10 years

There was a big debate one day on the beach among my relaxation-seeking, cocktail-sipping sun-worshiping clan. The debate had nothing to do with the upcoming presidential election, Lochte vs Phelps, or the reliance on fossil fuels. No, this debate had to do with how many years we’d been relaxing, drinking, and sunning on Salisbury Beach. I thought the answer was 9, figuring in typical journalism-major calculations that because Macy is 10 and her first trip to the beach was when she was a year and a half, the answer is 9.

Macy in the middle

Our lovely hostess, BA, used similar math yet had a loophole that somehow allowed for two summers in each year; Enron-style accounting, perhaps, or maybe just wishful thinking. The math geek in the crowd, aka The Hubs, used his very large, thrice-degreed brain to work out that the answer was indeed 10.

10 years.

A decade.

While my kiddos and our bestest bud Ed have frolicked on our favorite beach 10 summers, The Hubs and I missed one year, thanks to that dreadful post-mastectomy infection that grounded me and damn near sleighed me. I’m still collecting my do-over, in the form of bottomless cocktails and the record in our group for most hours spent parked in a beach chair facing the surf, soaking up more than my fair share of vitamin D. I win. 

The traditional symbol for a 10-year anniversary is a gift of aluminum or tin. Save the platinum and diamonds for milestones down the road; for a decade it’s aluminum or tin. Not the best subjects, I admit, although we unknowingly partook of the aluminum tradition with our cans of beer on the beach (lots of cans of beer), and I’m sure we could have rustled up a tin cup for sipping frozen margaritas or the off-the-cuff Malibu rum/orange-mango nectar/ginger ale concoction Jenn dubbed “Heaven in a Cup.” But alas, I was laboring under the assumption that we were only at our 9-year beach anniversary, which is unworthy of traditional or modern gifts. 

No matter. Once the great debate concluded and the vexing math problem was solved, the celebration began in earnest. Instead of breaking out the Bloody Marys upon the respectable 11 a.m. hour, we filled our glasses whenever we damn well pleased. After a cup of coffee, for sure, but then…let the games begin.

I’m not necessarily a sucker for tradition, but I do like to recognize milestones, especially when they involve adult beverages. A 10-year span of seaside fun certainly is worthy of recognition. So, without further ado, I present the afore-promised photoglut of beach photos.

our home away from home

the path to paradise

boogie-boarding at high tide

rocking out

seagull-watching

cloud-gazing

endless horizon

the master sand sculptor at work

evil troll

Spider Man mask for little Eddie

“Shut yo mouth, fat man!”

Calvin!

seaside reading

the requisite giant hole

patterns in the sand

tidal pools

showering al fresco

Years ago I didn’t believe this foodstuff existed. Now I know better.

big smiles for Blink’s!

where the magic happens

chocolate w jimmies for Payton, coconut for Macy

beach bums!

paradise found

 

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