Prior to the solstice I considered strategies to up-level what I feared might all too easily devolve into a wasted and blighted summer. How might I maximize the sun-laced days without concerts, gatherings or travel adventures? I needed something uncomplicated, effortless and gratifying to do within current constrictions.
Among other things which developed out of a brainstorming session, I decided to buy a beach tent. The light-weight structure has its own carrying-case, pops up easily, and can be secured with pegs, pieces of driftwood or stones. Open on two sides it allows me to enjoy the scenery and the surf while shielded from the sun.
Numerous beaches within minutes of my home offer expansive shores and splendid views. Although a few have been contaminated by effluent, ironically that only adds to my enjoyment as it eliminates crowds of swimmers. Undisturbed by public noise I can write, sketch, meditate or nap consoled by the wind, the waves and the expansive blue peace.
Of course, I had little inkling how much I would need the solace my ocean side interludes afford. Danish author Isak Dinesen (Karen Blixen, a woman who had her share of betrayals, disappointments and losses) maintained that the cure for anything was salt water, be it sweat, tears or the sea.
I’ll take it. It’s less harmful than wine (though I’ll take some of that, too).