a beach- goers passage of rite

As a girl, after hours of jumping salty crashing waves, handstands under water, going surfing and all the other joys of the ocean I often found solace and comfort in my mama’s multicolored striped cloth beach chair.  I would sit all cozy wrapped in a towel shaken free of sand, handed a cup of juice or a slice of watermelon, lips all purple and shivering despite the warm summertime sun and it was lovely.  All the mom’s had them.  They sat in their chairs and chatted while us kids ran wild.

I have yet to go out and get such a chair.  I can’t say why exactly.  I suppose it’s because I am a product of playing at the shore.  If I can’t swim underwater with my eyes wide open spying out fish and shells and legs of unsuspecting people than what am I?  Really.

So these days, regardless of my adult status, and despite denying my  boys of the memory of such a seat, I claim freedom from the confines of a beach chair.  Delightful they may be, I am not ready for this giant step in life.  No, for now I will use it as an excuse to shake and bake for a just a tiny bit longer.  (you know where you go in the water and then roll around in the dry sand)



4 thoughts on “a beach- goers passage of rite

  1. my mom had the same beach chair- think she still does, that thing is older than me. 🙂 Once the kids will let you, you will see the beauty of the beach chair- easier to drink a beer and much easier to read a book (yes, I said it- READ A BOOK!). Plus, you had such good memories in your mom’s- you don’t want to rob the kids of that- do you?

    • I don’t believe you. Read a book!!!! Let’s trade places for an afternoon at the beach. 🙂 I know I am sure you are more than right! But I do love to make moats and go body surfing! I really do! I can make a sweet mermaid out of anybody!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s