THE OLD WOMAN AND THE SEA

I almost always, depending on weather, end my daylight hours by the shore.  As the days warm I try to start it there also.  Others do the same and it becomes a sort of social hour.

I have a uniform of sorts that I use during the cool weather.  Grey sweatpants, an over sized olive colored sweatshirt with a hood (not a hoodie mind you, those tend to skim the body and zip up the front for this would make me look too cool) that I can pull over my head.  It also has a great front pocket for shell collecting.  A tan colored hat with Sedona on the front and bright red fake Toms I bought from Dollar General...with black socks.

When my children were young this outfit would have resulted in my being turned right around
after being told I was not wearing that outside. So now I just post it on the internet, no harm that right?

In other words, a lot on the creative side (remember creative versus crazy is a very thin line).

I plod along looking for shells and the flotsam and jetsam the gulf offers up overnight or during the day. Head down concentrating on the sand holding my bucket.  I am looking for art pieces and this is very serious business.

Every time I pick up something like this I think about my mom who would have sprayed
me down with Lysol after bringing this triumphantly back to the beach blanket as a child.

There are others like me and then there are the Gods and Goddesses.  They never look down but only toward that ever increasing mileage goal they tick off with every landing of the foot.  They are looking for abs not abalone shells. (Of course, there are no abalone here but for the sake of literary license, go with me here, it is the only thing Salty and I could come up with that rhymed.)

I do not fault these running Gods and Goddesses for I was once among their numbers.  I may be again but I doubt it, at least along the shore.  I seem to have run out of steam in that area. There are just so many briny scented treasures lying under foot to catch my eye.

Salty and I do a shore sweep at the end of the day looking for wood.  We ride along  in the car, top down, jumping out when we find a spot where folks had a fire the night before.  We then rifle through the remnants.  This takes on a very serious note for Salty, who is seriously into the perfect nightly fire. Seriously. We pick out what still has burnability and throw it in the trunk. I am hoping to entice him into a post for you about his fire fetish.  Stay tuned.

Mermaid with Fish  11 x 28 on reclaimed wood $50.00

If you vacation at the beach you know the difference between you and a beach person, one who lives full time at the beach. These stout folks walk slower than you do, laugh more and view the long line at the Gulf Coast Market as a chance to chat. Most of the time a t shirt and shorts with flip flops are the daily uniform. They take on a pleasant weathered look, akin to tiny barnacles on a boat or driftwood with fine cracks along its surface.  They have real beach hair, not Pinterest beach hair created with a curling iron. They have a tan that looks like it will never go away and it certainly isn't the tell tale orange of a spray tan. Maybe they worry about Abs, I havn't asked one yet.  I'm just enjoying becoming one.