Shirley/Manifesto Part 3

The sisterhood of the sand.  Seaside beauties who still, these decades later, raise in us the joy of simple frolic, a covetous pang for era-appropriate headwear.  Shirley's sister, a longtime bringer of the metaphoric fine-toothed comb to every flea market she ever encountered, had been sending her postcards of these lovelies most of their adult lives.  Shirley loved their poses, self-consciousness so absent, undiluted affection so immediately present.  The easy way their threw their arms around each other.  Not quite how we learned to do it in my family, Shirley thought.  When one of the cards arrived, she tended to give each paper face a kiss of welcome.  Friends from way back.  I am here at the same shore, real estate having overtaken your playgrounds, your lightness of heart grown heavier once you bequeathed it to me.

"IX.  Melancholy is a natural seasoning.  To leave it out of the recipe is to invite the bland, the one-note dish.  Without knowing the bitter, how can we appreciate the sweet?"