Schooner Fest. Tall ship tours. Knot-tying and spinning demonstrations, and a lesson on how to put a ship in a bottle. Sun, wind, iced coffee and vanilla crème soda. The Guys left for something sports-related for the weekend, a long trip involving trains and buses and schedules, and Madeleine and I meandered, here in town, happy.
We asked her favorite family to meet us for our favorite Mexican dinner, then walked to The Lighted Boat Parade, ate Fried Dough, settled in for a long and spectacular display of fireworks.
I whispered to another yawning adult, remember how we watched fireworks for ourselves, once? For fun? Not so long ago? Daughters shoved their empty Fried Dough plates into our hands, demanded we carry their purses, stuck their feet into our faces, were ornery and fidgety, and we undertook the long walk home slowly.
The girls had a sleepover on the futon in a pile of stuffed animals and pillows and sleeping bags.
Then I awoke to their voices. “We have to leave REALLY SOON if we’re going to see the start of the schooner race.” Eight a.m. Really soon? They leap from bed, grab the phone. Our guest proposes a full day of sailing, to see the schooner races from the starting line. I packed a bag, snacks, and my giant tome about Ralph Waldo Emerson.
If you MUST read a giant tome about Ralph Waldo Emerson, may I suggest having your lunch served by two eager ten-year-olds, aboard a large sailboat leaving Manchester Harbor? With a vigilant, gleeful captain at the helm. With extra sunscreen. We didn’t need our extra layers. The captain bought us a dinner of ice cream, on shore once again. And bedtime came extra, extra early.
The nights are cool, with one more day of laziness and then school begins mid-week. Happy end of summer to you. May your day be so unlabored.