Now that the Beach Boys are roaming around in your head, let me tell you about our trip to the beach with my eldest daughter's family. It was full of fun, good foods, meltdowns, minor crisis, laughter, and snuggling. A great time.
Tuesday afternoon the Amarillo crew connected through Dallas on Southwest. My bride and I met them at the gate and flew with them to Corpus Christi connecting through Houston. Phoebe the 3-year-old was ecstatic to traveling in such a novel and adventurous way. When she is excited she talks, a lot, loud. She was so wound up that it took all the rest of us to keep up. Eli, being 7, was more mature about the entire deal. Of course he was pretty doped up from being kicked by a horse the previous day, thigh and face, he looked like he was on the wrong end of a rumble. Brad has all the electronic gadgets, so Eli spent most of the flight watching the old Karate Kid. Phoebe talked.
We landed around 6PM and everyone was starved. We wanted something quick, but good, and Jordan wanted a salad. Hmm. The final decision was a reluctant CiCis Pizza. Actually pretty good food. We chowed down, reloaded into the van and headed to Target for "beach toys" and HEB for groceries. By the time all that was done and the minor skirmishes with kids and planners were resolved, we drove the final 20 miles or so to the condo. Very nice. My bride (known as Nena to her grandkids) and I had the middle floor with the kitchen and living room, but we had our own room with our own bath. The kids were on the bottom floor, the parents on the third floor. We settled in and crashed after a very long day.
The next few days fell into a pattern. I would get coffee going, then, when it looked like we had a majority up and moving I would fix breakfast. Clean up, then off to the beach. The beach was only a couple hundred yards away, but it would have taken a pack mule to get all the stuff there, so we took the van. Morning at the beach, head to the condo for lunch and nap, then back to the beach for a couple of hours, then back to condo for dinner. Jordan and I love to cook together, so we would bustle around the kitchen, making suggestions to each other about the way to try something, bumping into each other, generally having a good time. The food, by the way, was phenomenal.
The first morning on the beach was an experience. Eli dove right in. Phoebe, not so much. I recall her screaming, "I HATE GETTING DIRTY!!" By the end of the second day, she was wading right in and having a blast. My guess is that she built about 300 sand structures, covered her dad in sand, and sat still long enough for Nena to craft a mermaid tail around her lower body and then pose for pictures.
I taught Eli how to body surf. It took a bit for him to get the hang of it, but he had such fun trying. He was also battling the waves. He would go out as far as he could go and pound them as they broke over him. Sometimes he would adopt the "crane" maneuver, sometimes he would simply pound away with his fists, sometimes he was just take the wave on chest deep and yell, "IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!?" It occurs to me that there was a lot of noise on this trip.
It also occurred to me that facing the waves is a life struggle we all have. We are pitiful in making the wave change course, or not knock us down, but there is something noble in the willingness to fight it anyway. No hope to win, but the fight gives us some resemblance of significance. Contemplatives rarely get a vacation.
Sand and sun, kids and fun. Memories stored away.
Godspeed to those out there who get the rare chance to be invited on your kids and grandkids vacation. What a treat.
Don
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