There is something about being at the beach that makes people revert to the ways of their childhood. Case in point:

No, I just took the photo.

A couple of grown men–or adults–or middle-aged men- I don’t know spent many hours working on this one day last week. Contraptions and tools I didn’t know existed had their day in the sun. I did not want to be married to either of these guys. I’m more of a drip castle girl myself, so all this professionalism of child’s play bewilders me a bit, but to each his or her art, I suppose.

And anyway, who am I to judge when I spent hours pulling crabgrass and digging in the sandy “garden” at my mother’s house before planting some plants that will last only a bit longer than that sandcastle did. And later that night, I spent an hour or so doing what people in my family do at the kitchen table at the beach–play double solitaire:

My only vacation vice....

We used to be a gin rummy family, with intergenerational tournaments that were actually exciting–even when you got bounced out in the early rounds. Then we split into Spit or Hearts camps though when my great Aunt Margaret would visit, we kept it simple–War. But once we were introduced to this double solitaire version, there weren’t enough decks of cards in the house to keep us all happy. It’s addictive. And especially annoying when someone who isn’t playing lets you know you missed a move. I would not think of playing the game anywhere but at Cape May. It belongs there.

I would like to make social card-playing a feature of regular life again though. I don’t know that cards can withstand the move from vacation at the beach to Richmond, but it would seem a better fit for life here than sandcastle-building.