It was the best of days, it was the worst of days.

There is no reality check in the world that compares to trying on swimsuits. I made four trips to the dressing room today.
"Maybe just one more size up this time..."
And then it dawned on me.

They're making everything smaller now.

The next big reality check came in the shape of some waves that smacked me in the face and I flailed my arms like a monkey who has seen people swim on television a few times. How long has it been since I've swum- no, swam- no...swimmed? I can remember an instructor demonstrating the back stroke with one leg and both arms, while standing on the other leg, a crowd of dripping nine year olds shivering around her, waiting to cannonball back into the pool. So, a billion years, then. I haven't been in a body of water bigger than a bathtub in four years. I think maybe we'll check out "Swimming for Dummies" or see about some classes. Surfing is a far off goal, yet. Gotta swim first. I can still do somersaults, anyways, and a pretty good Frog Stroke. It was FUN.
Edie thoroughly enjoyed the sand. She spent an hour grabbing handfuls and letting it stream out from her fists. When it was my turn to watch her so Kenneth could play in the water, she tipped over forwards and came up sandy-faced, but unfazed. By the time we left, salty and tangled and burnt, we all had a little sand in our diapers.

We walked down the boardwalk where people can ride along the coast and talked about finding a baby seat for Edie so we can bike to Venice Beach and buy trinkets like the little blue bird whistle we bought last time. Then we saw a baby riding on the front of his dad's bike and Kenneth chased him down to ask about the seat. It was an iBert. Then a kamakazi squirrel ran right by us and we headed for home by way of bubble tea. Which is when tragedy struck.

I didn't see it happen, I only saw the man running at the crosswalk to scoop up a white towel in the middle of the road, and Kenneth said something about a dog. We made our turn and could see that the towel he was carrying was actually a broken dog, a wee tiny dog, the kind you can fold up and store in your armpit. Kenneth parked across the street and we ran over to see if we could help. The man was kneeling on the sidewalk, holding the tiny dog and looking kind of broken himself. There was nothing to say so we put our hands on his back. Another woman came running out of her car to see if she could help. There wasn't really anything to do. She asked him if he needed help and he said he didn't know what to do.
:(
It was his mother's dog. She was going to be devastated.
:(
:(
The dog's name was Obi. They had been at the park across the street, having some off-leash time, and Obi just didn't want to stop running so he tried to run home. What does a pocket dog know about LA traffic when there's running to be had?
We gave the man one of our beach towels to wrap him in.
He slowly walked his mother's dog back to her apartment around the corner.
We slowly walked the long way to the bubble tea cafe.
We talked about not knowing what to say or do.
Then I thought of something that I wished I'd said to him.

We didn't have enough money for bubble tea and a crepe, and we were hungry, so we split a crepe and just smelled the bubble tea. We always forget that the place is cash only.

On the way back we started whistling as we got close to the apartment building where the guy said his mother lived. Whistling past the graveyard, I thought, trying not to look to closely at the windows, trying not to wonder too hard what was going on in someone else's life. Are we interested in other people's tragedy because we feel genuine compassion, or because we have a morbid obsession with things that could have happened to us and didn't? Whatever our motives for gathering around it, I know that if it were me I wouldn't want to cry alone on a city sidewalk. If Jinx were suddenly limp in my arms, I'd be grateful for the hands of strangers at my back, letting me grieve not-alone. Whoever the driver was, they didn't stop. Maybe they couldn't face it just then. It was a busy intersection and to suddenly stop would likely have caused a worse accident than the tiny broken dog in the road. Maybe the driver had a screaming baby in the car, or an audition to get to.

It took me and Kenneth both a second before we noticed the young man sitting peacefully on his knees in the yard, folded beach towel laid out before him. We shared a moment of awkward silence, wondering whether to say anything or not, and then I grabbed my chance.
"Did you guys have fun at the park today?"
"Yeah we did."
"Make sure you tell your mom about that."
"I will. She's on her way home now. Thank you for your help, I appreciate it."
"No problem, man, sorry."

Sorry.