Humarock 11

Humarock is a finger of land.  On one side is river; on the other is ocean.  Problem is, I can never figure out which side is which.

My original thesis was a work of fiction that took place at Humarock.  The main character was modeled after my mother.  But could you picture my mother, here?


One day, we went to Plymouth.  It’s very touristy but we had fun anyway.

Plymouth 1

Humarock continued

“You’ll meet my family, someday.”

“Good.  I’d like that.”

“My mom, she’s really into decor.

Humarock 6

Humarock 4
“What do you mean, decor?”

“You’ll see.”

Humarock 5

“The beach house looks like fuckin’ Good Housekeeping.”

Humarock 7

“On the third of July, every year, we have fireworks down the beach.  Every year.  I want you to come this year.  Meet my family.”


“Bring something warm to wear at night.  The temperature gets fuckin’ cold by the water.”


“I’m serious.  Fuckin’ cold.”

Humarock photo of the day

Joe was asleep, snoring.

I decided to make coffee.

The temperature was about 40 degrees, typical of Humarock mornings.  I slipped out onto the porch to take a photo.  When I came back into the house, Joe had woken up.  Sort of.

“Jules, can you get me some iced coffee?”  Beverage of choice.


The concoction consisted of ice water with a spoonful of instant decaf coffee.  Vile, yes, but that’s what he drank.  By the time I came back into the bedroom, he’d fallen back asleep.

Humarock 2