Dry Dock…


Don’t cry for me.

Yesterday, was my last beach day for a bit.

Leaving my shattered homestead in Florida and taking off to New York City for the first time in 17 months.

So strange. I think I have forgotten my way around Manhattan.

Spent a good part of the weekend lugging Queen E’s sculpture, artwork and yet to be unpacked new homestead purchases to a storage unit in 90 degree heat and let us not overlook the 100% humidity.

Presently, I have a 4 hour window to await the arrival of a new couch that I have nowhere to place as I only have a naked cement floor…canceling the purchase was attempted and failed.

With the  present northeast heat I am going from the frying pan into the fire.

The Manhattan Project plan was to make some household changes.

That idea has imploded and will not be happening after the sunshine state debacle.

Sunday, I dove into the sparkling Atlantic for one more ocean frolic.

Maybe that last swim will renew my soul as the woman who followed me into the water was baptized in front of adoring friends and family and a verbose minister who beckoned the Lord to Delray Beach…only in Florida, folks…definitely the wack job state.

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