I am a person who is rarely at a loss for words. There are a lot of different words used to describe people like me: not all of them are pleasant. There are those who call them quick witted, friendly, fast on your feet, knowledgable…but then there are those who call them a smart alec or wise guy (depending upon how old you are!) or worse yet, a know it all. Yikes. I sure hope I’m not that one. I think I will call myself ‘chatty’…that has a nice ring to it. Anyhow, my point is that I don’t often find myself without a response, whether it is orally or typed. You should see my fingers fly when I have something to say. Writing prompts are the stuff my dreams are made of.
You can imagine my utter surprise last night, in my class (When Your Soul Speaks by Laura Probert), when we were presented with the last writing prompt for the evening and I drew a blank. I’m not kidding: complete blank. Since the one requirement is to keep our pen moving, I actually just wrote the words “I have no idea” twelve times in response to the prompt “my perfect morning would be…” How lame is that?
I’m going to cut myself a little slack since yesterday was a bit of an emotional roller coaster (evidenced by my post). Not surprisingly, I woke up this morning with three different perfect mornings tumbling around in my head, eager to be shared through my fingertips.
The first perfect morning I thought of took place in the spring a couple of years ago, when my granddaughter Susannah had just turned 6. That winter, she had spent a lot of time at Children’s National Hospital in DC with complications from her CF. Not only are extended hospital visits hard on the family members, but children with CF are quarantined from all other children so they cannot participate in the activities and centralized play areas. Furthermore, they are quarantined from one another too, as each child with CF can potentially carry a deadly virus, which is highly contagious only between them.
This extended isolation was especially hard for Susannah, as she is an extremely gregarious child: day after day sitting in a singular room, being hooked up to one device after another for treatments. After her discharge, the doctor told us that being near the ocean is always good for a child with CF so, as soon as we could, Susi and I took an overnight trip to Virginia Beach.
Susi was granted a one day medication/treatment holiday so we wanted to make the most of every minute. We woke up early and ordered room service. Then, we went down to the boardwalk and rented bikes, riding all the way down to the pier and back. After we packed up our bags, we met my sister (who lives there) at a tea parlor. It was Susannah’s first ‘high tea.’ It was definitely a perfect morning; one I will never forget…a morning when Susi got to just be a child and not a child with CF.
Another such perfect morning that came to mind was the year before last at the beach. Steve (my husband) and I rarely get an opportunity to spend time together at our family beach week each spring. There are just too many people who need to be tended to. However, one morning, we did manage to find time for a walk on the beach. It is during quiet times like this when you remember why you liked each other in the first place!
The third perfect morning was also at the beach—in Hawaii, nonetheless. My friend Linda had won a trip to Hawaii and took me along as her guest. Overall, we had a great time, but this one morning in particular (I’ve written a comical short story about it…), was quite memorable. She and I got up at the crack of dawn and had Bloody Mary’s with our breakfast for liquid courage. Then, we paddle surfed way the heck out in the Pacific Ocean where there are LOTS of sharks! Yes, I was terrified (she wasn’t), but it was quite a day to remember…we went on to tackle many other crazy things that day too, but those are stories for another time…
I’m noticing a common theme here; are you? It would appear that I’ve had many more than one perfect morning at the beach. Bottom line, I love any morning at the beach. I miss living in California where there are beaches aplenty. When I first moved to California when I was 20, Robbie and I had a beach view apartment in San Clemente. I missed my mom and sister so badly, that I would often sit by the window and watch the waves crashing, crying for home. The beach became kind of like a friend to me—a comfort.
To this day, I still feel a sense of peace and tranquility at the beach that I am unable to duplicate anywhere else. My perfect morning will always be at the beach. Have you ever thought about what your perfect morning(s) would be?
PS. My ‘home page’ picture of a sunrise was taken by me this past year as three of my granddaughters, Charlotte, Ava Rose, and Susannah watched the sun rise with me.