Freelance Retort: Beach Fundamentals

I took my first all day trip of the season out to the local beach the other day.

It was a great day, except for the guy trying to dunk me in butter on the way out….

Think about it….

It’ll come to you….

Eventually….

First beach days have a bit of a learning curve thing attached to them.

You wouldn’t think it was a big deal, but it’s been about 8 months, so things have to be re-learned.

Like remembering to put on your bathing suit.

Locate your beach permit.

Pack your iPod.

Find your lunch cooler.

Pack your lunch cooler.

Find your lunch.

Dig out the Coppertone # 4 that you’ve been nursing for the last 20 years.

Not to mention towels, chairs, umbrellas, hats…

And finally, figuring out that your bathing suit is the one that doesn’t have a top.

But that’s an easy one cuz the guy in the parking booth usually can’t hide his smirk.

Once the car—the brand new car— is neatly settled in the furthest space in the furthest corner of the lot, safe from wayward beach chairs and coolers, I saunter up to the gate, present my beach card to the same semi-polite, off from college girl, working her way through yet another summer—still reading the same book about thoughtful vampires—who wraps another one of those ridiculous neon wrist bands around my wrist…again, for yet another season.

I step onto the sand, breathe in the salt air and make my way up the beach past the life guard shack, past familiar faces, already tanned, until finally I settle onto my own personal patch of water front property, staked and claimed more than a few decades ago.

The first thing I do is to remove the ridiculous wristband so as not to mar my impending perfect tan. I’m a beach anarchist that way…what can I say.

Don’t tread on my tan line is my motto.

Again, being the first beaching day of the season, it takes me a while to re-work my routine, one that I’ve repeated countless times.

Yet, every year is a new year, and who knows, maybe this year I’ll use the blue towel instead of the green to cover my chair…or dare I say it…maybe even switch to the monkey towel.

So you can see why this is a process.

In the end I stick with what’s worked in the past.  Why fix what’s not broke, I say.

I may be a beach anarchist, but I’m not crazy.

Sitting back now, I scan the shore line and notice that the row of break rocks that separate the two beaches seems a bit off this year. While it may not seem like a big thing to you, it’s a little unsettling in a place that’s been essentially frozen in time for most of my life.

Oh wait…I see what it is…they added a “Please” to the “Keep off the Rocks” sign.

I guess I can live with that….or at least try to avoid looking in that direction.

Another, less disturbing, change, I notice, is that the woman with the furry toes, who wanders up and down the beach all day, is….

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