back from the beach

 

 

 

it's a funny thing, leaving the ocean. shaking the sand out of your shoes and hair and getting into a hot car to ride the hot miles back home. this reddening of skin and lightening of hair. there's a physical and spiritual transformation that happens on those shores.

somewhere between riding bicycles at sunset and trudging our sore feet to the italian ice shack to eat a pint a day of the delicious, creamy treat, between helping grandparents up the stairs and sitting around an old table with them, between the late mornings and midnight movie screenings and long walks amid shells we find ourselves kinder. gentler. our hard, stressed, working, maxed-out bodies eroded like the old houses on the far end of the island, with sandbags against their bases and wind-decayed shutters.

but nothing sleeps like your own bed, and nothing feels as sweet as walking barefoot in your own kitchen, even when juggling piles of laundry from a weekend away.

p.s. that picture of robert's grandparents just melts my heart. that's what this life is about. more than anything else. that right there.

**today is the last day to enter my mixed tape giveaway project. i'll start compiling the songs this week and pick a winner by monday!

to see it again

via

there are few things i enjoy more than seeing someone experience afresh and anew something i've long taken for granted.

it happened with the song "passing afternoon," when i made my sister three iron and wine cds just so she could fall in love with them. and in love she has stayed.

it happened again when i gave robert a collection of short stories by gabriel garcia marquez. we'd lie together on his twin bunk bed in the middle of the afternoon, his head propped up against the wall and mine against the window, reading out loud to each other as college kids trampled outside in the hall.

it happened also to robert when he took me up into the little alcove on the hilltop that overlooked the lake. the little nest of bushes and shrub that he used to immerse himself inside as a child. his hiding spot no longer secret.

tonight, we are taking robert's grandparents to the beach. armed with a pair of new culottes for her and bullfrog sunscreen for him, as well as a supply of homemade chocolate pound cake for us all. to see them walk on warm sand toward a cerulean sea for the first time in many, many moons.

because yes, they've seen the ocean. but when there are years between visits, when there are babies and grandbabies and gardens and three meals a day and cancers and needlework and bluebird mornings between the first and last time they've walked on a pier,

it's time to go again. time to dip again. dance again. feast again. and not take one minute of drenching sun for granted. like us beach bunnies and teenagers and lovers of the forever summer tend to so often do.

to be continued

we're soaking up some carolina sunshine this week. the sand is warm and the waves are gentle. regular blogging will commence very soon. in the meantime, i hope everything is beautiful where you are. and i hope you are smiling. and i hope, in your little corner of the world, there is love.

the conga line

once a year, my family vacations on the coast. at my great aunt's house, with the overstuffed couches that you just sink into, the big long wooden dinner table and the hundreds of movies. it's a treat, really. one that we look forward to all year.

robert and i headed down a night early and soaked up a little adventure before we met my parents. we spent a balmy afternoon strolling around historic new bern, n.c. beautiful, brick storefronts. a glistening river. we could see why nicholas sparks lives here. the place is a novel.

on the way back to our car, we walked past a little catholic church. the oldest one in the state, according to the bronze plaque. and we stopped. just across the street, a little crowd was gathered. we stood behind the trees as a beautiful bride waltzed out the old doors. we watched in silence (and attempted anonymity) as she ran into the arms of her new husband, greeted him with a kiss saved for newlyweds (that second kiss where no one is supposed to be looking), and drove off in a horse drawn carriage.

and as the clamor died down, we slipped on. and i was reminded that we're all on little adventures. whether its a detour on the way to the beach, or teetering on the cusp of life changing jumps, we're traveling. all traveling. and when we travel together, when those moments of momentum intersect and serendipitously we become spectators in the sojourns of one another, that's pure magic. and the earth bursts at the seam with happiness as we join dancing under the heavenly ceiling, changing partners with the tempo and moving together in this beautiful conga line called life.

writing home

i could write about the circus.
the way the cotton candy smell danced around the stadium and the children smiled and spun their lighted wands in the air. the peanut shells at our feet and the trapeze artists with their eyeliner and glitter.

and i could write about the food we ate. 
the creamy ricotta cheese pizza, oreo ice cream and crispy scallops. the crab cake sandwich i waited for since last february. at that little cafe by the sea, with windows on every wall. the movie popcorn and pepsi. the sweet indulgence of vacation.

or i could write about the ocean.
the emptiness of the shore in winter. the shell fragments under my bare feet and the wet sand between my toes. holding my shoes by the side of my rolled up jeans. the warm, salty wind blowing my ponytail. 


or the images. the beautiful, unforgettable images.

but really, the best way to sum up this long weekend happened on the drive back.

i had my bare feet on the dashboard. my seat leaned back. i shut my eyes and felt the sun, hidden for so long. the darkness behind my eyelids turned to a shade of honey, then amber, then ruby. and i felt the warmth on my cheek.

i turned and looked over at robert, driving us home in the sunset. and i knew. this was my favorite part of the trip. driving home together. knowing that no matter how much fun we have on vacation, nothing beats the day-in, day-out beauty of our normal life and the happiness it brings us. and trips are awesome. but no hot tub, dinner special, or late check-out time can trump the simple joy of coming home.

and that's the only thing worth writing about at all.