he weather had finally turned. The snows of winter were fast becoming a memory and people were coming out of their caves to enjoy the warmer weather and to inspect the damage to their homes.
As for me it was time for something much more important. It was time to dig out my old dilapidated beach chair and see if it would survive another year. I found it behind my lawnmower and under a pile of assorted tools whose uses I had long forgotten. It was covered in dust but I could see colorful streaks of blue beneath the gray. As soon as I dragged it out into the light memories of summers gone by filled my head. I have no clue as to the age of my old beach chair but I can’t remember a summer when I was without it.
The first thing I did was attempt to open it up from its winter foetal position. To my joy it opened up right away, with just a little screech of protest. I thought of oiling the hinges but came to the conclusion I didn’t want to put up with the smell of oil deep into the summer months. The fabric still looked okay, with only a few small tears and the shiny spot that held my butt.