Tag Archives: beach

Being Close to Those You Love Can Take Many Forms. Allow Yourself the Freedom to Remain Open to them All

I know I’ve written about this subject before, but the beautiful colors outside this time of year lend it to countless more.

One of my favorite places is the beach. This time of year, my favorite beach would have to be Cape Hatteras, along the banks of North Carolina. As I also must have mentioned in a previous post, my son and I would take a trip this time of year to surf fish for drum, blue fish and the occasional striped bass.

What I have failed to say (and this accounts for all trips as we would make three a year) was the closeness that it brought us as father and son. We’ve had a wonderful relationship from the time I held him in the delivery room until now, but the trips we took (which began before his teenage years and lasted well into his college days) were special in many ways.

During our down time from the beach, we would watch movies, concerts (our favorite band, RUSH) and cook gourmet meals.

Over time he has accumulated a wife and a son who is a bit over one year. We’re still as close as we ever were, if not closer. I pray that my boy and his son have the same relationship that his father and he has. And the little one better watch out. I have already fallen in love with him and PaPa loves hugs and smooches. I can honestly say, family is where it’s at!!

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Give a Man a Fish and You’ll Feed Him for a Day, Teach a Man to Fish and He’ll Stand on the Beach With a Stick in His Hand

IMG_1994One thing in life I absolutely love doing is surf fishing. I tie my own rigs, take great care when selecting hooks, reel lubricants, line, and all the particulars needed for a successful outing.

Just imagine how exciting a story would be about a man, a rod, an ocean and a fish thrown together in a battle of life and death.

The man (we’ll name Fishing Guy) scans the surf. He’s looking for where the waves break over sand bars then begin to build a second or even a third time. In between these sand bars are deeper troughs which allow larger fish to swim searching for food.

Fishing Guy locates his target, “100 yards should do it.” He rears back and heaves 8 ounces of lead and circle hook loaded with a large chunk of bunker.

The bait is perfectly placed. Fishing Guy smiles, allows the rig to settle, then tightens his line and sets his drag.

He stands, poised to pounce when his quarry takes the ruse. After 30 minutes, he decides to reel his offering in to check the condition of his bait. Before he can touch the handle, he feels a slight tug. He stands stoic refusing to move.

There it is again. It won’t be long now, he thinks. Being there’s no need to set a circle hook, Fishing Guy makes a slow deliberate pull on his rod and the chase is on.

Line begins to peel from the reel at an alarming rate. Fishing Guy tightens the drag slightly hoping to turn the behemoth. It works, only now the prey is heading directly for the beach. This causes Fishing Guy to have to wind faster than is possible to keep up with the unknown aquatic creature moving toward him.

Fishing Guy wears a pair of chest waders. Unknowingly, he is standing in knee deep water when his line goes totally slack.

“All that work,” Fishing Guy says, “and I lose him.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” a voice from the deep bellows, “nothing was lost…my catch is exactly where I want him.”

A rod and reel are pushed onto the beach by an incoming wave.

On second thought, maybe I’m not as fond of surf fishing as I originally said. It’s definitely something to consider before venturing anywhere near the briny deep…or for that matter the briny shallows.

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If You Dream Silly, Off The Wall, Nonsensical Dreams, Think About That Mess Before You Decide to Record It

originalWe all have dreams. I’m not one who puts stock that dreams mean anything other than what they are: either what we’ve done that day, seen on TV, or a thought we’ve stowed away in our subconscious that escapes that particular night.

I’ve never thought of turning one into any kind of blog, short story, etc., until now. We all know how real or muddy a dream can be. Well, hold on to your hats, sister, cuz I’m gonna take you for a ride.

First, allow me to set the stage: I’m traveling down a dirt road in my convertible El Camino. Behind me (in tow) is a thirty to forty foot boat. Beside me sits none other than old blue eyes himself, Frank Sinatra. (And less any rumors begin to circulate from this work of fiction; I am neither now nor have ever been a Sinatra fan.)

We’re cruising down the dirt highway and I run into a ditch. Now, when I say a ditch, I actually mean a six-foot deep twelve-foot wide rut that cuts a path straight across the road. I get out of my ride to survey the situation and calculate a solution. Wouldn’t you just know it that ole lazy bones (Frank) refuses to lend a hand in the operation? So as any good and respectable property owner should do, I lift the car in one hand and the boat in the other onto the opposite side of the road.

We continue down our dirt path which turns into a beach. What I assume are vacationers scatter, dive and jump to get out of the way as I motor across the sand. It’s at this point that the car turns into a rubber life raft. We travel under a pier and I find myself transitioning from sand to surf and finally over sea. (Did I mention the raft was flying?)

I look back and Frankie boy has abandoned ship and latched on to one of the pier columns. (Good riddance, I think. You haven’t contributed anything since you’ve been here.)

I continue on enjoying my flight over the ocean. The life raft begins to deflate, I spread my arms and resume my trek, bobbing, weaving, diving and the like. After a while, I decide I should return to shore before my ability to fly ends and I have no option but to ditch into the ocean.

Alas, this is where my capability to sail upon the winds in true human flight, comes to an end. My only solace comes from the picture of ole blue eyes latched ahold of a pier support, soggy, with a terrified look on his face.

