pocketful of shells (part 1)

We just returned from our first family vacation with Little D. Due to the generosity of some dear friends we were able to head to the beach for some sun and surf. D adored the water and the sand from the moment his tootsies touched both and we captured those moments in about 500 photos. Despite my previous visions of rest and relaxation, however, I discovered that vacationing with a youngin' really involves neither :). D literally took his first confident steps a week before we left and as soon as we released him after 8 hours in a straight-jacket-of-a-carseat he took off a'running...ok well not so much running, but shuffle, shuffle, stumble, shuffle, shuffle, stumble. Little fingers located every non-child-proof space in the condo as if they had memorized blueprints beforehand. Seriously, how did he know just five seconds into the room that the outlets didn't have plugs or the cabinets little safety locks?!! ANYWAY, suffice it to say B and I's rumps didn't hit seat very often between the hours of 6:30am-6:30pm. Watching D discover the oceanfront was pure delight though and helped energize mum and dad for the boot-camp-like-obstacle-course each day brought.

One morning not long before we left, B urged me to use D's nap time for a reprieve. I had been aching to just sit a minute by the ocean--smell the sodium-rich air, feel the breeze whip sand into my face, and hear the roar of water drown out all the noises of civilization that had been making my soul claustrophobic. I packed a bag with a book, some water and a camera and headed out. Overcast skies and blustery winds kept large crowds in their rooms, and thus I had the pick of sand in which to set up camp (save for the militant lifeguard who berated us the previous day for placing our stuff too far over an imaginary line). I sat in the chair a few minutes, inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling. Then I realized the storms of the night before had deposited a gold-rush load of shells near the water's edge.

Pure child-like exhilaration filled my tired frame when I realized there were a number of two-toned shells that were a lovely black/white or dark brown/gold. I decided right then and there with unusual decisiveness that I would fill my bag with them. Time sauntered by as I combed the beach back and forth, and back and forth. A few times I became conscious that several people had passed by more than once, muttering things like, "what is she looking for?" I kept my eyes glued to the sand, given over to the treasure hunt. Somewhere in the midst of the hunt, I came across a patch of beach littered with shells that had a bizarre object as it's centerpiece: an empty inhaler. The little red device literally stopped my in my tracks. I even rushed back to my chair, grabbed the camera and took a picture. Something about this inhaler screamed at me. With a pocketful of shells, mementos of my first vacation with my son, I stared at the inhaler for what felt like forever, mesmerized. The metaphorical applications of it flooded my brain, dizzying me with layers of possibility. I don't know...I'm still thinking about that inhaler...