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The Most Perfect Vacation
by Sean Gmey I snuggled into the beach chair and wiggled my feet into the warm sand as the sound of the ocean waves washed over my mind. The orange-red glow of the setting sun upon the water was a reminder of the warm feelings simmering within my head. The rhythmic cadence of the waves massaged my being as I reached for another log to throw into the fire. A cascade of sparks shot upward into the twilight and the muffled sound of footsteps moved in my direction. Jenny, my wife, eased into the chair beside me and commented on the beauty of the evening light. A chorus of voices was approaching, one alto mixed with a tenor and a bass. The alto spoke in my direction as I looked to my left and saw the offering that my daughter, Allis was holding within my reach. Thanking her, I eagerly received the gift of hot spiced milk, a favorite beverage thoughtfully prepared. Her husband, Joe, kicked sand over my feet, and settled into his chair with a grin and a large iced tea. Scott, my son, plopped onto the sand within reach of Taco, his Golden Lab Retriever, who eyed the ball that Scott tossed in my direction. All eyes were on me, and Joe thanked me, Pops, for the ordering of the perfect evening. Taco crouched at my feet, and I could feel her hot breath on my feet as she eyed the tennis ball I juggled from hand to hand. Scott finished unlacing his shoes as he gave the okay to hurl the ball into the crashing surf. And the sound of the waves, approving our gathering, washed over our ears. The arc of the ball disappeared among the breakers as Taco launched into the foam, and Scott dove in beside her. The group of onlookers cheered for their favorite. Taco retrieved the ball and delivered it to each of us in turn, a trick which we had taught her, before she tore after it again. Scott intercepted her several times, the two tumbling and rolling in the surf, frantic to retrieve the prize. The moon shown like a silver knife across the water, from horizon to beach as two couples, hands locked in embrace, joined Taco and Scott at the water's edge. The fingers of the surf massaged our toes, first in the direction of land, then out again to sea as we talked our way along the beach to our favorite dessert shack. And the sound of the waves washed over our words. Great gobs of ice-cream flooded with scrumptious toppings "warmed" our bellies, as we gloried in our indulgence. The scraping of the dishes spoke of our envy for seconds, but our stomachs groaned with our choice of gluttony over moderation. We sat for a spell, soaking up the sounds of golden oldies as the sound of the waves washed over our memories of days gone by. The glow of our fire was a beacon for our approach over the water packed sand, and the gentle breeze on our skin whispered to our minds of our need for the warmth of the fire. The sound of our laughter and our recollections of the week gone by drifted in the evening air to the ears of folks sitting on their seaside decks, and we returned the greetings they offered without fee. The bed of coals, red and yellow embers with flames licking about, called us to our chairs where the fire wrapped our frames with a blanket of welcome warmth. Our bodies, now warming, prompted a bolder spirit as we sang our songs from hearts of fullness. Meanwhile the sound of the waves washed over our heartstrings. First solos, then duets, and finally a chorus or two brought applause from our audience hidden beyond the fire and the darkness. Then came the time to challenge for a favorite from the library of songs we each held dear. I pulled back the log that was poised for tossing into the fire, to let the light of the fire dim and fall lazily at our feet. It was Allis's turn to be first to challenge, and she called on her mother to share a favorite lullaby. As her song drifted across the sand carried by the ocean breezes a lump caught in each throat at the remembrance of a time when fear was chased from a frightened child's mind by a beautiful melody that had wrapped its arms around her. And the sound of the waves washed over her fading voice. Then Joe challenged Allis to sing a song, and "You're Some Kind of Wonderful" got the houses along the beach a "rockin" as neighbors lounging on decks could not resist a chance to add their raucous voices. Allis followed with a request for Joe and Scott to sing a duet of "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" and the stomping of feet reverberated in the night air. Then Scott requested Jenny and me to sing a song, "San Francisco Bay Blues", and we had fun with it, thinking of younger days when we had made it our song to share. Finally, Allis suggested one more chorus, and the notes from "Danny Boy" drifted from our lips across the sand and among the beach houses. And the sound of the waves washed over our tear stained cheeks toward the silence of folks who held their breath as the final note was fading. A full two minutes slipped by as we all sat silently. Then Allis reached for a log and tossed it into the fire, and we watched the sparks fly skyward toward the myriad of stars that hung silently overhead. Then we reminisced over the good times we had experienced over the previous week and planned the things we could do on our return next year. The glow of the fire accented the upturned corners of each mouth that smiled at this time of warmth and love that defined a perfect ending. Groans slipped from everyone's lips as they gathered the chairs and their stiffened limbs and turned their backs on the fading embers, as Taco signaled the way to the beach house. Couples looped arms around each other as they slogged through the sand, with mother's six foot son cradled as much is as possible within her free arm, and chuckles and whispers accompanied their going. And the sound of the waves washed over their souls refreshing their minds and filling their hearts with laughter. Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |