Poorly thought out
Yesterday was a beach day (today wasn’t, luckily; I’m getting a horrible heat rash and would have had to take today off anyhow). My grandparents also came down the day before, so were on the beach yesterday. (Going to Boston seems unlikely at best. I will probably head to NH again, that’s it.)
As 85 year olds go, my grandfather is in great shape. Last summer we had a waterfight in the pool, including tipping each other off floats. This summer, after falling back into the water (on purpose — it was somewhere a bit deeper than knee-deep) he absolutely could not get up by himself (though in fairness, he never tried to go deeper or roll over onto his front and get up), and I had to pull him back standing. Probably he should not go in the water himself (though since it’s warm and balmy, there are loads of people there, and I figure tomorrow we will try again and if he goes deeper I think he’ll find it easier). This makes me sad. When I was little, he’d carry me on his shoulders and wade out to shoulder deep. (My other grandfather is in hospital, with a heart attack, and now some sort of blood infection; this makes me less sad, except the worry that we’ll have to cut the vacation short. Yes, I do rather prefer one side of my family.)
Of course, once we got out of the water he insisted on slandering me. “[Wolfa] kept refusing to help me up, and said to go deeper instead.” Then, later, he accused me of breaking, or spraining, or something his shoulder. In front of company! I told him this is why my grandmother is number 1, and he’s only number 2.