SeaShell Memories
My earliest memories with my family always seemed to include collecting seashells. Throughout my meanderings here, I'll share some of my SeaShell Memories...
Today I'm thinking of the days when my family would pick blackberries on the bay side of the beach in Rye, NY. It was beautiful then, peaceful and clean, a rare gentle breeze moving through the trees, relief from the hot stillness of August.....I remember.....there's the tiny lap of water on the dark coarse sand, littered with the tiniest of seashells.....joyful sounds of screaming teens on the roller coaster across the way.....sweet cotton candy perfume drifting through the scent of the salty bay, my Daddy's Old Spice and smoke from his eternal cigarette.
After a lunch of lukewarm hot-dogs-from-home on soggy slices of white bread wrapped in newspaper and aluminum foil, my cousins and I would pull on our long-sleeved going-home shirts and pants over sticky bathing suits and bravely march into the brambled berry bushes separating the parking lot from the narrow beach, racing to see who could pick the most berries. In among my bag of berries were perfect tiny seashells...snail shells, bitty clams, mussels. They looked like little pearls and gems to me and I would tell myself stories about a mermaid's necklace. We'd have to be coaxed out by the adults with promises of visits to the funhouse and jostling in the bumper cars. I would always lag behind, looking for the real pearls among the seashells and picking up even more shell treasures and berries before finally emerging. We would tumble out of the thicket hysterical with laughter, covered in berry juice and blood, arguing loudly over who had picked the most berries. The adults would smilingly take us over to the beach side where the ocean would wash us salty clean again.
At the end of the long day, after the rides, haunted house, all the junk food we could stuff ourselves with, tired and droopy, I would sit in the back seat of my parents' rumbling giant Buick. My big bag of blackberries and seashells proudly next to me on the bench seat the size of my bed, my parents talking softly in the front, I'd gorge until I fell asleep, dreaming of undersea palaces. Waking up next morning with stained fingers and the smell of blackberry pancakes, creating mosaics of seashells that covered the whole kitchen table - fish, flowers, mermaids, rainbows, butterflies...seashell drawings from the happy heart of a little girl. Good memories these.
Those days on the beach with my cousins were the seeds of my lifelong love affair with seashells. To see what that little girl creates with seashells today, please visit SheaShells SeaShells & Silks
Yep, that's me!
Today I'm thinking of the days when my family would pick blackberries on the bay side of the beach in Rye, NY. It was beautiful then, peaceful and clean, a rare gentle breeze moving through the trees, relief from the hot stillness of August.....I remember.....there's the tiny lap of water on the dark coarse sand, littered with the tiniest of seashells.....joyful sounds of screaming teens on the roller coaster across the way.....sweet cotton candy perfume drifting through the scent of the salty bay, my Daddy's Old Spice and smoke from his eternal cigarette.
After a lunch of lukewarm hot-dogs-from-home on soggy slices of white bread wrapped in newspaper and aluminum foil, my cousins and I would pull on our long-sleeved going-home shirts and pants over sticky bathing suits and bravely march into the brambled berry bushes separating the parking lot from the narrow beach, racing to see who could pick the most berries. In among my bag of berries were perfect tiny seashells...snail shells, bitty clams, mussels. They looked like little pearls and gems to me and I would tell myself stories about a mermaid's necklace. We'd have to be coaxed out by the adults with promises of visits to the funhouse and jostling in the bumper cars. I would always lag behind, looking for the real pearls among the seashells and picking up even more shell treasures and berries before finally emerging. We would tumble out of the thicket hysterical with laughter, covered in berry juice and blood, arguing loudly over who had picked the most berries. The adults would smilingly take us over to the beach side where the ocean would wash us salty clean again.
At the end of the long day, after the rides, haunted house, all the junk food we could stuff ourselves with, tired and droopy, I would sit in the back seat of my parents' rumbling giant Buick. My big bag of blackberries and seashells proudly next to me on the bench seat the size of my bed, my parents talking softly in the front, I'd gorge until I fell asleep, dreaming of undersea palaces. Waking up next morning with stained fingers and the smell of blackberry pancakes, creating mosaics of seashells that covered the whole kitchen table - fish, flowers, mermaids, rainbows, butterflies...seashell drawings from the happy heart of a little girl. Good memories these.
Those days on the beach with my cousins were the seeds of my lifelong love affair with seashells. To see what that little girl creates with seashells today, please visit SheaShells SeaShells & Silks
posted by ChezShea | 4:44 AM
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