You can't just sit in the house all Sunday, post stuff into Facebook to see if you can aggravate anyone, watch cable movies, fart in the couch, and get yelled at by your wife.
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You have to spread your horizons.
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So by 3:00 PM, I summoned the energy to put on my shoes and socks, pull over a sweater, meander out of the house and stroll down through Gerry Playground to the Stramski Beach.
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Salem Harbor was a panel of glass, punctuated by empty moorings and the occasional duck or sea gull. It was freaking tranquil at the Beach and not another soul was around. There wasn't a wave in sight and the water at the shore's edge rested placidly in one place, hardly shifting. A clam squirted a thin fountain of water out of the course sand and the ducks kept a safe distance from me as I advanced to their position. Even the ugly power plant across the harbor seemed to be acceptable in the calmness.
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Obviously everybody else was too busy sitting around and farting on their own respective couches.
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Not your MOAM though. My horizons were getting broadened until nature's call had me hot stepping back to the house. I guess you could say that I was moved, then interrupted by the need for a movement.
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