The cottage:
Scott smilingly stacks seven stones
I met Jack, my yummy calzone.
Dennisport...spent a lot of time trying to get a good photo of a male Cardinal, no such luck. They're tricky little thangs.
Stayed in a cottage just off the beach, where we sat each morning at the picnic table out front. I read the Boston Globe, did crosswords, ate lobstah, and drank my first martini-pomegranate, dry. Scott, smiling, stacked seven stones. I watched Chippy eat sunflower seeds from a blue bucket, and saw lots of Red Sox on TV. Didn't go to Edward Gorey's house this time, but I felt him there. Cape Cod feels reassuringly old and innocent.
