Tuesday, July 22, 2008
It's hot -- 98 degrees in the sweltering Colorado sun. Yes, it's dry heat, but I like to point out to people, friends and family humidifying back East, that we are that much closer to the sun, a mile-high closer to be exact. The grass is turning brown and I honestly can say that I do not like this time of year. I'm a fall and spring gal. After 15 years of living in Colorado, I have never made peace with its lack of water. And, while I enjoy a nice float down a swift moving, cool mountain-fed river as much as the next Coloradoan, it is this time of year that I miss Cape Cod the most.
The smell of salty air, dewy skin speckled with sand, lazy days spent lounging on the beach.
It pains me when my daughter refers to the community pool as the beach. Will she ever really know a beach the way I knew my beaches -- Kalmus, Sea Street, Cahoon Hollow, Nauset, Cisco, Surfside... Will she ever know the peacefulness of walking miles and miles of shoreline in the rain. Or, the joy of body surfing waves all day, eating sandy sandwiches and drinking gritty lemonade? Will she know the names of different crustaceans and spend hours searching for sand dollars along the shoreline. Will her Uncle teach her to surf? I fear she won't know any of these things, unless we make a conscious effort to soon begin a family tradition of the "summer vacation."
I want Abby and Max to dig in the sand that I dug in, build sandcastles, collect shells, play mini golf, and get their toes bit by crabs. I want to take them to places called Tastee Freeze, the Clam Shack, and the Lobster Shanty. I want them to get cavities from eating fudge, and then have those fillings pulled out by Salt Water Taffy -- ok, maybe not, but you get the picture.
The summer vacation -- something we can't afford, but need to afford.
I don't want these summertime memories to end with me.