Somebody bring me a broom, please. It's hard to type with all this sand in my keys.
Today's column is coming from the golden shores of the gulf coast. It's a long way from the banks of the Russell Fork.
I'm typing on a balcony and below me a couple hundred feet of beach leads to the pounding surf. Beyond that nothing visible but waves to the horizon.
I'm vacationing with my girlfriend's family in a beach house. Parents, siblings, nephews, children, grandchildren--eighteen of us in all.
It's loud, it's busy, and it's borderline chaos most of the time.
It's what an extended family adventure should be, exhilarating and exhausting. Vacationing like this is hard work and these few minutes with my laptop is the most downtime I've had since Saturday.
But the quiet time is bittersweet. Memories of my own childhood vacations with extended family are crowding my thoughts.
We lost someone special to us last week, my mother's sister.
It's impossible for me to be at the beach without conjuring my Aunt Sandy. All of my summertime childhood memories include her.
Aunt Sandy could swim like a fish and hold her breath like a turtle. She taught my cousins and I how to love the water at an early age.
She was also a trickster with a wicked sense of humor. Here's one she pulled on me.
Mom's family all lived on Long Island, New York. We spent most of my childhood summers there.
In the summer of 1975, my aunts and all my cousins went to see Jaws when it premiered.
The next day, we ventured to Jones Beach. It seemed everyone at the beach had either seen the movie or were reading the book. There was a Jaws buzz in the air.
The whole day all of the cousins kept a wary eye on the horizon for that telltale fin of impending doom. After a couple hours, I was out in the water body surfing when I noticed Aunt Sandy about 40-50 yards away standing waste deep. She looked at me, then pointed toward the horizon with a startled look. She yelled "Look!"
I turned and looked in the direction she was pointing but couldn't see anything unusual. I turned back, but lost sight of her.
The beach and surf were crowded, so I didn't think much of it and turned back toward where she pointed. I still didn't see anything, so I turned back and still didn't see her.
I turned my focus back on the waves and positioned myself to ride one to shore. Just as one was about to overtake me, something grabbed my leg.
I'm certain I managed to skip across the wave and got to the shoreline feeling for the blood. When I found nothing, I turned to see Aunt Sandy standing where I'd been laughing maniacally.
She'd swam underwater in the surf nearly 50 yards to shark attack me.
Today I stood in the surf of the Gulf of Mexico watching dolphins swim past like playful mermaids. I gave a little prayer of thanks for the lady who made a lover of water out of me. Godspeed Aunt Sandy.