Growing up on the west coast, I have so many memories involving the beach. I would jump into the ocean no matter what the season or the weather. Each of my swimsuits spent many days in the salt water. My first red and white polka dot bikini, my pink bikini which connected on the sides that my Mom splurged on at Macy*s, and my red one piece a la Baywatch that I wore all throughout high school would each consistently come home sandy and wet in their hey day. When I was a kid I would bring all my McDonald's Happy Meal toys I collected and they would drive through the paths I would dig out around my sand castles that would always eventually turn into sand villages. While in the water body surfing in my youth evolved into boogie boarding. After catching waves, I would get such a thrill when my board would float all the way to dry land. When I moved to Venice Beach at 22, kids would run up to me screaming and asking if they could have a turn on my boogie board. No. I wasn't about to have one of them lose my board. Those moments I caught a wave were some of the only moments I didn't feel alone and scared living in this foreign city I knew so little about then. I needed that, so borrowing to strangers (even if they were kids) was out of the question. I would tell them that they should go ask their mom to buy them one.
With all the memorable times I spent at the beach, I wanted to have one of them be with Clayton since he didn't get to grow up near the ocean. My internal frustration that the clouds were not breaking mellowed once I knew in my heart that this would be our memory. A cold memory, but still a memory.
A vintage postcard for Huntington Beach--it did not look like this on Sunday.
Myself, Clayton and Megan at Huntington Beach.
Gus got to come because we decided to meet at the dog beach.
The bird that thought Clayton's head looked like it might make a good men's room.
