Nearly to Virginia

Blessings so deep and wide it is difficult (overwhelming, redundant, indulgent, what?) to name and count them.
Nevertheless, I try, so as not to fall out of practice for the stale empty weeks that surely await.

62. Peaches, so full of sun and juice you must eat them quick in your hand, no peeling.
63. All the flavors if sunscreen lined up on the dresser, waiting to be layered thick and white on another a new morning, another new afternoon.
64. Sand in the sheets
65. One thousand (or two?) different ways to throw one's seven year old self into a pool.
66.  Baby blond heads getting whiter in the sun.
67. Horse families sharing breakfast time in our front yard
68. A secret clubhouse in the dunes.
69. N. as guard kitten, licking her paws.
70. Unexpected company arrives at our gate, joins us for fourth of July celebrating.
71. Boogie boarding.
72. N. has her aunt French braid her hair.
73. Wherever we go, L., our spotter of trash.  Bags, cans, baskets. Keeping it all watched and in it's place. "Ras, Ras, Ras."
74. L., plays with the hose when we will let him. Little piss boy statue, filling the pool with enthusiasm.
75. Seashells: cat's eyes, sun-sets, coquinas, butterfly wings, scallop, pieces of whelk.
76. Blue shelled crab in a net.
77. Hermit crabs caught skin diving with bright plastic masks in the surf.
78. Sunrise
79. Sunset
80. Full moon.
81. Someone else makes dinner all but two nights of the week.
82. J. there to help with lunch assembly line.
83. J. there to help with shower assembly line.
84. Fresh sun and shower scrubbed kids, faces pink, hair combed for dinner.
85. O. Chasing a bunny through dunes and sea oats, sure he will catch him.
86.  Sparklers and glow sticks and flashlights on the deck to make up for no fireworks.
87. Kites: mermaid, pony, spiderman and pterodactyl try bob and chase each other in the sky.
88. Drinks by the pool.  Drinks in the pool. Drinks on the beach.  Drinks on the deck.
89. Bill, the guy who delivers ice to coolers we leave out front.  $3.00 per bag.
90.  No road, only sand.
91.  Shoes parked. Only for running across hot sand.
92. Low tide and you can wade for days.
93. Flies biting my ankles, remind me this is not all fever dream.
94. Dolphins just beyond the wave break.
95. Bouncing in salt water with my baby in my arms, giggles float up and over each new wave.
96. Three booster seats lined up for each meal.
97.  Late night conversation.
98.  Spotty 3G.
99. Sunrise drive down the beach; horses on the dunes to wish us bon voyage.