18:64 CAT, December 30, 2013, Navarre Beach, FL

It’s another glorious night on the ocean. Albeit, it has been overcast most of the day a d showers are expected Wed-Thur, last rainy day on the ocean beats any day at work. By a long shot.

Today’s activities included a nice warm shower, lunch of Public chicken salad (by Dar the very best one can buy in a grocery store), a bit of sitting around doing mostly nothing, and s ok me shopping before a nice dinner at a seafood restaurant. It was a great day. I never want to leave to leave the beach, as usual.

I’m a weird beach goer. I am not one who likes the party night life. I don’t care much for drinking and singing and dancing, although every now and then I can totally handle all three. I am hour sit on the beach, with a good book, with sunscreen as necessary, doing nothing else and listening to the waves kind of gal. I like the ocean for what she is – rough and tumble waves, sea creature, saltwater smells, and calming sand.  I like to seek shells. Not big pretty shells but those shells that I see as having bee used very well by their previous occupants. Kind of like real estate that is being sold to a new owner.

Today we drove down the Gulf Coast Highway, all the way to Pensacola. I liked the beach a lot, even if it was the first time I can remember wearing gloves at the beach. I liked the pure white sand, the sand dunes bigger than me, and the sea grass sticking up and feeling the wind. I loved the huge bird footprints we found in the sand and then seeing the maker of those a bit later. I loved feeling the cold sand between my toes and finding shells for my growing collection. I’ll have none of this site bought collections in my house. I want the real thing, something I have chosen and picked up off the sand myself. Much like my sand jars, my shells truly are a piece of my travels. And I love every single one of them.

Listening  to the crashing waves of high tide as I write this, listening to the waves crash along the sand bar, I know that I could never grow tired of the ocean. I know I will miss it when we leave later in the week. I will hope for a quick return. I always wonder if people who are from.here feel the same way?  Does the ocean call to them like it does to me, like  medium translates for the departed?  Do they feel the pull of the tides and long for home? 

I enjoy living in Little Rock, but if afforded the opportunity to move to my choice of places, it would be near the ocean. As close as I could possibly afford.