I got off work at 7pm tonight. I knew that if I power walked home when I got off the bus, didn’t spend tooo much time spoon feeding Crazy (it’s her latest thing, she won’t eat unless I feed her) and if I powerwalked/jogged to the beach, that there was a small to medium chance I would catch the last few rays of my first beach sunset of the season. I knew that if, despite being totally bagged, I could somehow manage to resist the lure of the comfort of my sofa and the melodic trance I knew would be pouring out of my speakers courtesy CBC Radio 2, that I would make it down to the beach in time to witness what would mark (for me) the official start of the summer season and that my beloved Beach Club gatherings would be only a short few weeks away. Well, for hardcore members, at any rate. 
I skipped home, opened the door, picked up Crazy and gave her a hug, grabbed some cheese and crackers, threw on my sweats and sneakers and promptly skipped back out again. I cut through the Safeway parking lot in an attempt to shave off 20 seconds, but was foiled by a french man stopping to tell me that I had pretty hair and ask did I always style it that way or was there a special occasion? I felt like saying ‘Get out of my way, you are blocking my route!’, but this girl does not get those sorts of compliments everyday, and on a day when I felt like my lid could get work as Helena Bonham Carter’s stunt hair, I could not help but blush a little and reply “Why, thank you! No, no special occasion except the beach, au revoir!”. And away I trotted, double time.
As I walked gingerly down Balsam, I suddenly caught the smell of the salt water in the air and I knew I was only moments away from this….
