Mom and I went To The Beach on Friday.

We flew kites. Real ones, from China. They were very clever, and worked really well, as long as you understood that knotted nylon is inherently unstable, and reinforced alll such joints before they had a chance to wriggle free in the wind, sending various parts of your complicated kite sliding off into other parts or escaping over the dunes.

We had a good time repairing kites, too. Both of us like to do imprompetu tinkering, and when something is actually broken we have all the more justification to try to improve it. (One little difference: I was more excited about playing with the fish kite, tugging on its string, and trying to learn when slack and tension would help it stay in the sky. Mom was more pleased by her solution of tying a stick to its tail, so the weight would make stay upright and not need tugging.)

Afterwards, which is the part I reallywanted to draw your attention to, we went into town for dinner. Bill's Tavern and Brewhouse served us delicious seafood, and we thoroughly enjoyed their sampler of house brews. I strongly recommend the Foggy Notion Weisebeer, Duckdive Pale Ale, and Curiously Strong Beer (Stout).

I loved the Blackberry beer, which captured a part of the taste of blackberries and raspberries that is completely left out of commercial syrup flavorings. And I was fascinated by the Garden Party Elixir, which featured summery scents and tastes like lavender, honey, and herbs. Purists may not fancy the idea of fruit or flowers in good beer, but irreverant drinkers like myself are encouraged to try these marvels.

I wanted to get some to share with many of my friends, but it wouldn't have kept. So you'll have to go try some fresh for yourself, next time you get a chance.

Afterwards, I ran back to the beach, with Mom strolling behind, to catch the last of the sunset. Shadowy people were watching the waves and lighting driftwood fires, big and small silhouettes against the light in the water and the sky. Seagulls sat on a spit of sand, reflecting a strange bronze color set off by the steely blue water on both sides. The reflected bronze color was completely obscured in the glowing pink sky; a whisper of beige between bands of deep pink and fading blue. It was a beautiful day.

We sang most of the way home, driving down the long forest tunnels in the dark. Camp songs and hymns and anything else that came to mind, especially anything I could improvise harmonies around, until both our throats were hoarse.




OK, I intended this to be a brief, cheerful, "normal" journal entry, but I can't seem to avoid introspection. If you're getting tired of it, go to the coast and drink beer, and read no further.

This is the other thing about that day that I wanted to describe:
As we got into the car to set out, around 2pm, I experienced a strange sensation. A tingling in my limbs, like itching blood; a tightening of my lower ribs and loosening of my belly, a weakening of the sense of strength and reslove which is both physical and personal armor.
We think it was probably nostalgia.
It was accompanied by twin thoughts, like waves overlaping as they come in to the beach. One was a sharp awareness of the presence of "home;" the sun on the tree and grass beside the drive, the immanent trip to the beach which I had been looking forward to all week. The other was a wistfulness, focussed on the person who last evoked this paradoxical sentiment: the sudden longing for something long ignored, and now, briefly, within reach.

It is strange, the strength of feeling with which I miss things which are close at hand. Why long for them when they are nearby? and not when they are out of reach? I can contentedly ignored the same people and places for months, or years, sparing them only an occasional, passing thought.

I suppose it contributes to my happiness, this ignoring of absent things. If I was constantly aware of all the beloved things that are away from me, I must be miserable. There is no way in the waking world that my life can simultaneously contain all of the people, places, and experiences I love.

So appreciating them most poignantly when I have opportunity to enjoy them seems like a practical, if ideosyncratic, habit.
My only concern is that doesn't extend into an overall amnesia, making it difficult for me to remember or be loyal to the things I love best, because I cannot endure the thought of them in their absence.