I got a few bemused looks from the other swimmers, who told me, "Oh, isn't the water nice?" and "This is beautiful out here, isn't it!" They must have been hardy New Englanders.
Like my sister in Florida, and fellow blogger Douglas at Boomer Musings, I don't consider the water warm until it gets up toward 80 degrees. But one of the advantages of age is that you're no longer self-conscious about these things. You don't mind being the only one splashing around in a wetsuit. After all, I got to go swimming; otherwise I would have still been sitting on the beach.
The next day we went out to the ocean. But the beach was closed. Sharks had been spotted offshore. And indeed, we saw a seal bobbing in the surf only 30 or 40 feet from the beach. According to local wisdom, where there are seals, sharks lurk nearby.
We also took a little kayak trip through the marshes, led by a crusty old Cape Codder whose major frame of reference was John Kennedy, who seems to still be alive on Cape Cod. Our guide told us we would have a wicked wind to paddle against on the way out, but the way home would be wicked easy. Wicked, he told us, is a common expression among people on Cape Cod (maybe it comes from Boston?)
Anyway, we had a wicked good time for three days on the Cape. But I came home with a wicked bad cold. I'm feeling miserable, and it will be a few days before I come up for another blog post.
So I'm going to go collapse on the couch and watch some of the 9/11 ceremonies. I suppose feeling wicked miserable is the appropriate frame of mind for a commemoration of this wicked, wicked event.