Last Sunday afternoon, my sisters and I left for our first (and what we hope will be annual) beach trip. We stayed in my former brother-in-law’s condo just across the street from the ocean, close enough to walk on the sand and wade through the estuaries in the warm breeze.
It was a trip of inaugural events. I hadn’t worn a swimsuit in at least twenty years, but Gayle brought two along with the intent to change that, and she did. We have both lost quite a bit of weight, thirty-three pounds for her and thirty-two for me, and she was ready for us to celebrate. Layne has never been heavy, but we love her anyway.
We ate out, shopped, and went to a movie. We talked of childhood memories and updated each other on our children and grandchildren. We did what we wanted to do without worrying about whether or not husbands, children, or grandchildren were entertained.
As Mrs. Bennet would say, “A little sea bathing set me up forever.”
There’s nothing any of us love more than being with our families, but it’s nice to have no one to answer to occasionally.
Who knew being in our sixties would be so much fun? It’s liberating to accept yourself for who you are and how you look. If others cannot love you without changing you into their image of what you should be, they aren’t very good friend material.
It reminds me of a poem by T. S. Eliot.
“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
I grow old… I grow old…
I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled.
Do I dare to eat a peach?
Walk barefoot upon the beach?
Well, yes. I do.
Southern Fried Austen will return next week.