Mother, Mother Ocean

My parents were in LA this past weekend and one of the two things my dear, sweet daddy wanted to do was go tide-pooling. I've lived in LA for over four years and I haven't been to the beach ONCE.

I know. This is sacrilege. I could be stoned in the streets.

Whatever. The beach is not my thing. I get sand in my eyes, my mouth, my contacts, and my pants. There are scary "beach people" there. You know the ones I mean! The bikini-wearing, breast-implant-baring, bottled-blond, snooty beach people who take over Santa Monica regularly. Shudder.

Well, with all the bitching and moaning in my head, I wasn't enthused about getting in the car for two hours there and two hours back and God only knew how many hours actually at the beach.

I've become too jaded in my Angeleno lifestyle.

The beach was beautiful. The water was freezing, the sky blue, and the children were jumping rope with seaweed. The seagulls were basking in the shallows and my daddy was clambering around on rocks like a big 6 year old, looking for anemones and starfish.

We watched the surfers and sailboarders bite the dust time and time again. We sat in the sand and I tried valiantly to ignore the bit that was down my pants. The waves crashed on the rocks and I found my inner Jimmy Buffett.

"Mother, mother ocean,
I have heard you call,
Wanted to sail upon your waters
since I was three feet tall.
You've seen it all, you've seen it all.

Watch the men who rode you,
Switch from sails to steam.
And in your belly you hold the treasure
that few have ever seen,
most of them dreams, Most of them dreams."

-A Pirate Looks at Forty