Chillin' and Grillin' Shack

Beach life is apparently exhausting.

Even allowing for an extended beach happy hour and last night's birthday dinner party with the attendant over-indulging that unfolded (never mind the series of unfortunate events that accompanied steak grilling) over many hours, everyone should not be so listless. So blasé.

Tuesday when I walked, Beauty was at my side. Yesterday, Beauty brought Beckham and Beau made us a foursome. Today, the only person who could be bothered accompanying me for a walk on a gorgeous beach day with roiling crowds overhead was Beau. And honestly, I think he just wanted to force himself to walk away from the bag of caramel corn he was hoovering.

When we got back, it was to an unmotivated household lousy with the stench of eau de ennui.

"I'm going to take a nap," Beckham announces after he and the Beauty wear themselves out eating a breakfast of steak and eggs followed by lounging in and next to the hot tub.

"I might be willing to walk after I take a nap," Beauty decides, heading downstairs after detouring for a cookie break.

Queen B hasn't even put in an appearance today and Beau and I have already finished lunch. It's exactly five minutes past noon.

"I really don't have any desires," Pru says in a resigned voice from her perch on a bar stool nursing her second (third?) cup of coffee. A nap, or even just quality time in her bed with her devices and more coffee, seems imminent. "What time were you hoping to go to the beach?" she muses as she passes me en route to her sanctuary.

Oh, I don't know. On a day where gray storm clouds have completely given way to blue skies with only a lacework of clouds along the horizon, I should think 2:00 would be an ideal time to convene this group on the beach and see what happens.

The only problem with this plan is that high tide arrives about 4:30 and this house is on a ridiculously narrow stretch of beach. We try to compensate by setting up chairs and umbrellas against the dunes that rise to our walkway, but rogue waves inevitably reach a cooler or someone's chair.

With any luck, everyone will still be a bit groggy after nap time and not mind too terribly that ocean and sand are going to happen at the beach. My plan is to lull them into submission with a well-packed cooler and just the right nibbly bits to get a base down for the evening ahead. Vacations are a marathon, not a sprint.

And if rest times are part of the marathon these days, so be it. To paraphrase Beauty while eating chips and laying in the hot tub, "Blogging from a porch facing the ocean while others nap isn't terrible."

Not a lot about beach life is. And please pass the caramel corn.