I love the beach. I adore every single little thing about the beach. When I die I want to be stuffed and mounted in a beach chair with a fruity cocktail in my hand sitting on a beach somewhere. I think that may be sacrilegious but I don’t care. I could live the rest of my days at the beach and not care about ever going back to civilization.

Or so I think…but could I really? Would I miss the hustle and bustle of the daily grind? Would I miss the traffic and congestion that greets me on Broad Street everyday? Would I miss the spontaneous trips to Trader Joe’s, Whole Foods or Kroger to pick up something tasty for dinner? Or would I plan my life better so there wouldn’t be so many trips to the grocery store to pick up something tasty? Would I miss being able to meet friends for lunch at one of our favorite little spots in Richmond? Or would I find new and better places here at the beach?

The answers to those questions will probably never be answered because at the end of this week I will have to go back to the hustle and bustle of real life. I will have to rejoin my reality and fight the traffic on Broad Street at five o’clock so I can pick up something for dinner or meet friends or just get out and go.

If I were truly honest with myself, though, I am not sure my brain is wired to be able to adjust to the slower pace of life. As we were coming close to the beach house last night I kept willing the traffic in front of me to move faster and faster. I muttered many bad words under my breath as the traffic slowed more and more and then came to a stop. I wanted to hyper-space to our destination. Hyper-spacing and beach living really don’t go hand in hand.

So for now, I will revel in my time at the beach with the waves crashing just on the other side of the dune, a stone’s throw from the back of the house. I will enjoy every grain of sand that makes its way into the house on the feet of the kids (and me). I will sit in my beach chair with a fruity cocktail in my hand so that when I have to go back to Broad Street and all it has to offer I will be fortified with the serenity of the slow pace of a trip to the beach.

Thank you Queen Tscheslie and Mike for opening your wonderful home to the Pokey family, yet again. We all couldn’t be more grateful for our time at the beach.

Oh, for the love of my children…