This weekend while I was in Anaheim, I was filled with memories of previous California visits--especially the first when I was nine years old because that's when I first (naturally) saw the ocean.
The way I remember it is this: we came up over a hill and suddenly this mammoth gray-blue beast (aka "the Pacific") came into view, its scaly back sparkling in a late afternoon sun. In what was truly a wonderful family moment, my parents decided we'd get out of the car right then and there. No waiting. My dad parked on the side of the road, we climbed over a guardrail (at least this is how I remember it), and my brother John and I went whooping down to the water while peeling off our clothes. Or most of them anyway.
There could have been other people around. It seems likely, right? It was a beach. In southern California. But as far as I knew there was only us and an endless horizon. I can still remember how the moving water felt, curling up and foaming around my little girl ankles.
This weekend I sent brainwaves to my parents in freezing cold Provo, thanking them for jumping all over an idea that presented itself spontaneously and for not saying (as I probably would have when my kids were little), "We'll do that another time."
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4 comments:
>>we came up over a hill and suddenly this mammoth gray-blue beast (aka "the Pacific") came into view, its scaly back sparkling in a late afternoon sun.
...you are such a wonderful writer.
Yes you are, especially "that scaly back." And I'm pretty sure that you would have done the same thing with your boys. The first time you see the ocean, you just have to get in. It's a law of nature.
Your post reminds me that I've been away from the ocean for too long. What LB and LP said. Squared.
Hi, Ann. Great blog. As such, I've chosen you as the recipient of the prestigious Liebster Blogger Award. Go to my blog for the details! :) http://kenbakerbooks.blogspot.com/
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