Beach glass for breakfast and the lies we tell children

Where there are waves, seagulls and sand there is a beach. But I meet people all the time who get annoyed that I call going to the beach, "going to the beach." They protest, "you should call it going to the lake." I love how silly humans can be to get caught up in an argument like that.

Here is a photo of the beach glass I collected the other morning at the beach. I am a beach comber, a collector, a scavenger - always with my butt up in the air, digging for treasure. What is NOT photographed is the dead seagull I found that had a brick smashed over its head. Poor seagull. "Why did he die?" my friend Luka asked me? She's only 4 so I told her the seagull died because he was a Grandpa Seagull and he was old.

See you at the beach.

On Guido Degliantoni, seashells, things we inherit and butts in the air

My grandfather Guido Degliantoni was an avid beach collector and turned his findings into mosaics, two are pictured here with his autograph. I inherited his habit and you'll often find me at the beach, butt up in the air, scouring the sand for treasures. My seashell collection was recently unearthed during our move to Evanston and my sons have been busy organizing it.