Happy Place

 

BEFORE:

We were two in 1985,

And the sun shone hot; the surf crashed on sandy shores.

We slathered on sunsceen that smelled like coconuts and trudged to the beach with rickety chairs, and books, frayed towels and Diet Coke, coming in during 10-2, the Death Zone for the Redhead I married. 

At night. we discovered local eateries to sample local fried fare and key lime pie. 

After which we read as the late summer sun gently set.

It was Heaven. 

THEN:

After a few years we became four.

On our annual forays we carried skimboards, boogie boards, kayaks, shovels, buckets, flip flops, bathing suits galore. Eventurally we packed up video games and controllers, their cords a tangle of black spaghetti.

We amped up our sunscreen usage (despite which the younger son always got burned.) 

And the boys built sandcastles with moats that trickled in from the ocean, and dug holes, and swam. 

We rented bikes and rode to the Kindred Spirit Mailbox.

We played putt putt and then watched handsome knights fight for their ladies fair while we ate turkey legs with our hands and wore paper crowns. 

We filled up on shrimp, oysters, scallops, Calabash Style. 

Books were read nightly to our crew and soon they were reading to themselves. 

We hosted friends, parents, and in-laws. 

And on Sundays, when Mom was with us, she and I made our way down in the bright early sun, to join the locals by the pier for Worship at the Beach. Always a moment to pause and feel grateful and loved. 

It was Heaven.

AFTER: 

Our boys became men and married women we love. We became six.

And did the same as before, sandy days filled with the crash of the waves and redolent with salt air. Swims punctuated with chapters of good books and crisp cold bottled water.

We added board games after supper, and 1000 piece puzzles and our elder son refused to let us look at the picture on the cardboard box. More fun that way, he said. And it was.

Our gaming branched into escape rooms, our dining habits changed to accomodate vegetarians, and pescatarians but it was never about the food. It was about the company, with beach hair, and gritty feet and the sun's tender kiss on our cheeks. 

It was Heaven. 

NOW: 

Now we are seven. 

The newest of us is a mere 8 months old. He's as white as a pearl, his head topped with copper. And a smile that lights up his face and ours.

And in this magical place he learns to love his Aunt and his Uncle Bro and he is passed from lap to lap to lap. 

We journey to the sand less frequently this year, yet experience everything anew:

The roar of the waves, 

The crispness of the sparkling water,

The blue of the cloudless sky,

The dunes standing guard,

The sea birds strolling saucily past our chairs,

The joy of a shared meal,

The comfort of a good book. 

And the early morning of the last day, I sit on a shady porch and hold my son's son. We listen to mourning doves, and watch for bunnies.  We see the whitecaps on the waves and the sway of the sea oats. And he turns and looks at me, deep, deep into my eyes and he smiles at me and he snuggles up to me and we rock and rock and rock and time has no meaning. 

And it is Heaven.