Saturday June 21st, 2008
She finds simple joys in a wet, cold sand dollar in her hand. And in running (slap, slap, slap) down the morning, low-tide beach after her baby sister.
She splashes in shin-deep, icy water that makes her feet numb after a few minutes. She carries a bright green bucket, almost as neon as the algae that has washed up on the sand. They both squint in the new sun and squeal as the low waves rush at their knees.
She half fills her bucket with intact sand dollars and giant shells that haven’t been broken by the surf. She carries them, up back and over the dune, to sit on the back porch facing the water.
Content, she hasn’t asked about home, not even once. She hasn’t asked about the cat, or about what waits for us when we drive back tomorrow.
This is the easy joy of being a child: being unencumbered by the whole big world; being able to focus on a single sand castle, running full speed slap-slap-slap down the sand, jumping in the waves and collecting shells on the morning beach.
Written at 10:21 am · (8) Comments ·
Friday June 20th, 2008
I’ve watched the sun set for six evenings in a row.
Or the earth spin. However you want to describe it.
And last night, the simple act of the earth spinning set the sky and the sea on fire.
Written at 12:17 pm · (8) Comments ·
Thursday June 19th, 2008
I don’t smell the beach anymore.
Even sitting down there on the sand I can’t distinguish the scent of the sea from any other smell. It just all smells normal to me today.
Its like the wonderful biting scent of the inside of a coffee shop. I sit down to drink (a grande Americano with two Splenda) and after about 5 minutes, I can’t smell the coffee anymore. I am used to it. I am inside the Starbucks and everything smells like it. My nose has become desensitized to the aroma of the espresso dust that lands on the floor.
It isn’t like we’ve been here at the beach that long. We just got here on Saturday, but even so, I am already used to the scent of the air, the breezes, the cool, bright sun.
I’m used to it, but I don’t want to be desensitized. I always want to be “sensitive” to the crashing of waves, the glittery white water and the joy of a found sand dollar.
I want to smell the beach.
Chad claims that I can’t smell it because it is a clean beach, unlike some of the beaches near home. There isn’t a lot of leftover seaweed or kelp on the sand or dead vegetation. The sand is gold and course, but clean and soft.
It is clean, but I think I am just becoming used to being here.
And even though I want to smell it, to be open to all that is the ocean, I think its okay that today, I am used to it. I’ll be “at home” here until Sunday. Because then, all too soon, I’ll have to pack up my car and drive almost 400 miles south again, to a hot, dry hill with a teeny-tiny view of the ocean 20 miles away.
But it’s a hill I love and I can’t wait to smell the sage when I get home.
Written at 2:51 pm · (5) Comments ·
Wednesday June 18th, 2008
For a couple days, let’s abandon our schedule.
Let’s forget about bedtimes, and on-time naps. Let’s not worry about if dinner is ready at 5:30; we’ll just eat when we are hungry. We’ll let the kids get up early, eager to start a new day and then let them fall asleep again for a short snooze at 9 am if they want.
Let’s go to the pool even when the air is 25 degrees cooler than the water. Let’s take three showers a day and let my hair product be the sea air. Let’s kiss the kids more than they want and tickle them before lunch is even on the table.
Let’s stay up way too late and watch the stars over the bay, more than we’ll ever have at home. Let’s discover the planets and constellations again each summer. Let’s read a book when there are dinner dishes in the sink.
I want to take my example from my biggest girl who runs up the giant sand hill at the beach and throws her hands up in an I-did-it “ta daaa!” I want to watch my littlest as she plays outside at 7 in the morning, still in her fuzzy foot-pajamas, pedaling a found-tricycle around the patio. They embody abandon.
For a few days, I want to forget about the things I must do, and remember the things I like to do. I think I had almost forgotten.
Written at 9:33 am · (10) Comments ·
Tuesday June 17th, 2008
Treasures.
I ran this morning. I took the road to its end and then I cut in across the dunes and ran back to the house along the sand. Not packed hard like a Florida beach, this sand is golden and soft and wet in the morning.
Sea shells. The broken halves of sand dollars and the empty skeletons of little crabs. The sea left its overnight litter for me in my path. Or treasures.
I stopped and picked up a few smooth shells for the girls and tried to put the halves of the broken sand dollars together. I wondered if overnight the tide brought the shells and sand dollars up and left them on the beach, floating in the dark and then landing in silence on land.
Or if the constant pounding of the waves on the sand and the high tide revealed the shells buried in the layers below my feet…
Did they float up softly and stop to rest, or were they exposed by the rough water. These treasures.
My heart and its buried sea shells and sand dollars. Does it take God’s pounding of waves and high tides to reveal the treasures that he has buried deep inside of me? Maybe it is God’s hard work in me that reveals the beauty that He has already created. Or is it His soft and gentle hand that brings to life new treasures and gifts every morning?
