Nom de Plume

We were totally prepared.

Lamb and Italian sausages, check.
Hot dog buns, check.
Corn wrapped in tin foil with butter, salt and pepper, check.
Plates, napkins, check.
Firewood, check.
Beer, oh heavens yes, check.

We piled in the outlaws’ rental car and headed up to Shilshole Beach for a Sunday evening cookout.

The weather was slightly cool and overcast. The water glistened as darkly as black oil under the gray sky, while the mountains gleamed in the distance. The air was perfectly, beautifully clear. Pam and I settled down with our books while Steve booted up the fire and started cooking. After the first course–the corn–we waited for the sausages. “I’m waiting for the sun to peek out,” said Pam, looking up at the sky.

So naturally, the sky obliged by pelting fat raindrops.

We were troopers though. Stood around in the pouring rain eating our hot dogs.