Thursday, October 02, 2014
Road Trip to the Beach: Part I
I saw the ocean for the first time when I was seventeen. It was a cold, gray day but the ocean seemed infinite and I fell in love. After many other beach trips, mostly sunny and filled with play, my delight in the ocean has continued to grow. The sea and the beach always call my name.
Posted by on 10/19/2013 3:37:00 PMComments 0
Beach Road Trip: Part II
Before we headed on to the beach the next morning, we gassed Crawford’s Firebird up in Laurel Hill at a country store called Cash on the Barrel Head that Junie’s pop ran. In the store Walter Cronkite was always pea-green on the huge television in the store because her dad was color blind and never bothered to adjust the color. We chose sodas from the old fashioned coke case where you had to stick your arm down into a slurry of ice and freezing cold water. Somehow the cokes always tasted better from there. Junie would hug her dad and we’d be off. Sometimes we tried to time the trip so we could go to Calabash where everyone headed for seafood before we set up camp at Huntington Beach State Park, and sometimes we just headed straight to the beach.
Posted by on 10/20/2013 11:18:00 AMComments 0
Water and Rhythms: Guest Post by Nina Metzner, Part 1
Crimson nail, index finger, road map. An unlikely trinity, but I have been hunched over them muttering for so long, I feel I’m on the verge of something prayerful. My finger traces and retraces Route 11 where it snakes along the page as if the patterns on the atlas in my lap were Braille. I am well aware that even if each little black dot marking a town was raised slightly, worrying the bumps with the fleshy pads of my fingers wouldn’t make us any less lost.
Posted by on 11/9/2013 5:56:00 PMComments 0
Water and Rhythms: Guest Post by Nina Metzner, Part 2
Our friend’s mother has kept supper for us—a supper right out of my childhood. Boiled green beans and potatoes, chicken and rice, fresh sliced tomatoes, peach cobbler and iced tea. I am so used to eating fast food, Cheetos, and canned spaghetti, the meat makes me want to weep. Her kitchen is cluttered, every counter filled with dishes and knick-knacks. The linoleum is faded and worn in the center where there has been the most traffic. Around the edges it is still patterned, although yellowed with age. Sugar and crumbs crunch beneath our feet and some spots are sticky. The house exudes an air of productive laziness.
Posted by on 11/2/2013 12:49:00 PMComments 0

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