white peach to eat with breakfast and ordering a salad for lunch. This makes me less culpable, don't you think? But the donut itself? Who could resist? We don't.