I’ve had an unusual summer in that I haven’t spent almost any time with my very good, close and personal friend, the beach. It’s just sort of worked out that way, but I see that with August pretending to be a contender in the Indie 500, I better get my bathing suit on, or I’m going to be laying in a pile of yellow and red leaves with snow in the forecast.
I did manage to have a few hours on Sunday at Nantasket Beach, but it was high tide, making a very crowded day hard to find a spot of your own, so we were forced to settle on some rocks, which were not the most comfortable, near water that seemed to be holding all of the ice cubes in the freaking world. Gah. Not my idea of a day at the beach, but still, the smell of sunscreen, the sound of the waves, the eventual emptying of the shore still spoke to me personally, telling me all the reasons it loves me as much as I love it.
The beach has always put me in a coma of calm, always put my anxiety in the naughty chair, allowing me to be my most relaxed self. Grateful to have somewhere that knows me so intimately and accepts me so thoroughly.
For the first time ever, I planned a vacation that allowed me to miss major snow! Not only that, the weather in South Beach was spectacular. To get those two things to coincide is like getting Trump to speak a grammatical sentence–impossible.
So, gratitude to Mother Nature for this tiny miracle.
The mirrored elevator always had us checking our posture. As we called it “doing the colleen.”
He looks happy, right?
Going for a walk.
A mere four days (we missed our first day because we sat on the tarmac waiting to de-ice, but hell, better to de-ice than be in ice) and boom, your frigid soul melts, and the icy stairs, the weight of the down coats, hats and scarves become a distant annoyance.
feet in the sand!
I love a flower. This was on a lifeguard chair.
On the street.
Kith, the store.
View on my walk.
I never can quite understand how you can be in one place and get on a giant mechanical bird and wind up in another. I mean, yes, I know it’s technological engineering I could never comprehend to begin with, but beyond that, it’s just stunning to me to be walking in snow up to my knees and than in less than four hours have sand at my feet. Or to be in an english speaking country and then find yourself in a location that doesn’t speak your language, where the color of people’s skin is not that of your own. It’s a magic show that never gets old for me.
We did some great eating–namely one of my favorite restaurants ever anywhere–Mandolin, a small Agean bistro in the art district that has a romantic outdoor patio and the best Greek food. Juvia, a rooftop place that overlooks Miami’s downtown was incredible, and Cibo, a cavernous Italian place with homemade pasta that was genuinely homemade, not to mention a “wine ninja” doing acrobatics in the glass wine cellar. And of course, Bianca at the hotel was also beautifully made food in a spectacular atmosphere.
A wine ninja getting one of 500 bottles of wine at Cibo. Imagine the job application? “And you’ve been taking gymnastics since when…..”
My favorite restaurant–Mandolin. Seriously, this place is amazing.
The bar at Cibo.
Couldn’t be happier to have gotten a break from`New England’s longest and worst season. And now I need to pile on the clothes to walk the dog.
As you exited the elevator, every day there was a new quote.
At the ocean. Where things make more sense, and my lungs are all like, “whoa, we haven’t had this much air in a long time, so thank you for that.”
Sometimes I hold my breath. I mean obviously, I breathe enough to be alive, but not deep into the crevices that should be expanded, and that I’ve found through yoga, need attention.
The Cape is very different in pre-season. It’s quieter and more how I wish it really were. There are times I think it’s fun to feel the energy, smell the Coppertone, and hear the cacophony of crying babies and Kadema on a crowded beach day, but I much prefer the sound of the waves to the sound of people. It’s like oxygen.
Holding onto the chatter of nature and ocean. The good stuff.
I am all about the sun. But sometimes I like rain. It’s not the wet that I like, because I find that annoying. It’s the smell.
Rain smells like the beach to me, like so many days on the Cape with my mom, when I’d blame her for the weather, but secretly enjoy the raucous waves and the smell of the sea. It brings me to the Vineyard when the sky was emptying buckets down, and the kids were complaining of boredom, and the days seemed endless, but the air smelled like a perfume I wish existed.
Today smells like that. Like so many moments that have already been, and the ocean, and the beauty of things that are simple.
I went to Crane’s beach yesterday. It was not very crowded. There was a breeze. The sound of the water made my blood pressure plummet into what must have been cadaver-isn numbers.
Normally, I get in a lot of beach time during Boston’s short summer. This year I have not. And yesterday, when I plopped my chair down, all of me seemed to relax into itself, the world seemed to recede back and the constant, rhythmic waves washed over my jumpy stressed out mind like the prettiest tulle veil.
When I’m at the beach, things make sense that don’t make sense when I’m not. Perspective is easier for me to befriend.
It seems to me I need some more of that right now. Before winter starts knocking on the door.