I met Jessie and the boys at Chow Time today and I swear- I do not know how they manage to provide the quality and quantity of food they do at the prices they charge. It's rather unbelievable. I see people getting plate after plate of shrimp and they are good shrimp. I'm sure they're farmed but still- they are firm and delicious whether you're eating the small cocktail ones or the large ones they lightly fry, head-on. And I say this as a Florida girl. As you can see, Jessie and I ate a few ourselves but we ate other things too. In that picture, August is eating the plate of food he wanted after he ate his other food and then his desserts. I love that he got fried okra. He ate a lot of different things but Levon generally wants only pizza and melon and then dessert. Or, desserts.
I love the hot and sour soup so much and their crisp, garlicky green beans. I tried their sauteed zucchini today on Jessie's recommendation. I generally am not a fan of zucchini but this was delicious, slightly smokey and still firm. Their sushi is acceptable and so is their salad bar. It's just a fun place to eat and after you eat there, you don't need to eat again for another 48 hours!
Oh course this does not mean that you won't eat again for 48 hours. Haha!
So that was fun and today Levon was the one snuggling into my side. He asked me if I had flappy skin and I assured him I did. He agreed. The thing about young grandchildren remarking on all of the signs of aging is that they are not being judgmental about it. They are simply observing and being plain-spoken about the truth of the situation. They showed me how tight their skin is over their skinny but strong little arms.
"Yep!" I told Levon. "Your skin is as tight as a tick full of blood!"
And it is.
We would walk for miles around the island and we would play cards forever on the back porch. At sunset time we would make our drinks and set our chairs on the strip of beach to watch the sky change with the glory of that every-day miracle, listening to the water as it lapped at our feet.
I could go on for hours here about Dog Island, that house, those memories I talked about, the good ones and the ones that are somewhat haunting. But I won't.
I'll just say that this is part of growing older, having to let go of what was and dealing squarely with what is. If anyone is interested in more words and many, many pictures of Dog Island, you can do a search at the top left-hand corner of the blog.