Drawn to the beach like waves to the seashore

As the old saying goes, “Life’s a Beach.”
Actually, I don’t care for that saying much because it trivializes what’s meant to be a vulgarity. Still, the phrase seemed apropos after we spent Sunday afternoon at a beach near Galveston. Being newbies to the region, we find trips to the beach exhilarating, unlike many locals for whom the novelty has worn off.
Our schedule usually allows us to go about once or twice a month, usually on a Sunday after church. That leads us into a repeating pattern you think we would be smart enough to break by now.
We set our alarms an hour earlier than normal so we can get to the early service at First Colony Church of Christ. Of course, we almost always remember that in addition to the usual scramble to get everyone up, fed and out the door in time that we need to pack a lunch, beach toys, changes of clothes and such. So the mad dash is on and we bolt for church hoping we haven’t forgotten the sunscreen or camera.
After church, we go out to the car, get our swimwear and sneak back into the church to get changed. This always lends itself to a few moments of embarrassment as we emerge from the bathrooms in T-shirts and swim trunks while the next service is getting under way.
Once we start heading down the road, we pass out sandwiches and drinks with the usual admonition to not spill anything. That always proves to be a waste of breath, but we say it anyway. For an hour and a half or so, we zip down Highway 6 to the tune of “Are we there yet?” and “I need to go to the bathroom.” Then there is the obligatory “I spilled my drink.”
Once we get to the coast, we usually drive around for a while looking for a good spot to stop. Of course, by early afternoon, all the good spots are taken. So we usually wind up parked next to a group that is blasting music and downing beers.
Once there, we pile out of the car, lather everyone in sunscreen, gather up toys and camera and settle in for some fun. I normally try to take pictures early on so I can safely stow the camera back in the car where it will be safe while I go splash in the warm waves.
The water always feels good, except when seaweed brushes by your leg or you step on something sharp (or something that moves).
Life is good at the beach. Holes are dug, sandcastles built, water waded in … you get the picture. But then comes the time to return home. That’s when you find that the sunscreen acted as an adhesive to allow generous portions of sand and salt to adhere to your body. That is also when you discover the parts of your body that you missed with sunscreen because those parts are glowing a bright red.
Now comes the formidable task of getting everyone and everything back into the car without getting the seats wet and full of sand. We know full well both tasks are impossible, but we try. It makes us feel like responsible parents to remind the children at least three or four times to wipe off the sand before getting inside. Still, we manage to come home with enough sand to re-fill the sandbox.
The trip home is always in discomfort, as we are tired, burned, wet and sandy. Once again we pass out a round of soft drinks and chips and cookies – or stop at McDonalds – with the now futile admonition to not spill anything. This time it was ice cream on the floor.
On the trip home, almost everyone dozes off except for the driver and the person asking “are we there yet?” or “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Once home, the monumental task of unloading the car begins. That is followed by bathing everyone, vacuuming out the car, washing off the salt and sand and getting all the swimsuits and towels to the washer.
By this point I almost always tell myself that I’ve had enough of this mess. The beach just ain’t worth the hassle. That opinion is reinforced as the sunburn stings and then peels in the course of the week.
A strange phenomenon always happens to the human brain. It causes you to selectively forget that nasty feeling of driving home in a wet, sandy swimsuit in a smelly car and you begin to feel the call of the beach again. And being slow learners, we faithfully heed this call of nature.
They say the definition of stupidity is to do the same thing again expecting a different result. As I sit here writing this, I have a burned neck, the grit of sand under my fingernails and about two weeks until a three-day weekend.
No matter how hard I try to break the cycle, I know I am weak and I will once again return to the coast. I guess it just goes to prove that life is a beach and like the waves, you're forever drawn to it.