Found My Beach

Note that the theme is anticipatory and contemplative, not consumptive. The bottles have been opened but not tipped. Silent and reflective, folks are drinking in only with their five senses.

As a sailor I would suspend drinking my Corona long enough to gauge the quality of the wind (navigable energy) being wasted for the lack of any sails in the scene. As an old dude, I will ponder the pounding of the surf, the irregular cadence of which marks the linear and immutable march of time. Each wave is unique; no wave will repeat exactly another; each wave is as unrecoverable as the last minute in time.

Before I met Trophy Wife, I was semi-conscious, semi-comatose. Our first date, chaperoned, we went to the harbor with our kids and sailed a rented Lido-14. Among other things, that experience awakened my soul to its true nature. I bought a boat. For three decades we lived a little more than an hour away from the Pacific. Every morning, collecting the day's paper, I took in the morning breeze - its scent and direction - and tried to picture in my mind's eye what its effect would be on the nearby waters and beaches. For the last decade, we have been blessed by living three stoplights from our beach, harbor, and boat. Retrieving today's papers and taking in the morning's breeze, I can now see swatches of my waters as well as hear surf, sea lions, and fog horns.

Priceless.