The year was 1972. It was summertime and just a couple of months before my 16th birthday. I had accompanied Mother and her sister and husband on a road trip to Florida. I had never been to the ocean before and was anxious to see it. Since I had my learners permit for driving, they let me behind the wheel. As we rounded one last curve, near St. Augustine, the sand dunes fell away and the Atlantic Ocean was crashing a wave on its sandy shore. I nearly drove off the side of the road.
I had never seen anything more fascinating in my life. We stayed at a small beach side motel and I could not wait to get in the water. The waves amazed me. I soon realized if I jumped when the next one rolled in, it would lift me up and set me down again.....in waist deep water. I did this over and over again, mesmerized by this magnificent body of water.
I was soon jolted back to reality when I turned around to look at the shore. It was a long way from where I had started out. On closer inspection, I noticed a small figure, about an inch or two tall, running wildly down the beach with its arms waving like a windmill in a summer storm. It was Mother.....and she was frantic. I had no idea why she was so upset, gee-wizz, I was still standing in waist deep water.
When I got back to her, she was still beside herself. We made our way back to the motel and I headed to the bathroom to get cleaned up for supper. There was no tub in the room, only a shower. We didn't grow up with a shower, so this was a new experience too. When I finished and pushed the shower curtain back, the entire floor was covered with about two inches of water. I had no idea the curtain went on the inside....not the outside of the stall.
Fast forward nearly 45 years. Same ocean, but a different location and a 14 year old grandson in tow. He had seen the Gulf of Mexico, but not the ocean and his fascination mirrored mine all those many years ago. I watched him and our new friend, who had joined us for this short trip, as they hopped up with the incoming waves, set down in waist deep water and then repeat the whole process again and again. Being wiser, I know what can lie beneath the surface. Being older, I now knew why Mother was so upset. They were getting smaller and smaller. I made my way out, within shouting distance, and hollered for them to come back.
A hidden trough waited about ten to fifteen feet from the shore. It was about four foot deep and probably that many feet wide. Once on the other side, the depth returned to about shin level, but the waves made navigating this ditch a bit tricky. Rather than try to walk through this, I decided I would just ride the next wave over the top and onto the shore. This decision gave new meaning to beached whale. I skimmed over the top of the ditch, but I could not get up. Every time I tried, another wave would roll in and toss me to and fro. Laughing at myself did not help either, but I finally got back on my feet and felt like I had been exfoliated from head to toe. A short time later, our grandson tried the same thing. I laughed so hard I nearly cried. Each attempt to get on his feet was met with another wave and he would bob and roll like a cork.
If you have never been to the ocean, put it on your list of things to do before you check out. Just remember this one important detail.....the waves that have been pounding stones into sand for millions of years will also put said sand in places you forgot you had.
As we were thinking about calling it a day, our grandson decided to go in first to get cleaned up. When he returned, our conversation went something like this..."Ummm, grandma?" "Yes.", I answered.
"There was sand in my trunks and I got some on the bathroom floor." I laughed and told him not to worry about it, I would clean it up.
Our friend made a short trip back to our room. When she returned she told me it looked like a crime scene in the bathroom. I went to see what I had to deal with. Not only was the bathroom floor completely covered with sand and small rocks, there was sand in the toilet, on the toilet and in the bathtub. The image of Mother using all of our bath towels to mop up my shower faux pas flooded my memory and I'm pretty sure, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Angel of Karma doing a back flip out the bathroom door.
I could not help but chuckle as I pushed sand across the floor, to the nearest corner, and scooped it into the trash can with a wet wash cloth. At least I did not have to use all the towels to get the mess cleaned up.
The grandson had learned a valuable lesson and the payback was priceless.
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