Sally Sells Seashells By the Seashore

Go ahead. Try it. 10 x fast. GO.

I know, you probably haven't tried that since you were a kid! You're welcome.

Anyways, there's just something about the beach isn't there? It's calming, it's peaceful.

I love falling asleep to the crashing of the waves, waking up to the sound of seagulls, the smell of salt, finding sand in unknown places still a month after you get home from the beach, running into the ocean breeze, rocking on the porch with a book, the open water, walking on the beach in the night bundled in a sweatshirt, and even building sandcastles. We're going to Hiltonhead next weekend, and it got me thinking about why exactly I'm so excited. It's not just because of the couple days off work (YAY), it's not just because everyone loves the beach and why wouldn't I too!, or because I get to be there with Casey (double YAY). All those things are wonderful, but it's because of all the memories that the beach--any beach--stirs up.

I love the beach. I think I love the beach so much because it reminds of all the summer memories of Groton from when I was a kid that I love. I love 20 Central Avenue Eastern Point.

The freezing water temperatures of the northeastern shore, the fireworks show on the 4th of July and coating ourselves with bug spray before hand, the sailboat tour every summer, soft serve ice cream from the big house near the rocks, the seaweed infested waters, the hermit crab races, hunting for mussels to go crabbing, carefully selecting only the most beautiful and most perfect pieces of seaglass, the walks around the point, the runs with dad around the streets of Groton, and taking trips into town to go to the library and blockbuster. Trips to Mystic, trips to Fort Griswold, just trips to see grandma and grandpa. The 781 mile drive and smelling the Pfizer plant as we approached town. That's how we knew we were close. I always used to hate that smell, and longed for the actual seaweed-salty-air and fresh-ocean-air smell that immediately followed the Pfizer smell...that made getting through the thick of Pfizer worth it.

I love the movies in the big van on the way up snuggled with Katie and Dawn, and mom and dad just driving and driving. The crossing of the Tappan Zee bridge, the traffic in New York, the fingers-crossed for no huge, car-stopping traffic jams, the tolls, and the seeing who can guess the time to the minute of when we will arrive in the black asphalt driveway. That's a game we always always played. Who would win the time game this year? Mom and dad always had the upper hand...after all they were driving. Dad would playfully drive slower into town--or faster--to get his time closest, and we just giggled cause we were on to his antics.

The big bushes that lined their driveway were the biggest hassle getting in and out of the car every time we went to go somewhere. Those leaves, huge leaves, would always brush your leg and your arm and your clothes, and be all itchy in the summertime. I always hated those bushes. Until now. Now that the house is no longer in the family, now that Grandma Grace isn't with us, now that Grandpa John lives in Hartford. Those peony bushes that were Grandma's favorite and that I have come to absolutely adore and long for.

I miss sitting in the breeze on their front porch, watching the Young and the Restless and Price is Right and Wheel of Fortune with grandma and grandpa, the secret back staircase in the house, and running into the house upon arrival to get the best bed (in room number 6) before the other two sisters could choose first. Making grandpa peanut butter-anything and pouring him ginger ale. Grandma's Franzia...wine in a box and is it 5 o clock yet? Not in a bad way AT ALL, but in a my-grandma-is-so-funny way. Baking cookies and cutting fresh fruit and raisin bread and cutting chives from the garden and picking up plums from the plum tree out back. Spending one week or two weeks choreographing a dance show with Katie and Dawn culminating in a production on the front porch for everyone at the end of our stay.

There isn't a memory I have of the shore in Groton that I don't love. I cherish the time knowing that our little family would be able to spend that one week or two weeks together every summer. I miss that house, I miss those memories, I miss that Casey never saw it or spent a summer there, I miss that our kids will never experience it. But I do have the memories of my 20 or so years there, and some of the best memories they are.