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| Convention Hall in old Asbury Park, built between 1928 and 1930. Look at the ship on top. |
I always like to remember what Moey's mother, Mrs. C., once told me: Looking at the ocean helps you put things in perspective.
Alas, it was gray and dismal, the beach covered with hard snow. We walked to the edge of the fishing pier.
The water is really clear today, said Figgy as we looked out over the railing.
What? I said, in my old age.
The water is really clear.
Yes, you're right. It is.
Yet from our perch, all we could really see was water swirling halfheartedly over drab rocks and broken shells, nothing great like silvery fishes or fat luminous pearls or baby mermaids. [Figgy pretended to be a baby mermaid at bathtime as a little girl.] It wasn't my beloved Cape Cod, or Maine, or Greenwich--with dunes, or rocky cliffs, or swaying green grass, or pretty little lighthouses. I did like the one seagull I saw on a rail, and the stripe of pink sky over the water--but I really had to search for those.
We bought some organic bath oil that we'll both like using, looked in a Victorian gift shop that had lace curtains, scone mixes and fragrances from Ireland, and sat in a coffee place. Figgy had hot strawberry tea. I had ice water and an Elvis sandwich [peanut butter and banana, very good--not too huge and deadly]. We read the magazines we bought at QuickChek last night--she, InStyle and me, Vogue. On both covers: Natalie Portman.
We drove over to old Asbury. I pointed out The Stone Pony, where Bruce made his name. Showed her where the famous carousel was. I coaxed Figgy out of the car to go over to ancient, ornate Convention Hall on the boardwalk, which looks beautifully restored. Loved the carefully detailed fish and shells and ship. Wonder who put them there, how hard they worked doing it. My parents took me to see that place once, too, when I was a teenager.
But the chocolate shops I remembered are gone. The one where H. got me a big Easter bunny, and the other one that we rode our bikes to, and got chocolate-dunked pretzels and squares of dark heavenly hash, because a man I worked with at Seventeen had raved about it.
I fear my Figgy girl is lost at sea. H. and I keep trying to help her find her way.
This too shall pass. I pray this too shall pass.
Good night.
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ah, my fears, too, with M. The best we can do sometimes is just stay on the end of the pier, shining lights out at them 24/7 so they can find their way back...
ReplyDeleteHi, Al. I agree with Mrs. C. The ocean really does help put things into perspective. I love looking at the ocean, any ocean. It’s so big; we’re so small. It never stops moving. I have to live within driving distance of an ocean or I feel claustrophobic. I noticed this years ago when I lived in land-locked Kansas City. Missouri. I don’t know what that has to do with anything but whatever leads you in the direction of helping Figgy find her direction is a good thing. It is a positive that you and she spent the day together. Love, Linda
ReplyDeleteHi Kim....yes, yes, trying to shine the light 24/7 must be our job. And I I still love Nan's boss's analogy about throwing love at them, just throwing love. Lin, thank you. Yes, the ocean is so big and we are so small. love alice
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