We Never Learn

The Perfect was definitely the enemy of The Good today.

We had decided to take it much more leisurely today, not rushing out the door and going to a beach that we knew, the one from two days ago, and which would be all but waveless. (It's protected by rocks.) First, though, we tried to find out where we could rent snorkeling equipment, as we'd seen people using it the other day. We thought about just getting there and asking folks where they'd gotten them, but we
decided we'd be smarter than that and call around to the hotels near there and see if they were where folks had gotten them.

They weren't, but they told us that the best place to rent snorkels was at Ocean Sports on Ashford Avenue.

Ashford, which is two blocks from our house. So off I charged to find them. But Ashford is really, really long, and a few blocks down it struck me as really stupid that we hadn't tried to look up Ocean Sports in the little tourism book I had bought. But, heck, what if it's right around the corner? We had been burned by that yesterday at lunch time, after all. So I kept walking.

I walked to the very end of Ashford, probably a mile and a half. No one along the way knew what I was talking about, until the end, where a waitress in a breakfast joint said it USED to be right next door, but was now defunct. I thanked her and walked out.

More evidence continues to pile up, though, arguing in favor of my superhero status. A group of teenage Puerto Ricans was walking past, all boys, and when they saw me, one of them pointed and shouted out, "Goldberg! Oye, miren - Es Goldberg!" Follow the link below to see who they're talking about:

http://www.usatoday.com/life/gallery/wrestling/bill-goldberg.jpg

This isn't the first time this has happened to me. Quinn, in the emergency room at the age of 2, picked up Goldberg's action figure out of a toy box and looked at it for a few seconds. Then he looked up at us quizzically, held the figure toward our faces, and said, "Papi...?"

Anyways, somebody else gave me a tip that there was a sporting goods store up the street from Walgreen's. Take a right at Walgreen's, she said, and go a block. I did, and there was nothing, so I decided to just run back home and inform the doe-eyed family of my failure. Trying to angle back across the blocks as I ran to make the path shorter, I stumbled on a gorgeous little municipal park, with playground equipment and CHIN-UP-READY MONKEY BARS! Hallelujah. I took careful note of its coordinates in my mind, and continued running home, leaving leafless trees, torn-up pavement, and spinning traffic arrows in my wake.

We hit the road around 10:40, and waited 20 or 30 minutes for the A5, on its reduced weekend schedule - and, when it came, it kept right on going, the driver signaling out the window that it was too full to take any more passengers. We almost wordlessly and pretty immediately headed back to our own home beach, 2 blocks from our house, or picnic lunch already packed and ready to go.

What a great afternoon. Totally relaxed, secure in the knowledge that we could get home instantly whenever we wanted, that if we'd forgotten anything, we could walk back and get it, etc. Bobbing in the surf, talking about Wisconsin and deer hunting with Quinn; watching Tessie pose like a statue looking defiantly into the waves as they crash harmlessly around her...Me, I'm voting for sticking to this beach if we're in San Juan. Come Monday, when we have a car, we're thinking we'll drive to the mall and just plain-ol' buy a snorkel and mask for Quinn and one adult, and do it wherever we bloody well please. Away with the drudgery of scrounging for change and waiting at bus stops.

Tess didn't nap again this afternoon - third day in a row - and the result came about 3/4 through supper. The picture is below. We dropped her in bed, and then there was one, whom we would only have to entertain for an hour and a half or so. The big project for the evening was one Quinn had been wanting to do, and for which I had bought construction paper a couple days back: A model of a haunted house. We planned and wrote lists of rooms and the monsters that would be in each, decorations like cobwebs and dirty mirrors and suits of armor. And as time ran out and we decided we'd have to start the actual construction tomorrow, the stupidity of allowing this project to go forward at all, let alone past sundown, hit us, because Quinn pretty much flat-out refused to go to bed. We had to read him a story, let him watch his rugby video, give him some future draft picks, and have Mami stay with him until he fell asleep before he would agree to it. Yes, yes, I'm sure you more experienced parents saw this one coming. And we should have too, but you have to realize: I'm recovering from sunstroke, heat exhaustion, and a mild case of thrombitis. Plus, as you all know, I'm just plain not very smart. What Janneke's excuse is, you'll have to ask her.

There you have it - photo and video evidence below. I'm about to head out and time with the stopwatch the various walking routes to the new park, which we'll be squeezing the life out of tomorrow. Until then, dear readers: DON'T look UNDER the BED!

MMWA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HAAAAAAA!!!!!



Tess kicks the bucket; Mami is pleased, Quinn indifferent.



The only way these two will ever dessert the beach.



Quinn goes under the waves



Mid-supper-night's dream