I don’t know how shells find their way to the sand for my morning run. I don’t know if they float up and rest on the shore, or if the waves wash the sand away to surface what lives below.
But I do know that it is both the hard waves of the Lord and his gentle gifts that make up who I am. He both pounds away the roughness in me and he lets sweet treasures float my way as well.
Written at 8:55 am · (14) Comments ·
Monday June 16th, 2008
Settling.
It means the kitchen counter in this vacation house is now cluttered with bags of bagels and boxes of crackers and cereal. It means the girls’ beds have been slept in and are unmade. Settling means toys litter the family room floor in front of the TV and kids have been on a NickJr binge because we don’t have cable at home.
Settling means that my husband has begun to set down his computer and pick up a book. It means that new, temporary habits are being made already (Daddy, can we go to the pool again this morning??). It means that I feel comfortable knowing that a wide ocean lies behind me as I sit at the kitchen table writing.
Settled.
It is contentment with family. It is knowing that the sand dunes will still be there this afternoon and if we don’t get to make a sandcastle this morning, we can later. Settled is quiet, inside my heart, and outside late at night when even the birds sleep. Settled is only hearing the rumble of the ocean.
(Thankfully the sun came out yesterday afternoon and we got a few misty hours of sunshine, and a blurry, hazy western sunset. It was worth it to brave the cold morning in order to experience the sharp, breezy Sunday afternoon. And, thankfully also, the Lakers won.)
Written at 9:34 am · (10) Comments ·
Sunday June 15th, 2008
The sun might never come out.
We’ve been here for 18 hours and haven’t seen the sun once. It is day time and the sun is up somewhere high above the thick marine layer, and the pilots can see it. And inland only a few miles, no doubt, it is sunny this morning and people are enjoying a bright brunch at their favorite restaurant or driving to church. But here, on the coast, touching the dunes that touch the water, it is foggy, dreary and cold.
Downright cold.
But from where I sit right now I can see the deep waters of the bay swaying and I can see pelicans skimming the surface. Earlier I saw a group of lazy sea lions floating in the waves waiting for….
They didn’t seem cold.
We knew it would be chilly. We have our sweatshirts and sweaters. We only brought minimal amounts of sunscreen and pool attire. And the cool air hasn’t kept us inside. I’ve already been out for a (short) jog and the girls have already dug in the sand and made use of the enclosed outdoor patio we have. And then we come in. Our feet and hands (the coldest outside) warm immediately when we walk in the door. We brush off the sand and the kids play up and down the stairs, still exploring this house, and we feel cozy.
I am still going to wait for the sun. I know what this bay looks like with the summer or autumn sun on the water and it’s beautiful. But even if the sun never shows up here (elsewhere, I am sure it is hot and steamy), I’ve already made a home here for the week and am content watching the sea lions in the fog.
Written at 9:38 am · (6) Comments ·
Sunday June 15th, 2008
If you want a glimpse of my friend Linda as the star and me and Hope as supporting actors in Annie’s videos from her trip to visit us, click here and here.
Written at 7:00 am · (2) Comments ·
Saturday June 14th, 2008
We stopped for a leg stretch, but ended up searching for smooth stones on the beach and picking up bleached driftwood.
The girls ran far ahead and because the beach was close to empty, it was safe. We followed them holding their shoes for them as they wiggled their toes in the dark brown sand.
After 45 minutes, we tumbled back into the car, brushed off our feet from the beach and made our way north again.
Written at 8:31 pm · (7) Comments ·
Saturday June 14th, 2008
I never read Keroac’s book. But I should. It was on the 12th grade optional reading list. But, really, who reads the “optional?”
Regardless, today my family and I are on the road. North. From Southern California.
We’ll be passing LA, Ventura, Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo and environs, Big Sur, Carmel, and then Monterey.
Six plus hours in the car with two little girls sounds much better than
11 hours on a plane to London. I am thanking God that I am not packing for a plane trip. I have loaded up my trunk with everything we’ll need for a week in a beach condo. I won’t be using little quart sized ziplocs to meet the TSA regulations for sub-three-ounce bottles. Instead I will be taking an ice chest full of food, full sized shampoo bottles, a few suitcases, some sleeping bags, pillows, a few sand chairs, an umbrella, lots of books and crayons, both computers and hopefully the girls will still fit.
We plan to take it slow, stop a few times, maybe have lunch on a beach on the way up. Hopefully we will get there before dinner tonight. And hopefully,on the road today, between the whines and the arguments in the backseat, there will be new adventures to be found.
Written at 5:00 am · (5) Comments ·
