g l o s s i n g s

notes in the margins

I went to Ocean City, Maryland this week with a girlfriend, on vacation. It was something new for me. Not going on vacation-that’s something I’ve done many times as a kid. The new was going with a girlfriend. It was a wonderful week. We talked, laughed, cried, drank, ate, and just hung out without having to be anywhere else.  She whooped my ass at 500 Rummy a few times, too, but that’s only because she makes up her own rules! And we came home early because she needed to. She has a lot of things in her life that need her attention and as much as it was lovely escaping, the reality is that you can’t escape until you attend to the important issues that need to be attended to.

Being an early riser, I was usually up and about by 6 am, and one morning I went down to the beach very early just to be close to the ocean and feel the cool morning sand on my feet. I collected a few seashells and let the foamy waves dance around my feet.  It was one of the most peaceful hours I’ve spent in a very long time. When I got back to the room I pulled out my notebook and this is what I wrote:

9.21.09
Ocean City, MD
The Carousel, Rm 2112

Went down to the beach today at 7am. It was quiet, bright, warm sun, cool sand, and the water felt good-comforting-as it flowed around my toes. The ebb and flow dropping perfect shells, sparkling jelly fish in the morning sun. A baby conch! And the imperfect-broken with tiny holes-like me. A keeper to remind me even the imperfect is beautiful. Light, airy and yet as solid as the unbroken. The waves spilling on the beach and then racing back to rejoin the body. Or were they pulled back resisting the inexorable force? My footprints, deep in the sand, washed clean, erased all evidence of me there. Does this ever get old?

There is something compelling about the ocean and I never tired of watching it. The night before we left to come home I made my final trek down to sit there, quietly in the dark.  The lights from the hotel at my back illuminated the path but didn’t intrude on the solitude. And I wasn’t alone. A woman named Sandy (Cassandria) joined me and we sat together for a bit, talking and laughing quietly as she made shadow pterodactyls with her hands.  She became part of the moment and the memories that I take from that week. A stranger who had the courage to stroll up and say “can I join you?” A half-hour, at most, and yet forever.

It was a wonderful week.