we took a day trip, Erin, Beth and I, north even unto southernmost New Hampshire. we meant to do an overnight on Cape Cod in this time, maybe Provincetown, but maintenance of the dog placed kibosh on that motive in the time we had available. we took 128, that mole that gets at Tyre, till Rt 1. which is to say, we hit Massachusetts North Shore (Nawth Shaw, in local parlance, tho not really), and into the little bit of NH's coastline. well whatever. we found Hampton Beach, NH, a scuzzy seaside focal point of summery pizzas, arcade games and shoreline distribution of pleasure, small version. resident of this state for 52 of my 52 years, I natheless don't think I've ever exactly hit this locale before. we saw a sign that said: Hampton Beach, Open Year Round. apparently that just meant that the roads continued to exist in wintertime. it looked like Jersey's boardwalk, but it had succumbed to the terrible disease called winter. not a lumpy grease of pizza could be procured, nor arcade game explosive reliance on success, either. it was fuckin' WINTER there, completely absorbed in winterness. we removed ourselves from the car and I took a few pictures. the wind was beastly off the water, and the waves were serious tumble of oh my god. it was lovely, if biting. an ecstatic moment when I looked up to see a large number of gulls hanging close overhead in full throttle hover. my photos thereof didn't capture the raiding thrill of immobile flight, alas. from there we motivated back to a clearly lively restaurant that we passed in plain Hampton. from there a journey toward Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Portsmouth was settled in 1623, wowzer. this whole area was a major commercial node of the continent until Jefferson started instituting embargoes. it's still alive there, plump with mill beauty and several gazillion restaurants. it is anti-New Hamphire: a-buzz and prosperous and secure. life is art and restaurants and successful leisure. I mean that seriously. check out the college towns, where vitality translates as cute restaurants and quirky bookstores. sure, there are people there too, but it's about having something to do that isn't just 'doing'. that's even true in West Virginia, which is only physically like heaven, and only if the trashing where you are isn't too explicit. something beyond church socials, and I am not speaking against church socials, only noting that a more compulsive energy DOES exist, unbranded by church wardens. I am laying it on heavily, but only in self-defense. my father is dying. my brother called as we were wending homeward. that my father relapsed. that he is not eating. that he's taking oxygen and IV fluids. sad and all that, this is no different from you and yours. I am trying to add the parts together. we found a beach entrance on Plum Island (Massachusetts), where I could barely see for the windblown sand. but the crashing grey waves, taking pictures of Erin, love among all. meanwhile my father in an iceberg roaming loss, tho my brother's call came later, if sequential time is really our cue. some tumbled rocks, into the sea, upon which Erin clambered. reminding me of Halibut Point in Rockport, and time squeezed into neurons and expectation. are you following me here, I mean just a little? I'm just curious. Newbury and Newburyport, slightly lost in Salem. I took 168 pictures, some of which are focussed. the monstrance sea, the look of here and there. I wish I could practice the sensible meander. we made a family day, drove a family distance, feel a family loss, all in a simple day.