It's no wonder that God lives under water.

In a fitting twist the book was soft and the sand was hard, the beach blanket fairly indifferent. We were in what she considered shade, but sweat still ran down my forehead above my mirrored sunglasses. "That seagull's got it out for us," I told her between pages. "It knows we have no food. Remember the one in Maine?" I watched the angry white bird scowl in our direction while it paced hard in the sand as if its visceral stomping would conjure a meal in its midst.

"No, not there. The one that kept raiding picnics at..." but I stopped listening when I realized I wasn't the one who'd joined her that time. The Korean War became interesting again. I lowered my eyes to the non-fiction in my lap. It beat the hell out of the current truth. More beach-goers showed up as the lazy Sunday morning progressed. The mighty Hudson rolled its discontent against the shoreline. I kept mine to myself.

A young father, tanned and toned with a tattoo high enough on his shoulder for any shirt to hide, stood above his toddler as she balanced in the tide. To splash the brackish water was divine and she was making herself a god. Great-- another female deity to rule and ruin ones life. Still, she was a cutie. Dark brown curls fell over her eyes. I caught my companion watching the same show and knew what she was thinking. "I wonder if he put sunscreen on her." Yup, I knew what she'd been thinking.

Back to the book: an M14 strapped around the neck of the only unscathed survivor of Truman's top-secret mission fighting his way to the Thirty-Eighth parallel, Gooks and Chinks yelling their dirty pig latin all around him in the night, the hovering threat of Commie pinko Russkies dropping their nukes from afar. But he made it; our hero made it, and World War III never happened, or if it did we never knew about it and we basked in our ignorant bliss. Not all sacred ceremonies happen in a temple. I stroked her hair until she couldn't take it to confirm my old assumption.

"Come on, let's go home and have lunch." There's no need to specify. Who could argue with food? We walked back to my truck, mostly hand-in-hand aside from one brief spat when I foolishly corrected her Spanish, without running into my father on the path. If you find more to be grateful for you'll lead a longer life.