A Day at the Beach

Last week, I was in the teacher workroom at school making copies. There were three women there, volunteers. One of the women recognized me. She asked if I had graduated from Crestview High in 1982. Yup. She had graduated in 1983, and she remembered me from band. I had played clarinet; she had been on the color guard. I didn't catch her name and wouldn't have known her from Moses walking down the street. She said that she had been in the same room with me on a trip to Orlando. She said she remembered that me and my best friend, Rebecca, had kept three buses full of fuming band members waiting at Disney World because were were an hour late for our scheduled time to depart. Yup. I remember that. We'd forgotten to set our watches and were still living on Central time. I remember, too, running across the endless Disney parking lot (Minnie . . . Mickey . . . Goofy . . . Pluto), staggering onto the bus, getting chewed out by our band director (who, afterall, had a pointy devil beard), and feeling the sting of glares like daggers from our band mates. Yup.

You can never tell how someone will remember you. You could meet someone on the street tomorrow who says, "Hey, you're the guy who sat through an entire day of corporate training with his fly open!" Or, "I remember you. You gave that drunken speech at the New Year's Eve party. No one knew what the heck you were talking about!" You never know.

Sunday, my husband and I played hooky and went to the beach. I've tried to get my husband to the beach several times since we moved to FL over a year ago, but he's been reluctant. I don't know why. Maybe he's a little skittish about going bare-legged in public (a habit he'll surely have to break, living here, and Honey, the legs aren't going to improve with age). Anyway, after mulling over the idea, I suggested we go to the beach and he said okay.

We crossed the Mid-Bay Bridge and had a big ol' country breakfast at Cracker Barrel, then headed over to Okaloosa Island. When I was growing up, the place was nothing but dunes and sea oats. Now, much of the beach has been developed. The towering condos in Destin always seem to me to just be waiting for the next Big Storm. Still, the FL Gulf Coast is a beautiful place. The dunes undulate, the sand is sugary white, and the water, most days, gently laps against the shore. Our plan was to spend a couple of hours at the beach and leave before the crowds arrived. It's September now, so most of the tourists have gone home and the place seems to be taking a deep breath before the Snow Birds flock in.

The beach was all but deserted when we arrived. There was a red flag flying from the lifeguard tower warning of strong currents and high tides, but we decided to take the plunge, anyway. The surf was rougher than the last time I'd been there, with my sister Jenn. The waves were riding in, spending themselves in crashes of frothy foam. We set out our towels and crept towards the water. I don't own a bathing suit. Instead, I wear my bike shorts and exercise bra when I encounter situations that call for bathing attire. (After my last visit to the shore, I did try on a few suits. Even the "granny suits" didn't cover enough inner thigh for my taste.) The water was cool, refreshing. We quickly adjusted to the temperature. There's nothing like the embrace of the Gulf; swimming there always brings back good memories of long, sandy days when I was a kid. I turned around the looked at my husband. Ed had a huge grin on his face. He'd get clobbered from behind by a wave, then pop back up like one of those clown punching dolls. He said this was the first time he'd ever gone swimming in salt water, despite having lived on the Oregon Coast for 20 years. (The only time he'd been in the Pacific was scuba diving, in a wet suit.) He looked like a little kid. I didn't have to ask him if he was having a good time.

We played in the water for a while, then slogged back onto shore and slathered on the sun screen. We spent several hours that way, going from shore to sea, liberally applying SPF 50. I can proudly say our frequent basting paid off. Neither one of us got sunburned.

There's nothing like a day at the beach to put a smile on your face.