My daughter Romy sent me the above recently.  It says volumes about effort and dealing with grief and joy, but my focus here, on this longest day of the year and the beginning of summer, is THE SEA. 

From the day I had my first smell of salt air off the ocean I felt it had magical qualities.  If perception is reality then there was no doubt in my mind the ocean could fix anything.  I am not saying it has Lourdes like qualities but damned near. 

All I know is when I am around the ocean I feel better.  Mentally, physically and spiritually better.  It doesn’t take much.  It can be sitting on the bluff on a foggy night listening to the fog horn at the entrance to our harbor.  Walking along the shore to find interesting pieces of driftwood and bending over to get a closer look at small creatures in the tide pools.  And I love to climb rocks on a point with surging ocean water, mist and foam all around. 

One of my favorite things is to sit in my beach chair on a warm, summer day.  Particularly in the afternoon and into the evening when the wind begins to drop, birds are diving for their dinner, sailboats are racing offshore and the sun begins to set.  I never take a book to the beach.  I am aghast when I hear people say they like to read a good book at the beach.  Are you kidding me?  With all God has spread before you how can you even think of burying you nose in a book?  You can read a book at night or on a rainy day in the winter.  Please.

In the course of an afternoon you see many families lug enough gear to the water’s edge to camp out for a month.  Whether seeking relief from inland heat or treating the kids to a day at the beach, the routine is the same.  They spread out a blanket, stick an umbrella in the sand and break out sandwiches, chips and soft drinks while the kids run amuck.  Kicking soccer balls, throwing Frisbees, guys performing heroic feats to impress giggling girls, it’s all a ritual. 

Meanwhile, The Sea is working its magic.  They will all go home happy, bathing suits full of sand, sun burned and tired.  The next day, with recharged spirits and precious memories, they will tackle life’s struggles anew.  

I always end my day with a slow walk in knee deep water.  The swirling of the salt water around me is good for the soul.  Through the water and the mist I try to soak up every ounce of goodness. 

In the winter it’s quite different but no less magical.  There is a place near where I live that juts out over the ocean.  Emboldened by being on dry land, it is a spectacular place during a fierce winter storm.  With a dark gray sky and howling winds it is beautiful.  Massive waves crash against the rocks below sending spray skyward.  The wind then blows the mist over my vantage point.  Even though it is winter I have my dose of salt water.    

 

FLY-BY

       

As my family can tell you I can be rather emotional when things tug at my heart.  At our family gatherings if the national anthem is being played on TV for an event, they will pass me a tissue.  God Bless America during the seventh inning stretch is another one that gets me misty eyed.  As I have gotten older the lists of things that trigger such a response gets longer.  But one thing that has always been near the top of the list is a fly-by.  No matter how many I witness I get a rush of patriotism and pride that never wanes.

I am one of the great airplane watchers of all time.  If there is one in the sky, I will usually follow it until it is out of sight.  Put me near an Air Force base and I would be perfectly happy to take my place in a hammock looking skyward at daybreak and not leave until sun down.  Just bring me some nourishment and I will be fine.

I spent some time on a project at the Las Vegas Motor Speedway adjacent to Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas and I was in heaven.  All day long fighter jets were practicing landings or leaving for a remote up-state Nevada area where scenes for the movie Top Gun were filmed.  They would practice dog fights all day then return one by one to land at Nellis.  There were also massive, troop carrying helicopters that had these huge propeller blades that drooped almost to the ground.  By the time they developed enough rpm to lift off the ground was shaking. 

Naval Air Station Coronado and Marine Corp Air Station Miramar in the San Diego area provided endless hours of fighter plane viewing while fishing in the area.  Closer to home El Toro Marine Base handled all military airplane traffic including enormous cargo planes carrying soldiers and supplies to destinations around the world.  My imagination would run rampant as I watched them become a mere dot in the sky.

Part of the appeal for me was the miracles of watching these manmade things hurtle through the sky but also for what they represent.  A country and people that stands ready to defend themselves if necessary.  That makes me proud.

Watching a fly-by brings forth all those emotions for me.  I have seen many over the years including stealth bombers, Blue Angels, World War II antiques, missing man formations, F-what evers and a tribute to 4 members of the Tuskegee Airmen with a solo fly-by of their famous Red Tail Mustang.  Like I say, pass the tissue.

This past weekend Terry and I were guests at what was billed as the world’s shortest parade.  It was on Balboa Island and it was all of 2 blocks long.  Short on distance, big on stature.  Everyone on the Island gets behind this summer kickoff.  They close the bridge access at 10:30 am and the parade begins down Marine Avenue, the main drag.

The Marine Corp band playing their Marines’ Hymn led the way.  Behind them were city council members, the mayor, police and fire chiefs and other notable locals waving from 50’s era convertibles.  There was a contingent of some 100 golden labs and retrievers with red, white and blue bandanas.  Every block on the island had a “float”.  Most were decorated golf carts.  There was a performance by the Island lawn chair drill team.  The local high schools provided bands and even a break dancing exhibition.  All this was spiced up by a couple of surf bands on the back of flat bed trucks playing Surfin USA and other music that had its roots in our area. 

All of this was a dose of good old American community spirit and pride.  It was highlighted by a fly-by.  Due to typical June gloom there was a very low cloud cover.  It was doubtful if the fly-by would happen.  Finally a voice over the loudspeaker asked everyone to look east.  Out of the gloom and out of necessity, quite low to the ground, appeared a camouflaged P-38 and a P-51 Mustang, vintage World War II, side by side.  They zoomed over the 2 blocks of the parade circled around and buzzed us again.  All was right with the world.