It’s no secret. I have what friends have described as a limitless passion for the beach.
In my world—unless there is visible lightening (thunder in the distance doesn’t count) or wind whipping the sand into stabbing needles—there is no such thing as a day that is too anything—hot, humid, damp, cloudy, crowded, buggy, downright cold—to be on the beach.
More than once, Jim’s sister Margie and I have been the lone hanger-oners, prodded by a lifeguard to get our butts out of our beach chairs and take cover when ominous clouds turned the sky 50 shades of gray.
I don’t know where my beach addiction comes from. Could it be that because up to 60% of the human body is made of water, the ocean feels like family?
Here we are in the midst of a heat wave that has people hiding inside, sticking their heads in the freezer, and moving their chairs closer to their air-conditioning vents. Meanwhile, I’m packing my beach bag. It might be 100̊outside, but I’m banking on a sea breeze. Besides, it’s my day off. For me, beach time on EVERY day off is practically non-negotiable.
Mark Twain said, “Denial ain't just a river in Egypt.” Could I be in denial about my obsession with de-ocean?
Maybe we need a 12 Step program—Beach Addicts Anonymous—for beach fanatics like me.
Step 1 - Admitted we were powerless over the ocean—that a beach-less life was unimaginable
Step 2 - Came to believe that only the beach could restore us to sanity
Step 3 – Made a decision to turn our beach chairs in the direction of the sun
Step 4 – Made a searching and fearless beach bag inventory.
Step 5 – Well, you get the idea. Am I on to something here?
Am I seriously the only one who thinks loving the beach more than chocolate is undeniably normal?