. . .I will tell you the story of when & where....of time and space as one....of the summer of 1988.
When I was seven years old my mother took my brother and I back home to Rhode Island; for the first time since we moved. To me, at the age of five (almost six) a year earlier, moving to Colorado was awful. It meant cowgirl boots, stupid accents, and dumb cowboys. I believed that by leaving my magical ocean that I was leaving all that was right in the world. I have days, even now, twenty years later when I feel that same.
So that summer, on the beach, Ethan was a baby. . .I would swim in the frigid Atlantic water and float on my back and taste the salt on my lips. Lisa was like a dolphin, gracefully diving over waves, and I tried my hardest to swim just like her. I would shiver my way out of the water, over to the beach blanket and lay face down as the hot sun warmed my body, dried my skin. And then at ten there was Laura and at sixteen Duke. Always babies, and beach blankets, and warm sun drying salty skin. . .
When someone uses the phrase "Go to your happy place"....that is where I go. Face down on a sandy blanket, with skinny young legs as Laura lays her head next to mine and stares me in the face trying to get me to open my eyes.
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2 comments:
BRAVO!
seriously. i feel nostalgic for a place...and time...where i have never actually been.
I also can identify with your mind set completely. Young, stretched out on the warm sand, eyes closed, warm breeze, and the sound of the waves. Except I was on the west coast of Florida.
What makes that memory such a special place in our minds? Is it the fact that we were young and relatively naive to what lay ahead? Surely the daily struggles of being a teenager seemed just as real, intense, and threatening as later life problems. Do we remember it as a time when we didn’t have years of mental luggage to pack and unpack everyday? Sometimes now I can leave the bags unopened for hours at a time. Is it the thoughts of being with family and friends that we trusted completely? Maybe.
Or perhaps it’s the sound of the waves. Consistently breaking on the sand, steady, even and reassuring. Always there. Always constant. I think that is it for me. Maybe ancient and inborn in all of us. That piece of knowledge passed down from the beginning of life, buried deep in our memories, and always there when we need it.
I know when I can hear the sound of waves I feel pretty much Ok with the world.
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