Life's a Beach!

I've been waiting for this moment. I can feel it. The ocean is calling. Sand. Salt water. Sunshine. I can hear the waves as they roll in and out.

Our bags are packed. Snacks in the cooler. I'm ready. After only a couple of hours, we've reached one of our favorite beaches, Hammonasset State Park in Connecticut.

My toes are in the sand.  The ocean breeze playfully blows the pages of the book in my hand, and I can barely keep my eyes open for more than a few paragraphs. I'll probably never get through one chapter.  Reading on the beach? What was I thinking?

It's summer. We're supposed to head to the ocean in search of rest, relaxation, salt air and seafood, aren't we? Add children into the mix and it's all about making memories too. Am I right?

The truth is that I like all of it for about one day. Then, I'm grateful as can be to pack up the cooler and umbrella and head home. I'm good until next year, and sometimes it takes that long to get rid of the sand. Each year that I've been fortunate enough for a brief getaway, I have that moment on the beach when my skin is aflame, sand has found its way into way too many places, and no matter how much water I drink, it's not enough. Even the most perfect of days on the beach, I have found myself antsy after only a few hours. 

Thankfully, I didn't grow up oceanside. My pale skin burnt easily. Even my eyes would burn, making sunglasses along with frequent slathering of sunscreen a necessity. There were visits to beaches on the Cape and in New Jersey though and our little family left the Hudson Valley for a little bit of salt air. New Jersey was a bit closer and more times than not, we headed to Ocean Grove. At the time, there were a large number of older vacationers who savored stays in the Victorian inns, and my sister and I would chuckle as we dubbed it Ocean Grave. Nevertheless, it was still a get away complete with ocean, sand, seafood, pancake houses and mini golf in neighboring Asbury Park.

On our recent trip, I was busy clearing the sand from the tote bag, the towel, my chair and taking a swig of water to rinse away that gritty feeling, when it happened. An especially large wave roared into the shore. A father had been playing in the waves with his daughter. Laughter. Giggles. Jumping the waves. Then, it happened. One large wave and the giggles turned to shrieks and cries as she stood there completely drenched and spitting out the salt water. They were both fine but the fun was over. At least for now. Like the wave rushing in, a memory of a visit to the Jersey shore with my parents when I was 6 or 7 came to me.

I didn't like the waves and the one time I tried jumping, I got pulled under and swallowed an enormous mouthful of salt and sand.  And, oh, there was the time that I decided at a very young age to remove my suit completely because I had to get rid of the sand! Imagine how surprised my parents were at that moment when my complaining about the sand in my suit ended when they realized that I had taken the situation into my own hands!! I built sand castles and spent hours filling the moat with pails of water, only to watch the sand slowly absorb the water. I loved standing on the water's edge to feel the waves come in, and the feeling of being pulled into the water as it receded. I collected shells and postcards and kept them for years in a shoe box that resided in a corner of my closet. Occasionally, I would empty them out, and I would swear that I could hear the ocean when I held the conch shell.

There were many moments, but today, I smile as I look out into the water. I see my sons bobbing and moving with the water....in and out. My husband stretches out his perfectly tanned hand to hold mine. We all have moments that seem to roll in and back out like the waves. Small and large memories roaring in and some inching in slowly. Time spent on the beach today has given me the gift of time to appreciate all of the moments as they wash in and out. The waves are crashing loudly and I realize there is noise everywhere. We have to work hard and at times, harder to hear the important things. Our voice amidst it all.