For the first time in Jeanne Kraus history, I had a totally free Saturday. The world was ours. George and I made a conscious choice to leave the computers behind and go to the beach.
Before you get scared that I am going to share some pictures of us in thongs and such, we dressed like old people in shorts and shirts and sensible walking shoes. No excessive skin was showing, a fact I am positive that the beach-goers would have appreciated, had they known.
It was a beautiful breezy and cool morning to go out on the fishing pier. There were things flying in the air.
"Look, George," I said. "Those things that people ski from. What are they called?"
"No," said George emphatically. "I can see them. They're kites!" He pointed out a couple of them that were hovering just about the shore line, matching crescent moons.
About five minutes later, we noted that they had moved out into the water, and were indeed parasails and were taking off into the water. One after another dotted the water until we were awed by the spectacle of it. I turned to George.
"They're not kites." I told him.
"I know," he admitted.
There were two sad moments on the pier. Number one, there were absolutely no pelicans. This led to a lively discussion on pelicans and why they were missing. George tried to convince me they fly north for the winter. I wasn't having that. Now I'll be doing pelican research.
The other thing was that we passed this bucket that had water cycling through it and there was a long skinny fish swimming in it. He had a panicked look on his fishface. George informed me that he was "Bait." I wondered what it would be like to just be "Bait."
Do baby baits have a knowledge of where they are heading in this world? Do they pray to come back as something better than bait? How do we get so lucky to be humans and others are just bait? How can anyone say that they have a tough life? At least they're not bait.