On our last night in Orlando last week, there was a rocket launch from Cape Canaveral. None of us would have had the slightest clue were it not for my dorky fiance who scours a dozen or so space sites a day because he’s a space geek like that. So we packed up the Lumpmobile—our uglier-than-sin rental car—and drove east to the coast.
But some pretty menacing storm clouds delayed the flight. So we waited.
And took photos, like we’re often wont to do.
Some scarier than others.
And we ran on the beach.
And played like we were kids again.
And jumped some more. Because jumping photos never get old.
Then when we got tired of that—or rather, our joints started to ache, as none of us are spring chickens these days—my sprightly sister turned the sand into her tapestry.
Scott’s “cage” says “Caution: Rabid Monkey.” Mine says “Resting Beauty.” Smart girl, she knows who to butter up.
Then, gave him some love, because let’s be honest, he puts up with way more from three crazy ladies than most men would.
In the end, the launch never happened, but that’s OK, because we (clearly) found ways to amuse ourselves otherwise. Happy Fourth of July (AKA Scott’s 35th birthday!) to you all!