![]() ![]() We decide on a place to fly the kite and I take it out of the bag to assemble. I don’t see that though because I’m too busy listening to a voice in my head telling me to be careful with the kite, it’s delicate, you don’t want to break it, which is of course exactly what happens. So much so, that at school when Susie DeMartino sees it, she grabs it from my hands, takes the kite line and starts running aimlessly spewing joy and laughter all over the soccer field. He uses flexible small wooden dowels, string, and I choose striped wrapping paper for the sail. So, in other words, my dad makes a kite and I watch. I am in 5th grade and our science teacher has given us an assignment to make a kite. On the first morning of our most recent visit, we go for a walk on the beach and I carry the kite in its package. I felt so connected to everything in my world. Within moments our kite is flying high and the men in the window are all smiles and nodding with approval. The universe replies, graciously pointing us in the direction of an old piece of duct tape, still willing to be of service, lying in the sand. We begin to look for a rock or a shell, and I feel the support of our audience as they sip their coffee. In solidarity with the two men’s analytical thinking, my husband realizes our kite needs a heavier tail. I can hear them in my mind coaching us, reminiscing themselves about their kite adventures and tips on the best way to get a kite in the air. I am aware the gentlemen are watching us throughout our challenge. I feel their happiness.Īlthough I’m a big fan of the wind, this day it seems to be hampering our ability to fly the kite. I envision their wives chatting happily in the kitchen making a big, lazy morning feast. I sense they must be old friends perhaps from college, or maybe they were neighbors raising their children side by side, coaching little league. ![]() I feel an immediate rapport with these men. In the picture window of one sit two older gentlemen, warm and comfortable, at a table with their morning coffee watching us. We keep warm in our matching Brigadoon tour coats and attempt to get our kite in flight.Ībout 50 yards set back from the ocean, are three vintage cottages. It’s a very windy day, perfect for flying a kite and watching it dip and dive, flapping in the sky. On our drive out, we recall a favorite memory: While packing the car my husband comments, with a smile, about the kite. We’ve been going for years, always off season when it’s a bit chilly and less crowded. Years ago, as newlyweds we discovered “our” hotel and beach. My husband and I are headed to Montauk, one of our favorite escapes to celebrate our anniversary, and I’m pleased I remember the kite! Thankfully, I am able to retrieve it and think how glad I am that I notice it before we get to the beach! One of the rods falls out and slips behind the baseboard heating. I casually toss the plastic sleeve containing my folded kite on top of the picnic basket. ![]()
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