It’s fall break and we got to head to a cabin on the west end with Nana. I have to say, the views could be worse.

Yes, I’m going to miss it here. We used the opportunity to get the kids on a SUP. (Stand Up Paddle board) It’s taken me a while to get the hang of it, but I do love it take it out now. Ray is much better at it in the choppy water than I am. He got his exercise yesterday teaching the kids how to do it on their own.

It was a good day. When Ray was renting a board he met a local who teaches surfing on the west end. I believe we have a new friend. He hung out and talked story with us for a while. He obviously doesn’t like to see people trashing his beach. He can’t stand McDonald’s wrappers left to blow around. Good for us, we didn’t have any. He told us about a couple who were on vacation from Delaware. “Everything was F you and F that and they going back and forth.” He told them that there were kids around and he was clearly uncomfortable trying to teach a lesson with this going on. He said he took his clients to the water and when the wife walked away his cool uncle went to talk to the guy. Apparently the conversations went like this.

“What are you doin’? I tell you what you need to do…BE QUIET.”
“But she’s wrong!”
“No! Be quiet? How long married?”
“5 years.”
“Best advice you get. Be quiet. Smile. Walk away. Rub her back. Just be quiet. She always RIGHT!”

Danny, the surf instructor said he isn’t married and even he knows you can’t win a fight with a woman. We were laughing. He said his uncle always says men are like waffles and women are like spaghetti. I didn’t get it either. Apparently when you put a waffle on the plate and pour syrup on it, the syrup spreads and fills each crevice. It’s slow and everything is compartmentalized. Women, in uncle’s eyes are like spaghetti. Everything bleeds together. You put spaghetti on a plate and pour syrup, it’s everywhere on everything. Women are working on everything at once. They can’t stop. Men are putting it in boxes and one thing at a time.

We laughed until we cried at uncle’s stories. I will miss talking story this time next year.