It’s already, basically, the end of July. How did that happen? We’ve spent the month in the opium den known as Fishers Island, New York. Too peaceful and relaxed to rouse ourselves for much more than cooking, reading, lolling, and watching our boys whack tennis balls and sail in the shimmering nimbus of Long Island Sound.
Except for one burst of enterprise: the Fishers Island Arts and Crafts Fair.
Every other year, we’ve remembered the fair only the day before, and scrambled to make saleable treasures out of twist ties or pipe cleaners.
Not this time.
Here’s our main competitor: a guinea pig selling kisses for 25 cents.
Guess that’s where all our profits went.