Beach Thoughts

Amy and I traveled to Treasure Island in Florida recently to attend our nephew’s wedding. He and bride Abbie were married on the beach in a laid-back, Jimmy Buffet-like setting. I spent more time on the beach an ever before, several things there made impressions on me.
I love the beach, but I always have managed to scorch my hide with an almost second-degree burns. For some reason, this visit to the beach we discovered beach umbrellas and chairs. Suddenly, the sand of the shoreline were pleasant. Most days Amy and I spent no fewer than five hours under that umbrella. We chased the shade with our chairs most of the day, and when we returned to our room, neither of us was burned in the least by the son. That was good news to a guy who’s already had one cancerous spot removed from his neck and now has two others that need to be checked. I can’t understand why we never rented them before. Maybe umbrellas weren’t available at other beaches, or maybe our budgets on previous occasions were so lean that we couldn’t make the investment. I know from now on I’ll have an umbrella, even if I have to buy one and tote it from place to place. I’ll have the chairs too so that sand doesn’t cover fill every crevice of my body.
I looked at plenty of bathing suits during that week. The young folks had cut bodies that sported two-piece suits that emphasized every curve. That’s as it should be. However, I saw all too many swim suits on older folks that mesmerized me. That’s because I couldn’t believe the oldsters were wearing them. One ol’ girl looked to be well into her seventh decade. I eavesdropped on her conversations enough to determine her home was Germany. This Frau wore a black bikini. Her rounded belly was offset with drooping shoulders and overly long arms that failed with swing rhythmically with her walk. Her husband wore a suit that was popular the seventies. It was about the length of a pair of basketball shorts from the same period. The attire accented his stark white legs that were so skinny that he could have sued them for nonsupport. He protected his head with a hat that looked as if it were the property of a yodeler in the Alps. Another guy was still wearing the same size trunks that he wore during his high school years. He now wore them low enough to let his belly hang over the waistband. The saddest outfit, however, was worn by an older man, probably in his late sixties. He toured the sands in his Speedo. Sure, the guy was in decent shape, but not good enough to wear something like that. It’s for sure that folks should take others into consideration before they squeeze themselves in swimwear.
Something else became clear during my beach observations: the differences between boy and girl children at play. Boys are surprisingly louder. A few little guys around the ages of five to seven left not doubt of their presence. Everything seemed to excite them because instead of talking they yelled with each small discovery. The tiniest shell or a palm frond in the surf drove them nuts. Throwing a Frisbee or a ball created excited yelps when they dove for them in the water or on the sands.
To the contrary, little girls were much quieter—most of the time. They went about building sand castles at the edge of the water. Those little ladies smiled with delight or they shaded their eyes with one hand across their brows and pointed to the sand creations with the others to parents who were sitting close by. Only when the water inched up and began to nibble away at the castles or when an evil brother did the same were those feminine voices raised in ire. Then, an ear-piercing scream that must have been akin to the ones let loose by the Sirens that caused men to crash ships upon the reefs was heard.
Amy and I spent a restful, pleasant week on the edge of the water of the Gulf of Mexico. I got plenty of sun and even managed to overdo it one day so that places that I can’t reach itch from sun poisoning. I also gained weight that hopefully will melt in the heat of the rest of the summer. I realized one more thing: going is nice, but arriving home is always a more wonderful feeling.