Don the Cape

In the vernacular of the region, I'm don the Cape (down on the Cape). Helen and I rented my awesome employer’s beach house which is just a five minute walk to a sweet little patch of shoreline.

Last night, over flutes of Prosecco with drunk little strawberries swimming about in them, Helen grilled scallops and red potatoes. Christ almighty – YUM! I only mention it but my girl is a total fucking kitchen (AND grilling) goddess!

Local bunny foo foo

This morning’s sunrise slipped past me but I still got in a lovely exploration ramble – this being one of the best parts of vacas to new places. Long walks in unfamiliar areas totally spark up my imagination. Yeah. See...me and getting lost..it's one of those accidentally on purpose things.

In a little bit we’ll be taking the girls for surf lessons over in Orleans. I wonder, way back in the Pleistocene when I was kiddle, were surf lessons a thing? Did they exist as a formal deal? Were there surf schools back then? There's at least five of these suckers down here on the lower Cape.

There's even one named Sacred Surf. I just had to google this – are they JesusJesus people who preach while they teach? Nope, at least it doesn't seem so. From a quick read of their site, it looks more like they're all about nature (nātcha) love. HEY, like me!

Sacred Surf was born from a deep respect for the ocean, an appreciation for the perfect wave, and a desire to share our passion for surfing through proper surf instruction.

I’m thrilled to bits that the girls have this ocean longboard, party wave opportunity – envious too. I suppose it’s not too late – I could take lessons. With my monster wonky balance, though, the waves would be riding me way more than me them.

What’s up after surf lessons…dunno. More beach time. Watching the waves? Chill time? Lunchie? Yes to all.

Latah!