Fifteen Days....

Two weeks from tomorrow, this will be my view:



There aren't really words to describe the anticipation.

I haven't been to the beach in four years. That's a long time for a girl who grew up going whenever she wanted. A long time for a girl that smelled the salt and felt the coastal wind in her hometown. A long time for a girl who as a teenager, would channel that teen angst with a drive with friends over the bridge to sit in the sand and talk it out.

If you're not from there, you don't understand. I know you can say you do, but you don't. You don't really get it. Not like we get it.

My favorite book, The Prince of Tides, says it best:

"My wound is geography. It is also my anchorage, my port of call."

I haven't felt anchored in four years. That's how long it's been since I've been to the coast, to where I can see the wind, breathe the ocean, smell the waves, and touch the sun.

I can't wait for Thomas to experience all those senses. I think he'll take to it like the fish I think he is. Not once has he cried in a bath. He sits there, in utter awe and wonder, holding his hand out staring in disbelief and excitement, waiting for me to pour water over his hands, breathing in when I pour water over his head and face.

He loves it...simply loves it.

My husband says our trips to the lake are just the same, if not better. I can't hold it against him. He was raised in Little Rock and Memphis. But, my love, you couldn't be more wrong.

So this morning, I drink my coffee, saddled to a city that is bordered by lakes and mountains, and I think of the coast, and I feel alive inside.