The Beach

Mark Twain did say "the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Fransisco." Well, he wasn't lying. Last week, as I packed excitedly, I threw in my bikini, my sunglasses, my flip flops, my shorts, my sunblock, my tank tops, and everything else that just screams "typical beach."

So, suitcase read to burst at the seams, I switched off the air conditioning, drew the blinds, and locked the door to my apartment. I was headed to sunny California for A) my sister's graduation from college and B) a vacation at the beach.

Graduation was a bit of a schlep. It was a mass of people to meet, people to congratulate, cakes to pick up, and family turmoil to avoid. These functions are always awkward to bring the two families together. So, after a late night with Lauren and her friends (in which I was introduced to the boy she's been absolutely fawning over for the past YEAR), I marched into my great aunt's (Miriam is her name) house after graduation ready for an explosion. My mom was in a frenzy about to lose her head because we were running late to set up for Lauren's party and I'm sure that contact with my dad couldn't help things...but believe it or not, all went well. We came in and she immediately greeted those in sight, including giving a hearty hug to my step-mom (ummm, where did that come from??) and then setting to work on the decorations. In a desperate attempt to escape I'm sure, my dad volunteered to drive me to Baskin Robbins to pick up the ice cream cakes. Readily, I agreed and we slipped out of the fray. The party went smoothly and the appearance of Rachel, my step-sister, was a godsend. We caught up for the better part of the party whilst Lauren talked with the elders (Miriam invited all her friends) or socialized with the fellow graduates. In these moments I felt so happy for my aunt Miriam. Her husband died at least eight years ago and she has no kids. Seeing as she lives in California, we really don't get out to visit that often, so Lauren's attendance at UC Davis is probably one of the best things that happened to her in a while. She got to go to all of her ceremonies and Lauren goes to the occasional meal with her. I'm sure it's something like having a daughter or granddaughter for her. At any rate, she really seemed glad to be such a part of Lauren's life and it was one of those times in life when you just sit back and enjoy the goodness in life around you.

The rest of the weekend was a blur of ambling around Davis, rendezvousing in Sutter Creek, and searching for wedding venues in San Fransisco. Then, before I knew it, I was being rushed along the early San Fransisco bustle, busing to the BART station and then sitting on a whirling train ride to the "drop point" (if you will, where I was to be picked up by my dad, Miriam, and Lauren). These sort of transits are exactly the type that leave me feeling like city life is the best. Waiting for the bus, I got into a conversation with a lady who had complimented my outfit; on the train, I enjoyed watching people in their various clothing combinations and coffee choices, chatting happily with Ryan, who had volunteered to see me off (after all, he and Rachel just couldn't bear to let the big bad city get the better of me--I guess...) Soon, I was in the back of Miriam's Lincoln Town Car on an 8 hour car ride to San Diego, California (more specifically, La Jolla beach).

So, right off the bat, I will say this: California's traffic never cease to amaze me. But not in a good way. Kind of like how some people find a certain play in professional baseball amazing. Hitting LA at 4:30 isn't exactly ideal, either...

So we reached La Jolla (finally), greeted the relatives, settled in, and ate some delicious fish tacos. And now, I can talk about the beach, and basically the whole inspiration to the Twain quote. Setting out from our little condo, I crossed my arms against the chill and goose bumps raised on my exposed legs. So maybe shorts, flip flops, and bikinis weren't the most ideal choices of attire. A crisp wind smelling of salt bit my cheeks and whipped my hair in every direction. Reaching the beach, I threw of my shoes and let my feet sink into the soft, sun-warmed sand. However, I was far from wanting to remove my clothes, sunbathe, and run into the crashing waves. But I wasn't going to succumb to this weather. I was not going to let it keep me from acting as I normally would at the beach. Gritting my teeth, I unbuttoned my shirt and slipped out of my linen shorts. Pulling up a lawn chair, I put on my sunglasses and opened up The Count of Monte Cristo; a perfect beach picture, right? Still chilly, though.

After a few minutes, my cousins suggested feeling the water. I flatly refused to let them tell me the temperature, but I agreed to go feel it. Needless to say, it was frigid. We waded out into inch-deep water and I winced as the cold water submerged my toes and worked it's way up my foot. Letting out a squeal, I leaped back from the water and danced around in a mixture of excitement and discomfort. Despite the cold, I couldn't shake the wonderful exhilarating feeling that only the ocean can give me. I felt the excitement course through my body, starting small in my lower throat and working its way down my arms and legs and putting a little tingling feeling in my toes, fingers, and scalp. I inhaled the sea air deeply and shook out my loose hair.

Turning to my cousins, I said "Here's what we're gonna do. We are going to run to that white van" (I pointed to a white van about 800 feet down the beach) "and then back. Then, we'll be ready to get in the water." They looked at me with smiles and nodded in agreement. We started running. "You're going so fast," my cousin, Abby, screamed. This just goaded me into running faster. I felt the wet, hardened sand beneath my feet and the wind whipped my face even harder as I picked up speed, eventually in a full on sprint. Upon reaching out goal, I bent over and placed my hands on my knees, panting heavily. Turning around, I saw my cousins approaching not far behind. We started running again. This time, I turned slightly and headed out further into the water. Ankle deep, I ran hard and the cold of the water turned into a pleasant chill against my heated feet. Soon, the cold was put out of my mind as I felt the familiar heavy breathing and tightened chest that only running can give me.

Now we were ready. Turning 90 degrees, we raced into the ocean. We were knee deep, then the water was lapping against out thighs, then the waves were crashing at our waist, then the water was slapping gently against our chests. "Next big wave, we're going to dive into it!" Abby yelled. With each small wave that broke on us, I screamed with excitement and cold. "Here it comes!" called Virginia. A huge wave was approaching. The top was gathering little white crests and on either side the wave was breaking. The middle was fast approaching and a huge sucking power was pulling me closer and closer to the wave. Turning my body into it and no longer fighting the power of the water, I placed my hands on top of each other in a diving position and plunged my body headlong into the wave. Under the water, I felt the crashing as the wave broke above me. A huge rush and then I was breaking the surface of the water, shaking salt water out of my face and spitting it out of my mouth with little "Pfft" sounds. We were all delightedly screaming with pleasure at the feeling of the rushing waves and the chill of the water.

It was a success. The weather did not defeat my perfect picture of my vacation at the beach. I played in the waves, boogie boarded, and sunbathed as if it were 90 degrees instead of 70 degrees. And tomorrow, I'm only going to be ready for more.