The Sanibel Gals: Part 3- Life's a beach

I learned a lot about myself on this trip, I thought reflectively, as I scanned through my phone at the text messages I sent throughout my journey.  Poignant conversations that I had with my fellow travelers such as when my friend Kathy watched admiringly as I cleverly navigated my way onto the plane with my over-sized rucksack. Noticing that I was staggering beneath my heavy load, the man who scanned my ticket expressed his concern for my welfare, saying, "I don't know if that'll fit, darlin'." I assured him that the bag only looked big in proportion to my tiny figure and lurched gracefully down the gangplank. I accepted Kathy's compliment regarding my diplomacy skills without hesitation but admitted, while I threw myself bodily against my backpack as I stuffed it into the overhead compartment that, of all my character traits, "I'm most proud of my modesty."

Later, after inventorying my character traits, I watched with envy as the strong, independent women with whom I was traveling would wander away, to walk the beaches alone...to become one with nature...to embark on a Thoreau-ian adventure, melding mind, body and spirit with the sand and the waves. I stared longingly at my television before slouching off to be re-awakened by nature. I would be strong and independent too.

The first thing wrong with all that nature, obviously, is all the sand. It's everywhere, for Pete's sake. I immediately took a picture on my phone to send to all my friends. Standing in the Gulf of Mexico, I called my youngest daughter to share with her the wonders of my world. "I'm standing in the Gulf of Mexico," I told Sydney who, for some unfathomable reason, was not particularly delighted to hear this news. "Oh my goodness, a shell," I screeched suddenly, hanging up on her while I wrestled it from the grasp of the Gulf whereupon I immediately took a picture to show Sydney, proclaiming it "our shell."

I tentatively wandered a bit more down the beach until I encountered an oddity. I, of course, grabbed my phone, "Quick, someone, Google the type of shell that looks EXACTLY like dog poo." Upon closer inspection, I then texted, "Never mind." A gang of tiny sea birds chased me around for awhile. When I was done screaming, I unearthed what may have been my greatest find. I, of course, grabbed the phone. "I think I found a manatee hoof!" I texted everyone. I learned a lot about myself AND my friends that day. I learned that many of my friends actually think that I'm stupid enough to actually BELIEVE that I found a manatee hoof and I learned that I am actually stupid enough to mistake an ACTUAL hoof for a type of shell. "What is this," my husband asked wearily upon my return home as I spent two hours showing him each shell and giving him a blow-by-blow account of the discovery experience. "It's part of a broken off shell I found," I said excitedly, "doesn't it look exactly like a hoof?" He sighed (He does that a lot.). "It IS a hoof," he said, holding back our excited dogs (They REALLY like shells..."No, they don't," Brad corrected, "They really like hooves.")

"Well...if that's the weirdest thing you found...then you're actually doing pretty good," Savannah remarked encouragingly after I called her about my little faux pas. There was a long pause. "Mom???"

So...there I was sitting on the beach, watching a group of women. One woman sat back off the tide
line, watching the horizon as her friends scampered about excitedly for shells. One would suddenly make a discovery, pounce, hold it up to then race  to share her treasure with her friend who would bemusedly admire each offering. I giggled as this scene re-played itself a dozen times before a thought came to mind. "Geri," I said, poking my friend who was sitting well above the tide line, watching the horizon, "Do you think we look like that?" "Not even close," she replied, reminding me of my last "treasure." I had been scooching along in the sand when my toes closed in on something

soft and squishy. Fascinated, I unearthed what could only be described as a dully fluorescent orange brain. I inserted a nearby shell into it and raced across the beach to show my friends, Geri and Judy who immediately began waving me away from them. "If it's soft and squishy, then it's still alive," Geri yelled at me. "Put it back in the water," Judy suggested. "She stabbed it," Geri hollered, "putting it back won't do a whole hecka of a lot of good now." Mortified that I may have caused mortal damage to one of God's ocean creatures, I raced back to the water's edge and hurled the brain back in. I screamed as it immediately washed back to me. I gave it a gentle kick only to have to return again, just like Lassie. "This is for your own good," I snarled through gritted teeth, delivering a powerful soccer blow to the brain, lifting it out, above the waves to land safely in the world for whence it come.

I told you I learned a lot. If it looks like a hoof...it probably is. If it's soft and squishy...don't stab it.  And when the opportunity comes to walk in solitude upon the beach...just turn on the TV.