I kissed Jeff on the forehead and set off for town yesterday to pick up a few things at the grocery. It was such a nice day---sunny and warm ("warm" is a relative term here; it was warm to me) and Lake Superior was calling my name from the dairy aisle. When I finished at the store I decided to make a quick drive to my favorite super-secret spot to look for driftwood.
I always swear to myself that it will just be a quick little jaunt and then I step out of my truck and time just ceases to exist. The wind was blowing pretty hard out of the north and my secret spot was getting a bit pounded by waves, so I thought I would just have a little peek at the beach. I ended up calf-deep in the waves with the wind blowing my hair into wild tangles and the wave back-splash spattering my clothes. While picking up little bits and pieces of driftwood and monkeying about the rocks I realized that the thirteen year old me would have loved what the 44 year old me was doing and I wondered if the sixty year old me will still be climbing rocks and looking for treasures tossed up on the shore somewhere.
Back at camp--two hours later--Jeff knows I went shore hunting; my hair's a mess, my socks are drippy, my nose is sunburned and I'm pretty sure he could detect the scent of Lake Superior water mixed with happy (albeit soggy) girl.
