Seven Days

Goodbye Beach…

Tomorrow morning we will pull out of the driveway of our Kitty Hawk cottage and wave goodbye to a only seven short days of our lives. We have all spent a week at the beach in the summer…some of us are annual visitors. The salty air, the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the flat tidewater land…I love the beach from the time I cross out of the Piedmont region of Virginia and the land flattens and my views are no longer obscured by green rolling hills, but are replaced with wide open highway. I love seeing the ships at Hampton Roads and traveling through the tunnel and emerging out the other side. I am always awed by the fact that someone possessed the kind of ingenuity that would allow me to travel under water. And then out of total darkness, I start to see the proverbial “light at the end of the tunnel.” And with that light, comes the excitement and anticipation of a child on Christmas morning. There’s a certain liberation as you emerge out of that tunnel. For my children, it’s the knowledge that they will spend an entire week in the world’s largest sandbox. They will run out and crash into the waves with all their force. They will play tag with the waves. They will hunt crabs in the dark with their flashlights and scream when one surprises them! They will watch the edge of the water for bubbles and dig for sand shrimp when they see them. For myself, it is knowing that for seven days, I will not have to see the mailman. (No offense Jimmy…it’s not the messenger…it’s the message!) I won’t have to crack a book or go to work. I won’t have to wake up early…even though I find myself waking up at the beach earlier than I do at home. I still have to referee some fights, cook a meal or two and even fold a few loads of laundry, but these tasks are less painful when you can look out the window and see the sea. I have spent six days lying on the beach…got so relaxed that I fell asleep on two separate occasions.

I have spent these days “people watching” and even made some new friends mid-week. There are lots of locals where we are staying this year and I love it. Most of them are older folks who have already endured the ins and outs of child-rearing and the days of living the working-class life. Most of them have grown children and grandchildren now. They live here with their dogs and have a communion with their neighbors. They love the holiday weekends, because it is then that their loved ones come to share their paradise with them. A lovely older couple sat next to me yesterday and the gentleman observed the breaking waves as the lady tended to her knitting. “What a way to spend your golden years,” I thought to myself. These people are friendly and they smile and they laugh a lot. I’m sure they have the same struggles as all of us, but living in paradise seems to lessen the blows. Our next door neighbor’s name was John. John walked his 12 year-old beagle in front of our street several times a day and Kevin got to know him. He is a retired school teacher…a Penn State alumni that flew his blue and white Nittany Lions flag proudly from his deck. His sons graduated from WVU and he joked with Kevin about how the WVU fans saw his Penn State license plates and threw things at his car! His wife is a writer, but hasn’t bothered publishing anything yet…just writing for her grandchildren so far. Kevin knew I would enjoy knowing the information about his wife, as my dream is to live by the sea and write.

My daughter, Natalie made friends with two little girls from Kentucky this week. Yesterday, they gathered in front of the water and had their picture taken together…a photograph that will be treasured for years to come and a reminder of the innocence and fun of childhood as they grow older. Natalie came back under our umbrella and tears welled up in her eyes and mine, too. I knew that very feeling. So many years of my life I have made friends at the beach and shared a short seven days of my life with them, and had to say goodbye. A measly seven days of a thirty-two year life. It is those seven days a year throughout our lives that we form some of the fondest memories, however.

Sunday, July 5, 2009 5:34 p.m.

We are back in Covington. I just spent 45 minutes unpacking my suitcase and pulling each article of clothing out and pressing the fabric to my nose for that trace of the unmistaken smell of the beach. I laughed at myself as I thought anyone who saw me would think I had escaped from the funny farm! I was smelling my clothes as if someone had died and I was trying to remember their scent. Coming home from vacation is somewhat of a mourning process though, I reasoned. Seven short days, 40 or 50 snapshots and a file in the center chamber of our hearts earmarked, “Family Vacation.” It will forever be there for retrieval…no risks of viruses or hackers to destroy the contents. When I sit back and watch my children grow each year, I will go to that file and flip through, year by year, and remember back when Riley took his first steps in the sand when he was 10 months old and when Natalie lay napping, so angelic under the striped umbrella, snuggled up with her blankie and pacifier at 2 years old, while the May breeze blew along the seashore. I will double-click the file in my heart that will reveal Wyatt standing on his board at the edge of the water, awaiting a wave to skim him across the surf. I will close my eyes and pull out the file marked, “Fireworks” and think of Kevin and I standing barefoot in the sand, watching the sky light up with light and the reflection of the sparkle in the ocean.

Yeah, it’s just a tiny snippet of life…seven days a year over many years of life. For me, however, it’s a seven-day-a-year communion with the universe. It’s a family tradition that my children can begin to stow away in their hearts and pull out as they grow older. It’s an escape from the hustle and bustle of life and a reconnection with the things that are most important.~aRg