Rain...and the Beatles

One Friday while we were in the midst of torrential rains in south Texas, we packed a picnic, grabbed our grandkids, and drove to Galveston - hoping for an hour or two inbetween raindrops.

The horizon was a deep shade of gray and I knew it was only a matter of time before we would be driven to shelter. The kids could run free for a bit.  The beach was virtually empty, barring a few guys with surfboards.  We drove down the seawall till we found the right spot.
Singing songs in the car is our usual habit while listening to Tommy's downloaded list which stems from bluegrass to oldies, classical to hymns.  He's a versatile guy.

When a remake of a Beatles tune popped up, Emma asked, "Who are the Beatles?"
I turned to her and said, "Don't ever let anyone hear you ask that question."
"Why not?" she replied and suddenly I felt very old.
The Beatles were never my favorite, but that isn't the point.  My grandchildren will likely never know the mayhem and all of the revolutions that took place in the Sixties.  I guess unless you lived it, you couldn't know.
We recently watched a documentary on that decade and while parts of it rang a sweet bell, most of it brought back to life the rebellion that went on.  Riots, drugs, heavy rock and folk ballads, music in the park, the war draft, and peace emblems attached to anything that didn't move and some things that did.
They say you can't go back and they are right and I am glad.  Things that make history become history.  And so it goes...
My thoughts were jarred back to the present as we drove down East Beach where roads were impassable, though we saw a soul or two making the most of the beginning of summer.  I love the beach.  I went there in the sixties and every decade since. Memories do stand the test of time...for most people.  I am making some history for those following in my steps.

Random shots of fellow beach lovers.

Emma says, "Bye y'all!"