As the end of my second year in the coastal south approaches, I continue to be amazed at the fact that four days before Thanksgiving I can pull on a bathing suit and head to the beach to spend the better part of my day there. That's not to say that it doesn't get chilly here, and it's certainly not to say that Rob and I don't sincerely miss the crisp air and painted landscape of fall in South Carolina or West Virginia. But as long as I'm here, I intend to appreciate the particulars of island living.
Walking along the beach path from 11th street to East Beach there is a certain point where shoes of any kind become an obstruction to effective forward movement, so I kicked off my flip flops and plodded the rest of the way to my usual camp site-- umbrella, chair and beach bag in tow. The beach looked different today, and for a second I actually had to take a good look around to assure myself I was indeed in the exact same spot that I have planted myself every time I've come to the beach this summer. And that was a lovely thing to ponder for a while because as soon as I knew I wasn't in a parallel dimension somewhere my inner voice gave me a kindly flick on the forehead for ever having assumed that something like a beach would ever remain the same. But for the record, it had changed quite a bit this time, as if the beach and all the sandbars had been slurried around overnight--they were significantly transformed.
Four and a half hours later I had watched low tide yield to the pull of the moon and high tide was clamboring in. I had finished reading the latest book to grace my imagination and for a while I just sat on my towel staring out at the ocean and wondering what to do next while at the same time being completely content with remaining right where I was with no active plans at all. But out of that strange internal obligation which is most likely a completely socialized thing of our culture, I got up from my towel and bent under my umbrella to put my book away...I suppose in an effort to--as Daddy Wayne puts it--"begin the egress." But as I put the book away I realized my beach chair was in the perfect amount of shade, so I sat down...and pretended to continue the egress while the other 99.9% of my attention was on listening to the sound of the ocean...which led into more thinking. And in my usual nature of taking delight in thinking and pondering and contemplating and realizing--and I will say my psyche rarely disappoints me no matter how big or small the process is--I began considering exactly why it was that I felt so OK with just staying at the beach until the cows came home, and what exactly the "sound of the ocean" is and other things like that. So as I'm sitting in the chair, thinking and guiltily messing around with my beach bag as if I, were I to continue, might actually convince myself to pack up and leave (which didn't really work because as I dug for my phone to check the time I noticed I had two magazines in the bag that I hadn't read yet...well I could read these and THEN go...) it occurred to me that the sound of the ocean was a natural "white noise" and that it, combined with the nearly perfect temperature and breeze, was probably behind the reason why I was so content, or perhaps, entranced...and my inner voice gave me another of those proverbial flicks because then it seemed obvious.
As I was recovering from re-entry to reality I see, out of the corner of my eye, a couple walking past and the guy points at me and I realize I/we know them. It was a couple who Rob and I have met and hung out with at a few parties and hoped we would eventually become friends with. So they were walking with their baby (who I now call "sweet baby James" as he is wonderful for holding and bouncing and chirruping and laughing with) and they stopped to talk for a few minutes. They were at a birthday party/oyster roast we went to last night and all of us had stayed out till the wee morning talking and laughing and having our hair and clothes and skin soaked with the smell of burning cedar wood and roasted shellfish and the low-country air of live oaks and moss and salt.
Anyway their visit broke the spell that had kept me at the beach for so long after I'd finished my reading and then I was glad I had been entranced for long enough to see them. Once they were on their way further along the beach I packed up my things and walked myself to the car. At home I warmed up some soup and sat down to write about today. Because it has been a good day. And I am happy.
