Back when I was a kid, there was no sunscreen at all, and you slathered yourself up with cocoa butter, olive oil, ... or to save time you just lit yourself on fire. But nowadays when us too-fair-skinned people are faced with a 95 degree day with lots of humidity (for instance in North Carolina in July) we grease outselves up with the most SPF's we can get.
On Thursday, Amy, Pam, Brad, Liza and I hopped in the car and headed down to Forth Fisher, Atlantic Ocean beach extraordinaire. Armed with a cooler of water, diet root beer and deli items, crackers and nuts, beach chairs, and ... SPF 100 sunscreen. Yes, SPF 100! I spread it thickly over my arms, shoulders, legs, all the places I normally get burned. I put a little on my feet too. Then we went shuffling through the sand and into the waves.
This was my first full immersion in salt water, and it was pretty awesome! I love the ways the waves tickle and bubble over the sand. It's like it's massaging the coast line. And then to be in the water and pelted by waves. Glorious! Sometimes they looked ferocious, like the were going to knock you down from above, only to fade out inches from your body. And sometimes they looked tame and walloped you from behind. You get used to being pulled back and forth in its wake.
Marine life ranged from sandpipers skittering over the coast ... to pelicans riding inches above the water, moving up and down as it encountered waves, as if there were invisible wheels beneath them ... to a class of kids and their boogie boards watching for tamable waves to ride in.
I went in the water four times. The fourth, I was jostled about by the waves like the poor female prospects in Night at the Roxbury... so much so that I got dizzy. So I climbed out to the beach chairs, popped in my earphones and listened to some Bossa Nova. And that's where I got burned. It was very subtle - with the wind whipping around me, and my body cooled down by the ocean, I didn't feel tremendously warm. But my feet were getting a little pink. Oh ...no problem, I thought.
By the time we left the beach in late afternoon, my feet were turning a few shades redder. Amy bought some aloe vera gel for her toasted back, and I popped some on my feet. Weird. I was a little crispy elsewhere, but nothing major. Just my feet. Hmmmm.
For dinner we went to Riverboat Landing in Wilmington. It was half-price night on wine, and we got a bottle of Chianti that became my trip favorite. We started with fried dill pickles (classic Southern) and caprese salad (well, Southern Italian, maybe). Amy went for the duck, because that's what she does and I love her for it. Brad did shrimp and grits, Pam went for the steak, Liza had spinach ravioli, and I did chicken jambalya - a nice burn on it. Afterwards we hit Market Street for ice cream cones. And then Amy and I lounged around on a park bench, watching the river flow by.
Ahhh yes. It was quintessentially Southern, laid back, take-your-time day. Brad got me a t-shirt, "We Don't Care How Y'all Do It Up North." I'm going to wear it to Cornell - it's just offensive enough to raise eyebrows, but not enough to get me fired.
And as I went to sleep, I thought ... hmmm, my feet sure look red.
On Thursday, Amy, Pam, Brad, Liza and I hopped in the car and headed down to Forth Fisher, Atlantic Ocean beach extraordinaire. Armed with a cooler of water, diet root beer and deli items, crackers and nuts, beach chairs, and ... SPF 100 sunscreen. Yes, SPF 100! I spread it thickly over my arms, shoulders, legs, all the places I normally get burned. I put a little on my feet too. Then we went shuffling through the sand and into the waves.This was my first full immersion in salt water, and it was pretty awesome! I love the ways the waves tickle and bubble over the sand. It's like it's massaging the coast line. And then to be in the water and pelted by waves. Glorious! Sometimes they looked ferocious, like the were going to knock you down from above, only to fade out inches from your body. And sometimes they looked tame and walloped you from behind. You get used to being pulled back and forth in its wake.
Marine life ranged from sandpipers skittering over the coast ... to pelicans riding inches above the water, moving up and down as it encountered waves, as if there were invisible wheels beneath them ... to a class of kids and their boogie boards watching for tamable waves to ride in.
I went in the water four times. The fourth, I was jostled about by the waves like the poor female prospects in Night at the Roxbury... so much so that I got dizzy. So I climbed out to the beach chairs, popped in my earphones and listened to some Bossa Nova. And that's where I got burned. It was very subtle - with the wind whipping around me, and my body cooled down by the ocean, I didn't feel tremendously warm. But my feet were getting a little pink. Oh ...no problem, I thought.
By the time we left the beach in late afternoon, my feet were turning a few shades redder. Amy bought some aloe vera gel for her toasted back, and I popped some on my feet. Weird. I was a little crispy elsewhere, but nothing major. Just my feet. Hmmmm.
For dinner we went to Riverboat Landing in Wilmington. It was half-price night on wine, and we got a bottle of Chianti that became my trip favorite. We started with fried dill pickles (classic Southern) and caprese salad (well, Southern Italian, maybe). Amy went for the duck, because that's what she does and I love her for it. Brad did shrimp and grits, Pam went for the steak, Liza had spinach ravioli, and I did chicken jambalya - a nice burn on it. Afterwards we hit Market Street for ice cream cones. And then Amy and I lounged around on a park bench, watching the river flow by.
Ahhh yes. It was quintessentially Southern, laid back, take-your-time day. Brad got me a t-shirt, "We Don't Care How Y'all Do It Up North." I'm going to wear it to Cornell - it's just offensive enough to raise eyebrows, but not enough to get me fired.
And as I went to sleep, I thought ... hmmm, my feet sure look red.
1 comment:
From our vantage point waist deep in the Atlantic Ocean, Pam and I watched Craig ashore as he reclined in a bright red Tommy Bahama beach chair. We were enjoying the hottest first week in July in the history of our Southern state, under a cloudless sky, just after midday, on a shadeless sandy white plain fronted by an expansive mirror of water that concentrated the sun into a parching ultra-violent sheen that rose from Craig in shimmering undulations. His feet, thrust forward in slim sandals, offered themselves pinkly. Pam and I looked at each other, then turned slowly away, facing the sea. Our feet, cool in the swirling water, sank into the wet sand. Ahhhh. We would sleep well tonight . . . .
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