When she was younger and less wise, JT would roll her eyes whenever I would use the words frugal or prudent. I’m sure that there were many years when she didn’t understand why we didn’t have a pool, or a boat, or own a summer cottage within walking distance to the Atlantic ocean, buy fancy new cars every two or three years, and why we hadn’t been to Disneyworld like probably every.single.one.of.her.friends had been.
I confess to pining for an ocean-front cottage, and my life isn’t over yet, so it may still be in the cards. Besides, I can see it in my mind’s eye. I can describe every detail of it, so how can it not exist, somewhere, and somehow, in my reality? Exactly the right house at exactly the right time and at exactly the right price.
Don’t get me wrong; I do not plead poverty. We have a nice house, we wear good shoes, drive decent cars, we eat well (especially in summer when the garden is overflowing with so many wonderful vegetables, fruits, and herbs), and we have had some fantabulous vacations, particularly on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, where the beaches are footsteps away and nearly deserted, and dear friends are in the rental unit next door.
There is a simplicity in a beach vacation that I truly love. No equipment required save for a few books to read, a beach chair, swimsuits and towels, shorts and tee-shirts, sandals, my camera, simple food, good wine, and good company.
A day would go like this: Coffee, walk on the beach, shower (in the outside shower, thank you), breakfast, beach. Play in surf, read, chat, laugh. Shower, lunch, read, play in surf, read, think, laugh, walk again. Shower, a simple supper with some of that good wine and local shrimp from the day’s catch sold at Risky Business, maybe play a game or two, chat, walk the beach in the dark to witness the gazillions of stars easily seen in a rare spot of unlit eastern USA, wonder about the universe, read, love, sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat.
It is snow-cold outside today, even though the sun is shining. It’s a perfect day for remembering the hot sand between my toes.
Andrea du Jour 