It was February and we decided to go to the beach. Isolated beach towns suit me just fine, I love the rawness of the elements and the emptiness. And the bone chilling cold of standing on the beach, entranced by the waves. Gray. Peaceful.
We booked an ocean front room in a hotel room like every other beach hotel room up and down the coast. We opened the doors to the sea and let the salty air filled the room, the sounds of waves violently crashing upon the shore. We sat there, silent. Mesmerized. Silently sipping our glasses, his usual captain and diet and myself a heady red.
The only time I really can stand going to Ocean City, MD is in the offseason. Its quiet and relaxing and not annoyingly overcrowded with drunken frat brats and scantily clad sorostitutes. I love throwing on my uggs and old jeans and well worn fishermans sweater, tying a long scraf around my neck, and wandering along the boards, watching the water. Rockstar boyfriend loves OC in the summertime. When it is pulsing with bodies, all trying to cram into the allready overcrowded bars, the already overcrowded beaches, 8 people to a hotel room. We balance each other out in that sense. We both crave opposite ends of the spectrum and always meet somewhere in the middle...
The next morning we rose early, faces cold, bodies warm snuggled under piles of blankets, listening to waves lap against the shore. Grudgingly we got dressed, bodies blissed out beyond words, relaxed to perfection. Grabbing our sunglasses, him his signature aviators, myself my classic Chanels and braved the chilly beach morning, instantly waking up our still sleepy bodies. We went to a quaint beachy restraunt which served piping hot coffee, strong, the way both of us like it. We both went for the house special breakfast, Lump Crab Eggs Benedict, our favorite. Our deadhead waiter chatted with us about music, in no rush, the offseason has a completely relaxed, less rushed vibe. Rockstar boyfriend and waiter traded a few tour stories, while I slowly lavished over my piping hot, deliciously warming coffee, watching the sun play on the water. Watching rockstar boyfriend, out of the corner of my eye, speak passionately about the his music and his band. Feeling so in love, so blissed out...
After breakfast, we walked in the cold February sun. We went to the funkiest little art gallery I have ever seen, spending hours digging through the piles of art, wandering through the mazes of painting and prints, finally agreeing on 4 painting for our walls, all framed in driftwood. Walking down the boardwalk, amidst the closed shops, feeling the sun on our faces, the salt in our hair, on our lips, silently holding hands.
We stayed and watched the sun set on the bay. Our drive home was dark and peaceful, jamming to the Dead, Michael Franti, Paul Simon, the Weepies, Warren Zevon and such. A perfectly blissful weekend before I started my new job.
I'm thinking back on that weekend, sweating in my crowded, starting to get packed up, un-air conditioned apartment in 90 degree heat. Looking at the piles of clothes on the floor, slacking on folding and sorting. I swear I just felt that cool ocean breeze on my skin...
~with sweaty grace
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