A new day, a new beach

 

Beaches are a relatively new thing to me. I grew up in a Campsite Family, not a Beach Family. I can make my way around a Coleman Stove way better than I can around a boardwalk. But, that being said, I am familiar with what they look like. At least, I thought I was. What is pictured above should have its own separate dictionary entry. The "beaches" pictured above are as followed: Asilomar State Beach in Monterey, Seabright State Beach in Santa Cruz, Fort Funston, Somewhere between our house and Halfmoon Bay, and Ocean Beach. We didn't necessarily seek out all of these beaches, it just appears to be the kind of thing that happens around here. Kind of like getting flicked off at a four way stop for stopping is the kind of thing that happens in Philadelphia.

Sand is pretty novel for Alma. Sand is currently in the same excitement causing category as Twizzlers, Pteranodons, Anything that Flies, the MOON, her cousin Ian, and trapping our cat, Kiwi, in closets.  The second we step off the gravel onto a beach, she does a belly flop into the sand, even though this belly flop is usually onto a crowded rocky path. What typically follows is a 7-10 minute walk down to the actual beach, even if it is only 20 feet away, as every inch of sand must be smushed and dug and sand-angeled. Given all of this, sand is my new scourge. It is the pockets of my sweater, under my pillow, in my coffee cup, and caked into the corners of my phone case. It's the new marbles (damn you, marbles).