Sand Men


Sand is everywhere. Two weeks at the beach will do that to you. It’s in my car, it’s in my bag, it’s in my shower, ears and toes. I can deal with all of the above as long as it stays away from my camera and phone. And all the snacks we splurged on at Trader Joe’s.

When Kate was wiggling around on the beach the other day, I asked her, “Got some sand in your suit?” Classic sassy Kate: “SOME? My bathing suit’s not even touching my skin!” I keep shaking out towels and billowing them out under the umbrella, but do the young seek sand-free sanctuaries like we do? No, they roll around in it like dogs and love every minute of it until the sun sets and it’s time to go home. It’s only when they have to be buckled up into a five point harness car seat that sand becomes a nuisance.

Jane is suffering from what I call “Chronic Sand Man.” She has clogged tear ducts. Poor thing. I know it doesn’t bother her, but it detracts from her natural beauty. Hopefully, it will clear up soon.

Our other Sand Man is our new favorite TV chef, Chef Brad. His thing is cooking with whole grains and lots of them. I met him the other night in person and became converted to his kamut salad and brown rice breakfast. His show is called “Fusion Grain Cooking” and you can watch all his episodes by clicking here. So why do I call him my Sand Man? All that fiber (he recommends 70 grams a day) has the same scouring effects as Kate’s swim suit, just on the inside.

But we’re having fun. Luke’s picture says it all.




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