Exercise One- The Ideal Place to Write

This exercise was to write about your idea place to write. I started off doing that, but then I got on a random tangent about the beach, and it made me happy, so I am going to post it. I definitely have vacation fever. There may be many posts about it leading up to July 11. I guess that is the fun of it anyways -- the anticipation. Anyways, this is probably really cheesy, but it is good for me to get over my embarrassment and post. I am growing, people, even as my face turns a violent shade of burgundy.

Warm. Breezy. Sunny.

No sounds of people talking. No music playing. Just the ocean, on a wooden deck, in a deck chair. The sun is setting slowly, but I still feel warm. I can just see the tips of people’s heads as they walk by on the beach below. My legs are tanned, and I can feel some grains of sand between my toes. The color of my nail polish pops against my tanned legs. It is at this moment that I just feel pretty. Maybe it is because I am so perfectly content to be there right at that moment. There is no other place I would rather be. The breeze plays with my hair, and I can feel my cheeks flush just a little from the sun that day. Why is it that I want every day to be like that one? I want to live in a house that has windows everywhere I turn, and lets in blue sky. I want to see the ocean from my bedroom, and hear it any time I step outside. I want to walk down the stairs and feel sand on my feet. I want to wear hooded sweatshirts and flip flops every night.

The smell is what gets me. It hits your entire face as soon as you cross that bridge. The hot, sticky smell of the sea air. Fish and sand and salt. I love the beachy people. Tanned and burned in shorts and bikini tops. Flip flops clacking down the street.

The moment I have crossed the bridge and we are passing the houses going 30 miles per hour, with the windows down, I am in pure happiness.

The houses are always so much fun, because it is a new adventure every year – some are pastel with their massive wrap around decks, some look like they were shipwrecked many years ago. Climbing up the wooden steps to see what door goes where. Hanging out in the bottom drinking some beers. And, then, when you finally climb to the top of the steps, from under the house it is like a mountain climber reaching the peak to see what is below. The ocean. The first sight of the ocean is a great moment. Almost like visiting a long lost friend. It hasn’t changed. Still smells the same. Still looks the same. Still sounds the same. Sometimes things do change – the temperature, the beach, the waves. But, I think it is just like a mood.

It takes about five minutes for that house to feel like your home. It is sort of amazing, really. A place you barely know, yet it feels so comfortable, like you have been there your whole life. You find your new room, dump off your stuff, already tracking sand through the house. But, the grownups never care.

As I have gotten older, I realize that these vacations are more important to the grown ups. Each year I appreciate it more and more. I appreciate the time I can rest my brain from work. I appreciate the time I can spend with my family. I appreciate the time that I don’t have to worry about the house, the lawn, the car. All I have to do is eat, sleep, drink, and play. That’s it.

I change my mind. This is not the ideal place to write. This is the ideal place to be, and nothing more.

Editor's Note: Yes, I know, I just threw up in my mouth, too. Don't worry, I will continue to write about other stuff like the stupid house names or how Jake made us listen to Riders on the Storm when we drove over the bridge, or when we saw something notable such as Gravedigggggar.