On Friday I Was On Fire...
My roommate, Koko, and I decided to play hooky from work last Friday. Get the heck out of the city. Go play on the beach.
After taking two (2) subways, two (2) trains, one (1) shuttle bus, and one (1) ferry ride, we finally arrived at Fair Harbor, Fire Island. The beach was a short walk down a tree-lined bike path. We passed little beachy cottages along the way; I'm quite convinced now that if I lived in one of those sweet spots I would undoubtedly be able to write The Great American Novel. Yes, surely the lack of a beach cottage is the one (and only) thing currently hindering my writing success.
"What's that smell?" I asked Koko.
"Um, trees?" she guessed. Oooh. Trees. Exotic. It was nice to be getting back to nature.
The (relative) quiet was punctuated only with the occassional brrrring-brrring of a bicycle bell, as locals pedaled past us. They wore their swimsuits and looked utterly relaxed and unhurried. It occurred to me that if one lived on Fire Island, one could pass the entire summer without needing to put on pants. This struck me as immensely appealing.
And speaking of not wearing pants: In the midst of that epic journey to the Island I had received a voicemail, containing good news of great joy - a baby was born! Becks had birthed a baby girl, Grace, early that morning and everyone sounded healthy, happy, and perfect.
We (my small group and I) had been waiting eagerly for nearly 8 months for this day, and it was finally here. Grace was finally here! That afternoon, as I sat on the beach, or wandered down the shore, or stared out to where the ocean and the sky touched, thinking about something or nothing or everything, I kept recalling this new reality - Grace is here! Grace is here in this world now.