welcome to virginia beach

I spent two weeks in Virginia Beach leading up to Christmas, and have thoroughly remembered why you might want to live someplace with a mild winter. I wore my wool peacoat all of once while I was home. I wore shorts outside, repeatedly.

And on top of that I got to see my whole immediate family all at once, plus my brother's girlfriend, both grandmothers, all of the cousins from one side of the family and my uncle from the other side of the family, some dear friends I hadn't seen in years, and -- last but certainly not least -- Sunny the upwards-of-fifteen(!)-year-old Labrador. Plus I cooked up a storm, hosted a dinner party, biked into the state park twice, biked on the boardwalk twice, went out to breakfast at The Beach Pub and Doc Taylor's (the latter of which is in an old beach house down at 23rd Street -- there can be crazy wait times, but the place is super atmospheric and if you're into brunchtime drinking, there are $2 Bloody Marys to make the wait go faster), went out to lunch at Doumar's and Bite (twice), and bought out the inventory of two excellent local bakeries (more on that to come).

Two weeks is such a great amount of time to be home, I think -- long enough not to feel harried -- though I could happily stay much longer. Are you sure you don't want to take me up on the offer to become the family's personal chef, Dad? I assure you my rates are quite reasonable.