*Delayed posting* Actually written on June 30:

I have had s’mores for breakfast for the past 3 days. I have an angry, red sunburn on most of my body, save the part covered up by my boring brown one-piece bathing suit. The burn brings out my freckles and makes my bright blonde hair look even blonder against the red of my face. It’s the kind of burn you can’t even put makeup on—but it doesn’t bother me. I did the same thing two days before my wedding so I couldn’t wear makeup at my wedding.

Walking on the beach alone the third morning we were here I stopped to watch the ocean. I was looking for some great revelation or profound thought, but the rhythmic roll of the waves must have drowned it out.

My feet covered in sand and facing the blue-gray waves, I felt no change. No particular release of stress or happy feeling…and wonder what could possibly be wrong, on the beach in California. Maybe I’ve grown up in the past 5 years since the last time I was here. And in the way growing up does…it has dulled my senses a little bit.

I start thinking about my dad walking me down the beach on my wedding day, and the time I went to Universal Studios with my dad, stepmom, and stepbrother. I think about that day on the sailboat with Tony and his family, and the first Harbor cruise Tony and I went on—Valentine’s day 2004, I remember the first time my husband told me he loved me.

We drive by the Motel 6 I stayed at on I-78 the week after Tony and I got engaged in August of 2004.

We walk on the pier, on the beach, through the shops.

We sit on our patio, have caramel macchiatos at Starbucks, and fresh crablegs on the harbor. We consider buying a shirt that says I got crabs from my waitress at Crabby Joe’s. I even try a bite of oysters Rockefeller.

We watch the waves roll in and play in the surf—and both get so ridiculously burnt that we can’t even touch each other.

I’m thankful for my choice to be with my DH and my luck. I’m thankful for my son, who when I call to check on him tells me about his day in one word sentences,
“Skate.”
“Ice cream.”
“Bath.”

I can’t remember why I have a blog, as examining oneself is probably a futile pastime. I wonder about this while I’m on the beach—as thinking about things never makes me particularly happy, just makes me worry. But I think I get that from my grandma. The worry part.

You know most things about me now, but I didn’t tell you about the last miscarriage. The one in February--the one that makes me wonder if I’ll ever have another child. I think about that as I walk on the beach in the mornings while Tony is still sleeping, although there is nothing I can do about it.

I think about my dad and my brother and the blur of the last year.

I lie down on the bed next to my husband, in the quiet--thinking California is beautiful—this burn, this humidity making my hair curl, the salt, sand, the waves. Looking at my tan husband with those bright blue eyes; staying at a cottage on base and watching the Marines walk by in their desert cammis.

I like the order of this place, being on base.

But driving down the freeway the other day I turned to Tony and said,

“I remember now what I loved so much about this place. It was you.”