Just as I was enjoying the calm, two schmuckarina’s sat down and turned on their mini-boom box (do they still call them that?)
This is Karen’s Third Law of Peace & Quiet: “If you have achieved a small slice of nirvana (let’s call that ‘nirv’), someone or something will feel compelled to add both volume and toxicity to your serene space.” I believe it’s a magnetic kind of thing. The forces of chaos and clutter are madly attracted to anything that resembles silence.
They (the forces) say (with a slightly Germanic accent) “NO SOUP – I mean, NO SUPINITY for you. Go eat some stone soup!”
Beach Post #2: Nature Calls
And then there is the more challenging than you would think activity of peeing in the ocean. When the waves are heaving and rippling at frequent intervals, there is a tug of war in the bladder between release (ahhhh!) and the preparation for flight. Each small wave that collides with your body evokes a probably self-protective response, which clenches and therefore effectively shuts down the system. I spent about a half hour in the surf trying to resolve this conflict, rather than trek the equivalent of two city blocks back to the hotel.
This, I am certain, is TMI. I claim beach brain as my excuse/justification…
Beach Post #3: Randomness Reigneth
I sit here, observing a large contingent of what I deem to be Eastern Europeans. I deduce their land of origin from their dangerously pale skin and the penchant of some of them for wearing high top black shoes on the beach. Na Zdorovie, Comrades.
As a somewhat professional observer of human nature, I am in a kind of heaven here. An almost unimaginable array of shapes, sizes and ages are moving about across my field of vision. The diverse horde is missing a significant element, however. No darker skin-tones are evident. Have I lurched unwittingly onto a ‘whites only’ beach? Or has segregation become so embedded that non-Caucasians don’t even consider showing up here?
As I write this, I pause to more carefully scan the area – maybe my assessment has been incomplete…
Nope. Everybody is lily white (or splotchy red.) Those I had momentarily deemed to be of other racial groups turned out to be hardened sun-worshipers of the leather-skinned variety.
Another surprising observation is how many pregnant women are here taking in the sun and surf. I’m pretty sure that back in the day (we’re talking 40 years ago) preggo’s stayed zu Hause. No trudging imbalancedly across the wide hot sands. Are women now made of stronger stuff? Or have we just become more willing to roll the dice of fate.
On a wholly other note, my friend (and she is my true friend) – the ocean, is as crisply inviting as ever. The wash of danger (which has increased as my age-linked capacity to keep my balance when wacked by the fast-moving watery churn has waned) adds a nice jolt of energy to the endeavor.
Another anti-social word or two –
I am grousing in response to a self-inflicted irritant. I like being in the front row. Yes, we are still talking about the beach. I like having no one obscuring my view of the roiling water. Now, it would have been far better if I remembered that when we were setting up umbrella and chairs, because three people, ignorant of my rightful position, put their big-assed selves right in front of me. Rat-bastards! I do feel righteous resentment and will not apologize.
And, as if things couldn’t get any better (or worse) – a freakin’ ice-cream man, pushing a hand truck of frozen goodies just walked by. My gracious PIC volunteered to go get me some chocolate ices! But, alas, he returned with something else: a cone of red-colored ice. It was sugar to the 12th power and no more than a quick lick was tolerable. A disappointment – but one that could not for long undermine the warm, breezy wonder of the day.