The following post was first published in 2014. As I am still in summer daydream mode, but no where near an ocean, those two weeks on Fire Island seems like heaven to me, flashing up in dusty memory…
Two weeks living on the ocean’s edge, the only constants in my day was the sound of pounding surf and sand on my feet, a morning swim and bike ride to get milk or meet the ferry as more family arrived, filling the wagon with luggage and boxes of food, a walk along the shore, beach volleyball, afternoons riding the waves, beach yoga, shucking corn, beach dance music, eating peaches, beach runs, ice cream, laughing, moonlit swims, and letting the clock hands fade for a brief time-less span. Our only agenda, unwind and restore.
There is no easy way for me to sit still, but somehow, after months sheltering, I am doing slightly more of that, daydreaming right back to fabulous memories, like this girl’s trip I took to France two years ago. Concocted and plotted during the winter months and executed during the heat wave called July, four of us converged to explore Paris, Aix-en-Provence, Cassis, Arles, Eze and Nice. We delighted in the architecture and art and space and sea and trains and food and drink and each other. I invite you to lazily daydream through my photo story, and as you do, imagine roaming with pure freedom once again.
And yet, as we meet here tonight, there is a growing danger that threatens every blessing our ancestors fought so hard for, struggled, they bled to secure.
Our nation is witnessing a merciless campaign to wipe out our history, defame our heroes, erase our values, and indoctrinate our children.