At 5 Second Walk, a clam shell announces, “A Day at the Beach is the Best Day Ever” in blue magic marker. I couldn’t agree more. I remember the sentiment as I tumble to the Atlantic, where I rejoice in the waves…. the waves the waves the waves as they crash and retreat. I like my towels to be orange and red, a reflection of the heat and joy of beaches and summer. The ocean is a perfect Sea Green from the Crayola color wheel. Swimmers jockey for position between a dozen men casting fishing poles and ogling girls clad in bikinis, but it’s an older woman in a colorful kurta who reels in dinner, a blue fish she smartly totes off for cleaning.
It’s a great excuse to be lazy and while away an afternoon on soft sand, two months worth of New Yorkers and Oprah's latest issue as inspiration for September, quickly approaching. And the theme of this issue is appropriate. It is time for a makeover; although I’m unclear on my start date for this makeover, this New Me. It’s something I contemplate over the next two days, lounging on my triple wide spread of towels, umbrellas, books, lotions and coolers of frozen fruit and ice cubes.
One of our houseguests left on the 5:20 ferry Saturday. The rain hadn’t settled in yet, but the wooden walkway was slick and our flip-flops squeaked and squawked as we made our way to the ferry landing marked by a single lamppost, oddly reminiscent of the wardrobe leading to Narnia. We wanted to see her off, across the short bay to the LIRR & Penn Station where she would train it to 2nd & 4th readying herself for a morning flight across the country to LA.
A new beginning. A whole new chapter. I took that journey myself once – and at her age - from the same side of town East Side to the same side of town West Side. I’m excited for her, but sad for me. Goodbye this time wasn’t a “see you next week”; it was goodbye good luck to an uncertain path and a sparkling future. I’m half jealous.
Remnants of the hurricane season hit us early Sunday morning, raining all day and leaving Monday a windy mildly warm and tempestuous day. An olive skinned beauty, say 15 or 16, stands with her left hand on her cell and her right cupping her cheek vacantly looking out from the Grill Counter, normally full on sunny days, yet eerily empty, devoid of people and their pleasure crafts. Whether boaters left last night in the rain or early this morning, choppy waters in the closed quarters of the marina is probably not an ideal spot. The beach near the casino and ferry landing is full of bathers and two lifeguards watch over the low tide and rolling waves. Grey skies or not, people continue in their doggedness about enjoying their vacation time.
I can’t believe I waited until mid afternoon to come out to the beach. Being in the darkness makes one lazy, sloth like. We need some form of light to awaken our souls. Outside, even in this bright yet cloudy day I feel better, less stuck in the mud. The ocean has turned from a sea glass green to soup – a steely pea green mixture with five-foot waves that tempt the surfers. Five tweens hold hands and face the white caps. Kids rush the foamy parts of the waves, determined on their first day of a family vacation not to let the grey skies ruin their fun of the week before school starts. Parents are keeping close watch, bundled up and hunkered down against the wind. The sun brightly and bravely tries to break the barrier of clouds, but from its position now, I can see it has resigned to settling in until tomorrow.
Idleness certainly does not slow down time’s passages. For me it acts as lubricant, speeding up the last year. Davis Park, 2nd Walk, 2009 feels like two months ago. How did we get to here so quickly? A week is just not enough time to have a proper summer vacation. By the fourth day, you’re counting backwards, retracing steps trying to slow down the next few days that are anything but lingering. I think of O, and the September issue and my list… the list that never ends with questions like: What I am doing? Where am I going to live? What is my ideal life? What makes me tick? Why do I love sugar? I need to more yoga, start up guitar lessons again, Call that Dan Smith, memorize those uke songs, finish sweaters I’ve started, write postcards, discard old things and unused possessions, go to the post office by the lamppost, find a new apartment, tap into my brain, organize my thoughts, finish planning my trips, go the library, call my mother, call my sister, call my brothers, birthday cards and baby gifts, return calls, so much to remember, so much to do and in the midst of this all, the storm the storm and this dark cabin.
The sky is a milk glass with a light bulb shining through and I don’t want to leave just yet. It doesn’t seem right that it should be storming and 70 degrees in the dog days of summer.
I want more. I want an entire summer. I will settle for just one more sunny day at the beach - that is all I want.
We get back to our little cabin; the rain turning swiftly on us, a reminder of the mercurial seasons here and this realization hurts me personally. I used to rejoice in the advent of autumn. New cords, new desks, brown paper bag book covers, crisp air, but now it only makes me feel sad and helpless. I can’t stop the wheel from turning and soon it will be autumn for sure and for me, that means a new home as of yet to be determined, and an adventure of my own to not one but two foreign lands and hopefully a new path and purpose. I suppose this is a make over of sorts.
Cabin cleaned and bags by the screened porch, we take that last beach walk before heading back to the city. As if on cue, the sky has revealed a Tiffany blue gift, a hot orange sun– a new day. It is so gorgeous, so perfect that the mosquitoes have even taken a break.
To the north, yes, you can see exactly where the wind has pushed the clouds away from Fire Island, big cumulous clouds gather, bunching up like mounds of whipped cream. The ocean sparkles with the sun. Though not returned to its glassy green, gentle waves roll in, lolling swimmers to arise and get wet. A few more days of summer, it beckons, just a few days, whispering with the gentle wind, provoking us to take in this day and the next to come.
On the east coast, this is something to savor, a warm memory to return when the real cold comes on and the days turn bitter, short and the sky closes up once again but with snow. It is the tokens we take with us, shells and bits of broken worn down glass that fill empty bottles and jars later made into lamps, the bits of sand not shaken out of tote bags and socks that find us, that will remind us to seek out these days.
The sounds of the surf are loud and vibrant, and there is no need for talk or thinking. Just nothingness and the sense that everything is as it should be.