You know, on second thought, maybe one should not record such things for others to read. It makes for unnecessary gatherings around the water cooler.

So, when you speak of me, please speak well.

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A Normal Week at the Beach

Disclaimer:  Due to content I am unable to include any reference to writing.

Last summer we vacationed for a week along the coast of North Carolina. tornado at beachAmong the list of attendees included myself and lovely wife, my father-in-law and lovely mother-in-law, my son and his new bride, my stepdaughter and son-in-law, and one VIP, my grandson, “Lil’ Ed,” hereby known as the mostest cutest little boy in the entire universe.

This would be a very special vacation:

1.) The first time my in-laws came with us.

2.) The first time the mostest cutest little boy in the entire universe saw the ocean and played in the waves.

3.) The first time my son and his wife (having been boyfriend/girlfriend on every other vacation trip) could bed down together.

Now, as usual on these trips I do my security check before allowing anyone to enter the home. After that I dole out the weekly assignments, I take care of cooking, all cleaning, including but not limited to: dishes, clothes, clogged toilets, loose deck boards, shingles, siding, window replacement and general beach erosion containment.

From time to time I fill in as lifeguard making sure the beaches are safe, assisting in rescues, and demonstrating lifesaving techniques. I , also, use the lull to play with the mostest cutest little boy in the entire universe.

On this particular day (I believe it was midweek one sultry afternoon) I had been a bit apprehensive due to the weather, but dared not let on, not wanting to alarm anyone. Around 3 p.m., everyone but myself was sound asleep after an arduous day of frolicking in the surf.

Feeling a sudden drop in the barometric pressure, I quickly stepped onto the back deck. My senses were tingling, every muscle in my body rigid, ready to jump into action. I watched as my dread became reality.

What had begun as a small cone soon twisted its way down to the ocean as a water spout. I could tell it was beginning to strengthen as it moved on shore, becoming a solid F4 possibly F5 tornado. I sprang into action.

I began waking my family members. Those that wouldn’t awaken immediately, I carried to the safest part of the house even the mostest cutest little boy in the entire universe …the bathroom. After I had everyone comfortably positioned in the bathtub, I began to remove mattresses from each bedroom and packed them around my anxious clan. I assured them that everything would be alright and even took time to sing several soothing tunes to calm their fears.

I found a large tree limb that the twister had pushed into the house and stood in front of the bathroom batting any debris away from the room occupied by the most important people in my life.
After the deluge, the only thing that remained was the single bathroom that contained my loved ones safe and sound with not even a scratch, even the mostest cutest little boy in the entire universe.

I often think of that day and the horror it could have wrought. I honestly say this with all the humility I can muster:  Boy, it sure is a good thing I was there, for I shudder to think the outcome had I not been.

Now, I’ve talked enough about me, why don’t you talk about me?

And then we’ll talk about the mostest cutest little boy in the entire universe!

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Are We There Yet?

Κεφάλια, Mugil cephalus, Flathead grey mullet

grey mullet (Photo credit: dimsis)

I just returned from the second great American pastime, “vacation.” Ah, a week at the beach, what could be more relaxing? I had a chance to do some writing. I also came up with an idea for my next book.

Seven full days of good food, wonderful family, including my mother and father-in-law, a son and daughter complete with spouses, my magnificent wife and our fifteen-month-old little slice of heaven. The family’s first grandson, none other than the, “I’ve got everyone wrapped around my little finger,” the one and only, Lil’ Ed.

The weather was absolutely perfect. The water an emerald green, and prime for swimming. My son even caught a nice sea mullet. What could be better than a week of sand, surf and, well, just great stuff?

Let’s backpedal a few steps and see exactly what it takes to create a magical week such as this.

We book our accommodations a year in advance, in order to procure our desired property. Two days before departure we (and by we, I mean my wife) begin to pack. Now it will be easier and consume less paper to tell you what we don’t pack as opposed to what we do. With that being said, the list goes as follows: refrigerator, oven, toilets and various sinks.

After the necessary items are gathered they must be loaded……………………………………………………………… Now that the vehicle is loaded and everyone is hot, sweaty and worn out; we board the personnel carrier and settle in for a short five and a half hour drive.

We’re there! All we have to do is unload, but this time we get to climb stairs…………………………………….

The house that we have rented for a week is finally full of our stuff. In a few short hours our stuff will be spread about so that it is just like home.

It’s almost time for our vacation to begin only one more thing to go, food. A quick three-hour jaunt to the grocery store, and now we can play, eat and everything… Only right now we’re too exhausted… maybe tomorrow.

A good night’s sleep and we’re ready for anything. This goes on for six straight days and once again it’s time to round up our stuff. The morning of our departure we pack our vehicle, only this time we are assisted by gravity due to the fact that stairs also work going down.

We’re finally loaded and ready to head home. Five and a half short hours later we pull into our driveway. Once again we unload our vehicle. And by four o’clock in the morning all of our stuff is right back where it was a week earlier.

Even though I had a great time and enjoyed spending time with family, I’m forced to ask myself this question: why do I unload my house, pack it in my van, take it on the road to another house, pack it into that house for a week, pack it back into the van, take it on the road one more time, only to end up where I started and all my stuff back where it started?

I’m entirely too tired to even consider an answer. And knowing that I will do it all over again next year, I choose to defer and go to sleep.

Good night!

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