Maybe if I Squint I'll See Straight

My perspective is a drunken sailor riding a skateboard listening to Dolly Parton songs on a Walkman.

My judgment is a sea bird not waiting another second to snatch that delectable little fishy.

A little boy hit me square on the back with a piece of a dripping wet clam shell as I moseyed along in the tide pools searching for small critters to delight my Prince with. Instinct dictated that I turn my head around to see who'd thrown it and in that shutter snap of a moment, I clapped my hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh.

The kid was knee high to a horseshoe crab and standing like a damn boss as his father admonished him with a finger so waggly it looked disembodied. "Your mother would go CRAZY if she saw you do that!" He whisper/screamed.

Whereas I was all like: Good arm, dude.

Summer 2014

Here again. Here in Falmouth. Here and happy. I am so much beach, nearly an even split with city (depends upon which one I'm in, obviously). Even with the screamy kids and passive/ineffective (in this moment at least) parents right next to me in the pool I am happy.

The ocean is to my right and its smells and sounds provide a background that grounds. The sea informs my joyful choices and dictates my joyous mood. The beach gives me power and shows me that I am a million feet tall and a part of every other thing there is. This shit I'm typing is not hyperbole. I am here on the edge of the physical earth, right on the water and I totally fucking get how monumental that is.

I share a bed with Lincoln when we come here and these are nights I keep in a perfect little box sealed tight for later, later when I may need to breathe easier and feel better and not be so sad. His need for deep pressure and comfort translates into a boy who snuggles like its his goddamn job. His full weight is pushed into me and his horsey head snuggles almost hurt. He drifts off to sleep mumbling about horse-shoe crabs and his daddy.

Ruby is languid here. Legs to her ears and hair down her spine. She's lazy and sleepy and calm and bends to my whims like warm licorice.

And it never fails that Penelope crosses a threshold here she's never dared to traverse. This time, she walks to the beach BY HERSELF. Always with a target in sight, always armed with a cell phone and always a glorious puffed up peacock as she marches away.

Hot husband said a bunch of years ago that it was important to him that we build memories for the kids with our trips and vacations. I kinda dismissed it, like "duh", no kidding.

But now I get it. He didn't have so much of that as a small boy, while for me, my summertime memories remain the absolute best thing about my childhood. And I'd bet a shit-ton of dough that my kids are gonna feel the same.

This place.

Next time, next year, Sgueglia is coming. He is coming and along with all the requisite and charming and delightful things we'll do with the kids, me and my man are going to get it on like it's the end of the world because that is the only thing keeping my days here from being absolutely pristine.