I was visiting my daughter when this photo was taken. Gosh, has it been almost ten years ago? Yeah, actually! Wowzers!
Am I feeling wistful or reminiscent? A little.
I’m standing on the Santa Monica pier. I’ve only been there less than a handful of times. That was way more north than my beaches of choice.
Nope, the more southern beaches were my beaches… 15th St in Newport Beach, baby! Nothing like it… especially in the late 1970s.
The scents of coconut and pineapple, Bain de Soleil Orange Gelee, Green Goddess dressing and tuna from the take-out on the “boardwalk”.
Betsy and me…
… on the hot sand in our bikinis… working on our tans.
And the sounds of seagulls, The Who blasting out of our transistor radio and the waves crashing over and over and over as we made plans for the rest of our lives.
So many plans.
So much water.
Around here, it almost looks like an ocean… except for the city popping up along the horizon. Yeah, it’s Toronto. But I digress.
It’s just not the same as an ocean. Almost. But not. There is no ebb and flow. No huge waves. No salt. No Green Goddess.
And Bain de Soleil Orange Gelee? It doesn’t even exist anymore, not that it would matter. Tan? It’s been – like- 20 years. I know it’s healthier but a great tan just looks … good. I loved it! I love how I looked with color.
And then there’s my body in a bikini. I’d look like a sumo wrestler with bigger breasts.
Still, I miss the ocean.
And the tan.
And, I guess, the sweet belief that our whole lives were stretched out further than the eye could see… like the Pacific itself.
Way out there.
Who knew what was out there?
I used to swim beyond the breaking waves… drifting beyond the swells… even after the movie Jaws.
I used to be very brave. Or stupid.
I love this photo of me on the pier. It reminds me of how water heals. Best therapy there is!