It's St. Patrick's Day, and Jim and I spent the afternoon on the boardwalk in Point Pleasant.
Please keep in mind that the date is March 17. This is the Jersey Shore we're talking about. And I wasn't wearing gloves.
There was no green beer. No Shepherd's Pie or corned beef & cabbage. No shamrocks pinned to our jackets. Instead of celebrating a saint I know nothing about, we celebrated the end of another dark, dreary winter with a few brisk rounds of Skee-ball, a bucket of hot, crisp french fries--perfectly salted--and our first-ever deep fried Oreos (they won't be or last!)
The sun felt amazing. And so did the sand between my toes as we stripped off shoes and socks and strolled along the beach. In the middle of March. Feeling lucky to be alive.