What mattered most is that mama & papa sprout spent Blackout '03 together. Neither of us were in subways or elevators. We found each other less than four hours after the lights went out in our slowly darkening apartment. Sprout didn't complain once during the 32 flights of stairs mama had to climb down. And we all three escaped to sprout's grandparents as soon as we could...

First, there was the stone fruit and berry crostada to make, salvaging all the would-be rotten cherries, peaches and berries from our fridge. Mama sprout found her new cherry-pitter up to the task, and sprout's Aunt Sarah sat close with her novel, fresh coffee, and fascinating story tidbits.

Of course, it's not really the shore, unless there are totally quiet moments, perfect light, papa sprout over the grill, or with his camera, or taking his babymama's hand and leading her across the sand. There were lobsters and clams and fresh-from-the-farmer-down-the-road corn. Sprout's grandparents turned off their computers, read the paper, indulged a few minutes, and enjoyed fireworks, and candles. We all slept a little bit late. It wasn't sunny, but it was slow and quiet and soothing and far from any kind of city crush, noise or heat.

Sprout kicked. He let mama wade, but water was too cold for submersion. He was happy. And blackouts, and all the stories, and voices, and people, and difficulty and heat, faded into the waves.