It isn't pretty. Heaven knows, it's tattered and torn, beaten and worn.  But its recognizable on the beach. It's our family beacon, signaling our position, our small area on the sand designated for us alone.
 
YaYa's umbrella is 63 years old. In 1953 she was young and new, lifted proudly on Jones Beach.  She's seen the youth of my husband and stood tall during our engagement and marriage. YaYa's umbrella has provided shade for our children and grandchildren.  Sandcastles have been erected under her roof and many books have been read.

Untold joy has been found under YaYa's umbrella.  I am proud to sit in her shade.