Sand Between My Toes

We had the great fortune of spending the past few days at the beach. As far as I am concerned, summer just isn't summer unless you have had your hair matted to your head with sticky, salty, sea water and have fallen asleep with the warm, beachy sun on your face. It happened to me and I think summer now feels complete. I hope I am still finding stray sand grains in my flip flops and in the pages of my book for the next few weeks so that I am reminded of the sound of the waves and the feeling that I had about how sweet life is.


I went to the beach all the time as a kid, at least it seems like I did. What stands out for me among all of those beach vacations is one thing (save a few memories triggered by old photographs). I remember, more than anything, my dad holding me in the waves while we searched for dolphins. He always called them porpoises and he would always ask me if I saw them. I never did but I always said that I did, figuring that it would make him happy (though now that seems so silly to me). It always felt like we were miles away from the shore, so far away I couldn't imagine having to get back on my own and, even though the waves were huge and were crashing down around us, I always felt safe, as if in the hands of Poseidon himself. I was reminded of that today as I held La Luz against the waves and the undertow, struggling to secure all thirty pounds of her with all of my might. I will have sore muscles tomorrow, but I bet she felt untouchable and I know she will remember it.