Beach, Beach, Beach

It's hard to knock a day at the beach. Most people don't have the opportunity to go when they like, I think it's fair to say. A big vacation has to be mounted, or the weather is too poor much of the time. Perhaps the time can't be spared from what must be done to keep the lights on and the wolves at bay. The fact that I managed to go at all is a pretty lovely thing, so I appreciate that little sympathy is apt to be forthcoming if I level even modest criticisms for a recent outing.

It sort of came together at the last minute, and I was of two minds about going. I was tired and am more naturally a homebody than an adventurer. That always has to be overcome before I go out. Well, I overcame it, and off to the beach we went, throwing caution to the wind with a major freeway closure threatening to confine us to that end of town should we fail to head home in time later that evening. It was worth it in the main.

There were good friends and there was good food. I'm glad I went. Still, I have to complain about that beach. There was probably more seaweed out there than water, threatening to ensnare me forever at times. What wasn't seaweed was more often rocks than water. Every wave pummeled us like we were fashionable jeans. It was under our feet as well, and I was sure I'd emerge from the waves to find bloody feet that I would have to tend to.

As I said though, no one likes someone who can complain about an afternoon at the beach, and I did have fun. I got lucky in a way as well, failing to get burned after exposing myself to the sun for the first time in a long time. This fact alone was encouraging enough that perhaps I will redouble my efforts, finding my way to the beach several times more this summer. To do so would make for the most beach trips since my childhood summers in Florida. No, I'll shut up about the rocks and seaweed. Getting to the beach is pretty nice.