The water was blue and clear and gorgeous. I have not gone swimming in water that looked that clean since Kati and I were in Honduras eighteen years ago.

As much as I love Cape Cod, that’s about how much I dislike Miami.

Today, we came in search of alligators and found mosquitoes, swarms and swarms of mosquitoes. Mosquitoes smaller than the ones in Alaska but more aggressive, nasty, and persistent.

St. Augustine apparently is a great place for us to reconnect with people.

Since St. Augustine predates Jamestown and Plymouth, it claims many firsts and oldests: 1–The first St. Patrick’s Day parade in America in 1601. 2–The oldest wooden school house in America. 3–Aviles Street is the oldest street in America. 4–The first Catholic Mass in America.

When Georgia was first settled it was a called a Trust Colony and it was initially intended to be a utopian society. Poverty was rampant in England in the 1700s and in British society one was essentially condemned to the class in which they were born.

It feels like G3 was in a car seat not all that long ago and now he is driving. His permit allows him to drive in New Jersey so he can only drive the first hour or so but it still feels somewhat unsettling.

Laura, of course, was my favorite character. I liked her so much I wanted to be her. In fact, it was while watching the show all those years ago, that I decided I wanted to be a writer. Like Laura, I wanted to be an author, record my daily life, and someday publish my stories. I wanted to write books that children and/or adults would read. I’ve spent much of my adulthood chasing that dream. I guess I still am.

I am now back in Jersey. The traffic was awful—even worse than I expected and I expected it to be bad. But G3 didn’t complain too much about my music so at least I had that as I was inching along through the traffic. After a week of thinking, I think my plan for September is…

When we used to come out here during Family week, G3 and I always walked the breakwater the day we arrived. It became a tradition of sorts. This time we walked it on our last full day. My legs are not as agile as they once were and walking in the rocks was not as easy, but I still enjoy it. Mostly, I enjoyed being out with G3 even though he walked—as he now often does—several strides in front of me. p

I learned long ago that the tighter you try to hold onto something the swifter it passes from your grasp. Yet, this week, I still tried to hold onto to time with mom, the time here on the Cape a little too tightly, wanting the time to last, and here I am at the end of the week happy to have had this moment but sad that it is almost over.

The trails led me first to Duck Pond. Duck Pond is one of several kettle ponds on Cape Cod. They were formed roughly 15,000 years ago. Back then glaciers covered much of this area.

G3 had turned back without me and he made it known that he wasn’t happy. If only G3 could have enjoyed the seals with me. If only he hadn’t been cranky and in a rush to get back. If only he could have walked with me instead of being short with me.

While I was wandering around P-town, my memory was in overdrive as I recollected things we used to do and places G3 once posed for photos. He used to get so excited about spending a week out here.

The last time we were in Cape Cod in the summer, it was the year Dad died. G3 and I needed to get away, we needed a change of scenery, an escape from our all consuming grief. We came here for a week, allowing the ocean to heal us as well as it could.

That was also summer we took a day trip from Eastham to Plimouth Plantation and Plymouth Rock and my love of visiting historic sites while on vacation was born.

It is a dreary day. We will leave Anchorage as we arrived—wet and cloudy. It is still raining and we go home this evening. Alaska has been fun but these two weeks went by too quickly.

The air temperature was 50 degrees. The water temperature was much colder. Of course, I couldn’t let G3 be the only one to defy the cold, so I too changed into my swimsuit and ran into the water.

There were even some fascinating etchings in the ice. Some looked like a mosaic. Others looked like jellyfish. The roof of one looked like a dinosaur’s spine. None of the caves were deep or dark but some of the walls seemed to have a slight glow due to the sun’s light reflecting off them.

I had never had mead. I read about it—often. Usually in novels or historical accounts. I knew it was alcohol and that in a time long before water was safe to drink people drank mead. I also knew that it was made from honey but that people sometimes, when talking about it historically, mislabeled it as a type of beer.