Revisiting the Summer
This summer I've been on tight deadlines for two major projects, so I've spent limited time on the beach. Luckily, I anticipated such an event and made a point of capturing my favorite seasonal moments so that I can revisit places mentally if not physically. Now as the summer draws to a close you might want to consider storing some of this summer's best moments on your brain's hard drive. Why? So that when you encounter a tough commute you can recall your favorite morning at the beach. Or, when you find yourself awake at 3AM worrying that you forgot to send that e-mail, you can revisit the night that the sound of the surf lulled you to sleep. It works for me.
Here's how I get through a winter's day.
First thing in the morning, coworkers see me sitting at my computer plowing through the fifty-five e-mails that inexplicably arrived between 11PM and 7AM. However, what you see is not always what you get. Yes, I am reading those e-mails but that's not all I'm doing. I am also experiencing the pleasures of being among the first to arrive at the beach. I am enjoying the feel of cold sand under my feet. The kind that is soft and just cool enough to feel chilled not chilling. I am relishing the warmth it's not yet heat of the morning sun and the particular glare, a pale almost white light, from the sun on the water. I am hearing the sound of the waves over the breeze in my ears, sounds punctuated only by the occasional call of a gull. When seated in the overly heated section of a large office building with questionable temperature control I might even recall being just a tad chilly. (Note to reader: record enough moments that you can vary your trips down memory lane according to local conditions.)
For my midday beach fantasy, I prefer to recall laying on my beach towel at an identical time of day -- feeling the sun growing warmer and my skin soaking up the rays. (For purposes of fantasy, I prefer to ignore sunscreen levels.) I remember reaching a hand off my blanket to sift the sand that is growing hot. (And make a mental note to wear flip-flops off the beach -- that warm sand could be scorching the soles of my feet by late afternoon.) I listen to the sound of the surf and the odd tone of voices as they drift by all but the closest sounds hollow and muted. I recall breezes not the kind that blow sand onto my towel but the gentlest of breezes that entices stray strands of hair to tickle my cheek. And, most importantly, I recall the show the sun puts on using my closed eyelids as a screen strange displays of constantly shifting shapes and motions psychedelic yet comforting.
Sometimes, again when seated in the overly heated section of a large office building with questionable temperature control, I need to fantasize about a dip in the ocean. I have spent enough time in the seawater that I have no trouble recalling the pleasures of a plunge into the surf. Generally, I start the fantasy when I have waded through the waves until the water reaches my chest and have, in the parlance of eight year olds, already gotten my head wet. Then I let the breakers roll. Okay, I'll admit it, for a while, I float over gentle rollers. Then the surf picks up. I go over. I go under. I jump. I dive. I duck. I imagine tall waves that drop me quickly down their back. I remember the shock of seeing another large wave breaking immediately behind the last. Should I go over or under? I duck -- and recall the sound of the water all around me, the thunder of the wave breaking and the swish of the tide behind it. I open my eyes and enjoy the muted color of the ocean water and an occasional piece of seaweed floating by. In my fantasies, jellyfish and similar creatures are unknown.
Sure in the late afternoon, observers think I am really into that spreadsheet. And I am. In a way. It's simply that I, like my computer, am multitasking. I am also visiting a waterfront bar where slightly damp and a little sunburn, I sip a summer drink the kind that may or may not contain alcohol but definitely contains crushed ice and fruit. Sometimes, I enjoy watching the boats pull up to the dock some smoothly, some with difficulty. Other times, I simply watch the sunset. When I feel like music I tend to go for a Caribbean theme, not hard rock, maybe a little reggae. No heavy beat to jar me from my reverie.
When dark comes before I leave my office, I don't lament. I simply take some time to recall the many phases of the moon on the water. Sure, the big white moon laying a path to my feet is a beautiful view but it isn't the only spectacle the moon offers. I don't understand why there are occasions when a big yellow moon sits in the dark sky without reflecting any light on the black ocean but I enjoy the sight when it does. Just as I enjoy the garish orange of the harvest moon or the graceful curve of the quarter moon juxtaposed with the bright light of the planet Venus. I know nothing at all about the moon and its behavior patterns. I simply record the vistas it offers and play them back as needed.
My beach fantasies don't stop when I leave the office. Even as I drift off to sleep I remember falling asleep at the shore with the moon high in the sky, the light breeze wafting the sheer curtains, the smell of the sea filling the room and sound of the surf providing background music for the scene. Maybe I sense that a little sand has crept into the bed. I feel the grains around my feet. But I don't mind. After all, I'm not going to fantasize about doing the laundry.
I have enough memories stored to last me a lifetime. But that isn't what I intend. I plan to get to the beach soon and record some new memories. But until I do, I have created a treasure chest of images to dig into. I suggest you do the same.
Books
Indices
Places Meg Visited
