Like a sandpiper

“See?” I said, pointing with the hand that held my flip flops, “they’re just so busy!”

I giggled, euphoric because we were staying at a cute little condo which would afford me the ability to hear the ocean while I slept Sunday night. Carrie and I wandered along the shore, feet in soft sand brought in after some hurricane whose name I can’t remember – there are, after all, so many down here - feet wet from the water at high tide, walking the beach soon after our arrival there.

“They’re my favorite birds.” I confided, and set about making sure she appreciated them an appropriate amount. “I think they eat something in the sand – see how they poke their beaks down?”

“That one’s picky.” She pointed out. “She seems to wait for a good place to poke, but he’s not so discriminating.” And we laughed at the little guy with his head down, frantically searching for food. Then a wave came in and I gasped with excited delight.

“They don’t like to be wet.” I told her, “See how they run run run run run away from the water? Oops. Now they’re coming back! Run run run run run.” I laughed while she smiled, united in our love for the ocean and the creatures in and around it.

I was distracted, pouncing on shells I thought were pretty, pushing back the hair that refused to stay in its ponytail.

“Their bodies don’t move much.” She said, and I followed her gaze to another sandpiper. “But their legs are like lightning. Just so fast!”

I watched them twice more – on a morning walk with Carrie, then as I wandered alone before we left last evening. Sadness settled heavily since I don’t know when I’ll be at the beach again. Since I was raised vacationing on the Florida coast – childhood on the Atlantic, recently shifting to the Gulf – I’m conditioned to be happy there and miserable when I have to leave. I finished my book on the way home, satisfied that I’d worked my way through major revisions on one paper, though I hadn’t accomplished as much as I’d hoped on other projects.

We’ve been busy, you see. Run, run, running all over the place. And while I’ve no doubt I’m sweet and cute while doing so, it doesn’t amount to a whole lot in the end. Disney was delightful, but I told you that. We did some shopping for a couple days – cute little towns in Lake County where we could look and talk and eat. A party at Carrie’s parents that I skipped for the most part, retreating to my room and sleeping for hours instead of being social. Too many people make me uncomfortable though, and I’m finally old enough to opt out early rather than suffering through an unpleasant evening.

I’ve indulged Carrie her memories, which was actually disconcerting to some extent. Driving around old neighborhoods, listening to her talk about herself as if little Carrie was a different person. “She didn’t know anything!” But I smile because I do the same thing – feel badly for little Katie, envy her the sunny optimism that I feel fading a bit in myself. So I looked out my window at houses where Carrie's friends and family used to live. Wondered if we’d get in trouble for driving slowly through school parking lots, wanting to put up a sign that said, “Not kidnappers – just looking around.”

My favorite of these experiences, I think, was visiting an old church. A gorgeous Methodist structure, I breathed in the smell that so many churches have in common. I’m not sure what the components are, but it’s churchy – immediately recognizable, comforting and mellow. While we stared at stained glass windows, prayed briefly in the chapel, then wandered rooms where “I played bells here,” “sang here,” “working in the nursery here.” I found myself heavy with the knowledge that I need to find a church home. Wish I had somewhere I could point our rooms with confidence and settle snugly into the knowledge that I was home.

Then there was the beach – walks to walk, swims to swim, food to eat. (Oh, by the way, if you ever have the opportunity to get vanilla honey cream cheese, purchase as much as you can as fast as you can. If you’re of limited financial means, forget the bagel and just buy the vanilla honey cream cheese and lick it out of the tub. Trust me.) So I was busy – little legs moving like lightning as my cheeks and nose turned a bit pink from the sun – but I wasn’t accomplishing much at all. No writing for the blog, little checking of email, work only when I felt tremendous pressure to do something about the massive amount I brought with me.

It’s not out of a zenlike tranquility though – I don’t feel the world is far away on this trip. I’ve just been run run running like crazy.