I've always had a thing for the ocean. Lakes are nice. Pools can be delightful. The bay can be a close second. But for me nothing compares with the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore.
An astrologer once told me its because I have a disproportionate amount of water in my sign so I naturally feel more comfortable close to the water. I prefer my own explanation which is the story my Uncle Nick used to tell me.
He and my mom's sister, my Aunt Dorothy were babysitting for me. It was the first time my parents had left me overnight with anyone. It was hot. Blistering hot. The kind of hot that makes you want to turn up the AC and stay indoors watching a good movie.
Except when I was a baby air-conditioning was still considered a luxury - one my Aunt and Uncle did not have.
It seems that I was born with my aversion to extreme heat. Not yet able to talk, the only way to express my displeasure was to cry. So I cried. And I cried and I cried. At the top of my lungs. Nothing was going to get me to stop. Which is about when my Uncle drove us to Long Beach. It wasn't illegal back then to be on the beach at night without a special permit. It was just what people did when there was no place else to cool off.
He loved getting to this part of the story in which he played hero because he had solved the problem. You see as soon as I heard the waves crashing and felt the cool ocean breeze I fell asleep.
I was far to young to remember any of this. Long ago I created an elaborate picture in my head of what it looked like - a black and white photo of a stylish young couple, sitting on a bench on the boardwalk under the night sky, taking turns holding their new niece as she slept in their arms.
But I do remember the feeling. Each time I set my toes into the sand and feel the spray of salt water on my skin. I am at peace. I am restored. I am relaxed. And sometimes I still go right to sleep.
note: This is Day #6 of a 30 Day Experiment. Here are the details on how it all started.