We had Monday to regroup from Pennsic and pack stuff up. This is still going on, but the bulk of it took place on Monday. Tuesday, we decided to join my sister, nephew, Mom, and Carmine down the shore, so after securing Carl's Mom for dog-sitting, we packed up and drove to Wildwood.
It was nice. I think we all were due a beach fix, which we got within a half-hour of arriving at the tiny little house where they were all staying. Wendy put her feet in the ocean for the first time, and promptly decided that she is owning at least six beach-front properties by the time she is ten. I am voting for at least one New Zealand bungalow.
We did some other stuff while we were down there. We rode roller coasters and pink elephants and Jaimie bought me ice cream and Carl caught the biggest fish. We had a great time, though I am having a hard time writing about any of that. I guess the reason that I want to write about the beach at all is because I don't really know how to write about the other events of this week.
Wednesday we went to the beach again, and I spent a significant stretch of time reclined in a chair, holding my sleeping baby and looking out at the water. Holding my baby and thinking about Avery, Chris' daughter, who was four when she died last Friday. Holding my baby and thinking about the abundance of life in the biological soup of ocean at my feet and the breath of my own child against my skin, and about how quickly our life and breath can go from us. Thinking about how I would be happy to stay there with my baby and watch her splash and laugh and play, for all of eternity.
The ocean is seriously restorative, even if it is only for two days, even if it is Jersey. I highly recommend it.