How many surrealists does it take to change a lightbulb?
Pretty surreal 24 hours: the annual local police summer bbq was held (as a thank you) at the pool in this tranquil summer resort community, a lovely mix of families, giant pink bouncy thingy, a fabulous spread (for the residents, too) and even a free ice cream truck. Swam and swam and went at twilight to the beach while he fished, met a charming older man who's been fishing 47 years, and then - while watching Bachelor Pad with my mom - clocked that there was rioting in London.
In the meantime, a lovely old friend from Berlin, Claudia, a stylist based in Miami, friended me on facebook and sent photos from, she thinks perhaps, Fire Island. I couldn't for the life of me remember when or where but then remembered - this was pre-husband days, a friend named Michael, an architect and artist. I still have the peachy beigey silk robe - I almost brought it here - but can't recall the sandals. Proof, however, that I didn't just start wearing sandals with socks this season because I saw it on the runway.
Drinking good strong vanilla scented coffee as I type this, we all didn't sleep well last night, and were individually on our laptops this morning, trying to figure out what the hell has been going on (we were in aptly named Tranquility for a long weekend and no one had even read a newspaper) but reading the twitter trending, just so touched at the clean up response. 'We're Londoners, we're resilient, we'll just get on with it', my husband read aloud.
Keeping Calm, and Carrying On.