I love shell landscaping instead of grass. I love sea grapes and their round bright yellow green leaves. I love man made sand dollars or sea turtles instead of boring stepping stones that lead to a house with pastel colors and a coordinated mailbox made to also look like a house.
I love tackily painted mermaids and signs that say “craft beer sold here” and it looks like a rundown shack with the coolest people inside.
I love watching locals drive their golf carts lazily through the area and other dog walkers and runners and bike riders. I love the cliché beach decor: a lamp with a starfish holding up the shade, a mug with “Life’s a Beach” printed on it.
In the rental, white sand is everywhere, so don’t bother trying to sweep it because there isn’t a broom anyway and it’s okay to bring it to bed because nothing matters.
I love the arched window high above our tiny place where I can see dark green palms springing out of the crown. I dislike the sink in the tiny bathroom that seems to be situated on a slope and won’t keep tooth paste on it. I dislike the fact that I have to hold the plug to drain the water after I wash my hands or face.
I do like the tiny kitchenette where we keep wine and granola butter and fresh peaches and bananas and crackers. I feel like we are cozy and hidden and different.
Am I a person that could live happily as a beach local? Olive skin wrinkling from a neglected sunscreen habit? The heat is something I’ve always preferred to the cold. Even when my hair puffs into wild consistency and sticks to the nape of my neck. I imagine onlookers noticing me and Gigi as we walk proudly along the rich looking sidewalk (hexagon stones surrounded by native plants).
They think, “look at that girl and her wild hair and her little dog.” And they don’t think much beyond that but isn’t it lovely that anyone thinks of anyone at all.
(from the summer of 2024)
(Daily Writing 015)
Thoughts?