We had a delightful overnight at our favorite North Shore beach town for the Fourth. Walking amongst the marshes and over the protected dunes, sniffing those earthy-salty perfumes that only the sun-bleached beaches yield, feeling the bite of Ol' Sol on my shoulder... heaven. Time with Mrs. V, away from the press of daily life? Priceless. We go visit this shore town nearly every year, and don't look to change that any time soon. Ice cream, laughter, and old black-and-white reruns of the Twilight Zone in a quiet room at the inn. Life doesn't get better. I am a rich man.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the dentist tells me that Old Man Time wants his pound of flesh... or tooth. In the blink of an eye that was the six years since my last check-up, during which I finished grad school, got married, moved, moved again, bought a house and moved again, started a new career, began the adoption process, and watched my father pass on, things have been going south in the mouth. Who knew? Dentist visits were perpetually on the "must do sometime soon" list -- until the pain began a couple months ago. Today, I was told that two molars must come out (and that's only the worst of it; there's more). Truth is, I'll miss them. They've been with me well over 40 years, and done yeoman's service. I'm told I'll be reunited with them in the afterlife, so I guess it's more like "See ya" than "Farewell."
What does it say about me that one of my first thoughts, as I was being told this, was "What is this going to do to my riding schedule?"
Never mind, I think I know.
Look, life is good. I'm off on a jaunt with the Mrs. to pick up antibiotics, but I'm sure we'll slip in something fun along the way. Heck, nearly every time she's along for the ride, it's fun. Time will have his due, but it ain't gonna stop me from havin' fun and doin' good.
I'll leave you with some sandy treats: