There's No Place Like...

I try to take the baby for a walk every day. Usually we head up to the Post Office, then down to the bank, maybe stop by the beach via the Surf and come out by the Beachhead, then down to the bank, then home. Sometimes he'll (Blessed Mother!) still sleep when we've arrived safe and sound and I'll sit on the front steps while he snoozes his sweet little snooze.

Today we simply went to the beach. It wasn't that warm. It wasn't that sunny. But it was brilliant. We stood at the edge of the ocean with the seagulls, sandpipers and dead crab claws and we realized just how really small and insignificant we really are. I say 'we' more in the Royal sense. I think Walker, like most babies, are content with the world and their place in it. It takes parents and societies to mess it up for them and I'm sure I'll be no exception. Then we walked to the Pavillion and back up Surf way because the trench across from the Beachhead was more like the Mariannas (did I spell that right?). As we finally - blissfully - edged off the sand and onto the harder surface, we recognized Molly walking down the street toward her store, but she missed us waving at her. Red was up in the cherry picker working on the lines. I waited to cross the street when...I'm sorry, I couldn't really see inside the car to whoever it was but it looked like Mrs. Hassinger...stopped for us and let us cross with a merry little wave and smile. I walked along the road, both hands on the stroller, smiling at those who waved at me...Dick, my husband, Lillian. And as I turned the corner to head past Three Sisters, an incredible rush of panic hit me. The kind of fight or flight panic I haven't felt in a while.

If it were a choice between Block Island and Home...well, I think y'all are aware that as sweet as the folks are here, it's Home all the way. But if it's a choice between Maine and Block Island. Like I said, panic hit me.

BI's not my home, but it has become a home. And I remembered that, once I get to Maine, I can't take the baby for a walk on the beach without driving to get there. I'm not gonna wave at every car that goes by or smile like an idiot. I'm not gonna see Red (because I don't think he needs to be named) and think..."Hmmm....I wonder what ever happened to that cute little co-worker of his..."

Right now, folks, we've got a situation. And it's a doozy. But I can't discuss it without humiliating myself or shaming my husband and I can't/won't do that to my poor husband. But I'd take a bone. Throw me one. Find a way for me to pay rent and two mortgages, stay here and send my teen away to a school more suited to her particular needs and strengths, stay home and raise my baby while working full time as a Theatre Manager with pay and benefits, and my husband the time and money to finish that damn house on Old Town Road - shall we just call it Albatross Cottage? - and not have to work 7 days a week, 10 - 14 hours a day at manual labor just to ensure the survival of his family. Please, please, please, throw me that big ol' juicy bone. No? Not happening? Then I ask for prayers, good energy and kindness to my family because they - my worked to exhaustion husband, in particular - need it for putting up with me.

I've tried clicking my heels three times. It ain't working.