surf's up

There is no traffic. There are no people. There is no noise except a gentle slap,slap,slap as water strikes the underside of my paddle board while I glide over what lies beneath. The sky is turquoise and the sun high and bright, sparkles like diamonds as it hits the water's surface. The water is cool and green and barely a ripple breaks the calm. This is my therapy. In fact after the initial cost it is cheaper than any therapist. One stop shop for a summer of inner peace. Trying to find ways to cope with daily life can get to be a grind. I can only run so much, write so much, bake so much, but when my feet hit that board I am complete. I've never been a sporty person. I've never owned any kind of equipment so used to renting if I felt the need to release the inner jock. Fact of the matter, money and space constraints put a damper on having my own gear. This was different. I suppose I was hooked after the challenge of trying to get back to land after a sudden wind nearly swept my friend and I off to Canada(see 2 posts ago). Strange way to start my watery affair. After my third attempt in much calmer water I announced to my husband I was buying a board. He gave me that look that close friends and coworkers know all too well. That look that lets me know when he thinks I'm loony. My husband is all earth and matter of fact and one would think he'd be used to his wife's flights of fancy by now. First question out of his mouth mentioned the money. Yeah, yeah, whatev. I know it's expensive. I also know I will probably never have a boat or even my own pool, but this, this was doable. So I took some of that big money(well, big for us) he earned this summer and bought myself 12 feet of aqua and white fiberglass complete with leash, paddle, and pfd. I had the front of the board strung for stowing light cargo and a friend hooked me up with a waterproof cell phone case. Good to go. The minute I had the board in my possession I was off and running, well paddling. Meeting up with wild woman for a sunset paddle an hour after I had my board was positively magical. Repeating the same evening on my birthday a few days later was breathtaking. The water was glassy and the sun was a giant fiery ball of orange as it slipped behind the cliff while our 3 silhouettes paddled in to the beach. Now all this talk of cool calm water is great, but lest we forget this is Lake Erie we're talking about, the most shallow of the Great Lakes. Lake Erie can turn on a dime and I have spent a few hours in some choppy, wavy water. Crazy as it sounds, I enjoy this just as much as the stillness. I suppose I am a closet adrenaline junkie because when I "surfed" my first "big" wave I think I actually did a fist pump and I don't do that. That feeling of power and control over the water while being able to stay on my board was intoxicating! So dear readers, now you know why I've been away from my computer for so long. My love affair with my paddle board and that lake has taken over like the colder temps are about to take over our fair city. I am holding out though. Summer is not over until the lake tells me so. Good night world.

beach house

It is not a fancy house. It is not a big house. There is no swimming pool or brightly hued exterior. The furniture is knotty pine 1970's discards mixed with Miami Vice era white formica. The shower and tubs are the same harvest gold insert they've been for at least 25 years. The stove is still electric and the dishwasher was only added in the last few years. The old wood desk has sat by the side door manning the entrance for as long as I can remember. In fact the whole place has that feel of abandoned college dorm furniture meets summer rental. What does set this beige sided structure apart from say the bright orange monstrosity down the road is the fact that it sits on stilts in the middle of a sand dune facing the Atlantic Ocean. Climbing the steps to the porch one is smacked in the face with the view of sea, sand, and surf. The kudzu creeps through the sand while the sea oats wave in the salty wind. The weathered dock leading to paradise is old, creaky, and very splintery. The meeting place in the middle still holds memories from past margarita nights. This house, this special place has been my home away from home for 27 years. Every August I have made the trek to this beach, my beach to restore my senses or lose sight of them depending on the company. I do not own the house, in fact that honor belongs to Carol in Boca, but for one week a year it is mine. My respite. My getaway from normal life, stress, what have you. The house has hosted many a family member, friend, dog, even a shot gun bride. It has withstood countless hurricanes and heat spells. It has remained in the same hands through death and in my hands even through my parent's divorce. Like the ocean claiming the beach, I claim this house. I will not let go. I will work my tail off in order to pay the steep weekly rate. All worth it for this little slice of time where I can let go, not shower, eat shrimp until I'm sick, read for hours and best of all share it with my little family and the friends I love. The memories this house has cultivated over the years is what stays with me and brings us back each summer. Laughter and love all lulled by the sound of crashing waves. Salt air mixed with the briny scent of the ocean floods the senses as soon as we open the car doors. Shaking off the midwest pace and slowing down to a southern crawl rejuvenates my soul and I am loathe to leave. Alas the end approaches and I feel my gears starting to wind up again. I am sunburned, sandy, and hair like straw, but I am happy. I have spent the week with people I love and my heart is full again. Best of all, I know this modest cottage will be waiting for me in exactly 365 days when I can reclaim it as mine if only for a short time. Good afternoon world.