I woke up at 6 AM EST and crept around the kitchen to boil water for tea. Then I wrote... kind of. Mostly I wrote journal entries and edited them a bit to polish the prose and add Fosterian WHYs to the already existing WHATs. I figure any writing is better than no writing, and if I can get into the swing of writing blog entries in a different time zone, I can transition into some early morning short story writing.
We went to the beach. This time I brought along my newly-constructed shish-kabob compass, my Book of Art (with decagram design) and water shoes (because I'd sun-burnt the tops of my feet the previous day).
The difficulty with making geometric designs in the sand with a compass is that sometimes you want a straight edge. The stakes I had were fairly good for a cobbled-together compass, but they were too bendy to use as a straight edge. I settled on using a yard-stick, but there were none to be found in any of the small shops near the house.
After swimming in the Atlantic, I tried to make some constructions, but the tide was too high.
As I was swimming for a second time, a young man waded up and said, "Hi John!" I thought for a moment it was someone I knew from Carleton College, but it was Connor, Mark's nephew.
"Ah!" I said, "I didn't recognize your red hair (it was longer and redder). You've got a beard!"
"You've cut your hair," he said.
Mark swam up. "You've finally grown a proper Kringle Beard!"