Oswego

August 13, 2001

Next: Summers on the Mississippi (Pt. 1)

At the beach…a timely observation

Lately, I have been driving out to Folly Beach as often as possible. It is, after all, the best time of the summer to be heading to the ocean’s edge, or as we in Charleston say of Folly, “The Edge of America.” It is difficult to fathom sometimes that I have been coming here since the 1960s. It has become so familiar and so comfortable a place for me that I believe that I will happily visit it for the rest of my life, and as often as I can. My brother lives there on the beach. I have a place to go where I can cool off on the front porch and sit out on the back deck and watch sunsets if I choose not to linger by the water’s edge. I know every tree and house and familiar landmark on that narrow barrier island, and I have dreamed of what it would be like to live in certain ramshackle beach cottages that are so special to me, inland frm the ocean facing the marshes, yards full of undergrowth and flowers, jungle-like and rundown. I much prefer those old places to the horrible new mega-story houses of the rich and affluent. Fortunately, there are still a lot of humble cottages on Folly.

I like to set up the chair around 7 o’clock, take my books out of my bag, get comfortable, and let the ocean breezes lull me into a profoundly relaxed state or else inspire me to think and read. The best time, to me, is about an hour before sunset. The cloud formations are very nice. The heat of the day is dissipated. There are fewer people out.

But I am easily distracted by the sharp cry of a seagull which startles me as it flaps effortlessly past just feet from where I sit. I hear people talking as they walk past. There is an especially loud clap of a wave as it pounds the beach at high tide. The wind. The surf. Anything to let me look up from the page and drift off from what I have been trying to concentrate on.

But it is never hard for me to notice such little tableaux as played out only about 50 yards away from my perch the other afternoon. It was still quite light out, and a father and son were out on the beach throwing a football to each other. Now this is quite prosaic on the surface, but when you are my age, you can’t help but notice the finer details and the implications thereof.

The man must have been around 40 or so, the kid about 15 or 16. The father was obviously at one time quite the football player. You can always tell. The way people effortlessly hurl the ball great distances with that clean spiral motion. The son was fast and agile, full of limitless energy and capacity to run speedily down the beach to retrieve every long toss of the ball. He was good. He was graceful. He was young and limber.

They seemed to be a close pair. A lot of father-son comraderie. But there was a fine imbalance. One of them was obviously seeking to stave off the ravages of time. It was so transparent. I winced at times as I saw the older man, bulky and somewhat overweight, try to pretend he could keep up with the fast footwork of his son. It was funny in a way, but maybe not, when the father tumbled head over heels in an undignfied spill on the hard sand. I didn’t mean to laugh. Not so funny when they played a quick game of touch football and the father ran to catch the son with all the energy at his disposal, the son dashing out of his way like a gazelle in mid-leap.

I then saw the older man wheezing for breath and bending over. His son playfully tossed the football at him so that it lobbed off his back. I guess I saw my out-of-shape self trying to do that, like when I was a kid, and it hurt. I hurt for him. What was he trying to prove? His teenaged son positioned himself to speed off after another long pass. But threre were just a couple of more half-hearted efforts by his father. Time to go in. I stared off into the distance over the ocean.

The next time I turned around to watch, they were gone.

Hmmmmmm….this made me kind of sad, but what a wonderful sanctuary you have there. A refreshing and relaxing way to shed the stress of the day.

Time to contemplate, time to unwind Time to ease through the sands of time

I’m with you on paying mindful attention to a place one loves. I always feel as if I’ve been transported to your beach for a brief glimpse. I’ve always thought it interesting that the dramas that seem to be presented to me while I look outward, often seem relevant to my inner thoughts or themes.The father son story seems so related to your previous entries on aging, like a magical extension.

An interesting tableaux indeed. Perhaps the father will learn to accept the reality of his situation, and support the youthful accomplishments of his son without any competitive jealousy…

I am ever fascinated by the idea of this “mid-life identity/crisis/issue.” What gives? I mean why would anyone want to recapture or resort back to that which has already passed away? Why are we all so vain? Doesn’t experience count for anything these days? This obsession with youth and vitality and being all limber for pete’s sake. It’s so American. Ridiculous. Let the years come… [Jude

But let them come peacefully and purposefully. Slowly, so that I can appreciate each moment. Notice the seagulls and the seashacks and the pooling tide at my feet. Let me appreciate the faces, surrounding me and all of the words whispered into my ears. As long as I’m living, I won’t ever care that I’m not as pretty as I was at twenty-one. Does that really matter?

I can easily see you buying one of those beach houses, Oswego. The place is in your heart.

For some people their youthful achievements are the only ones they feel they really had….a time when every day brought new promise and they were still potentially anything they desired…..but then come the kids and the bills and they forget what potential was and want to hang on to what was, even as they see it slipping away.

Hm.. this is also abt aging.. well, there is a time for everything. when you are middle-aged you have to admit that the young ones are better than you in sports.. one day comes when you are beaten by your son. a sadness of course. But you have the experience og knowing so many things that the young one does not know

Willy & Wilma

August 14, 2001

Pretty easy going down at your beach.

A well made observation of life and it’s path.

Was A Cat

August 15, 2001

i like your diary 🙂

Bramble

August 15, 2001

Many of your entries give me a lump in my throat…this was one of them. I am way behind in reading my od favorites due to company and the unbearably hot weather that we had for awhile. I am trying to catch up now and I have sort of left yours for last so that I can savor them with the attention they deserve. Thank you for missing me, my friend.

I too probably would have laughed but then would it be myslef I was laughing at? Maybe the son would remember this time with his father. His father taking the time to be with his son and having fun.

I feel so sad upon reading this entry. I’ve tried all day to write something, something, ANYTHING and I can’t find words to express this rueful melancholy.

This is a beautiful entry, Oswego, that brought up thoughts of a past day. I was sitting on the upstairs balcony at Jax Brewery eating lunch, as I worked in the Brewery, and I saw three pidgeons. One, the smaller, was the female and the two larger birds, males. One male was puffed out as pidgeons do, his feathers a bit shabby and he was doing a slow courting dance…

Another male alighted, splendored in turquoise and purple feathers, gleaming with youth. He in turn fluffed out and began to parade to catch the female’s attention. She quickly ignored the tired dance of the older male and enjoyed the younger’s preening. The old male stopped, resumed his normal appearance, gave the young pair a resigned look, and walked away, accepting life. Fabulous entry! [Freew

adrift

August 16, 2001

An afternoon where youth and ageGently collide in timeAnd yet, one strugglesTo still recall the days of his primeHe can’t let go of youthful dreamsOr see reality’s giftsInstead, he spends his precious momentsDwelling on what he’s missed~Thought-provoking entry, dear friend! 🙂

It’s strange that in the real scheme of things, the only thing that differs between young and old is perspective.

I always prefer the beach when the sun has long gone down, because then it is mine, and I share it only with the many parts of me, and the sand, and the salt water, and the plethora of animals that live there. Your observations are as astute though as a writers. You are true to your craft.

I can relate to that guy!

It is difficult to pass along the ball of life to the ones who are to carry on – we want to keep it for ourselves – holding it and loving it. Perhaps that is why age is so unkind at times – it compels us to do those things we otherwise would not.

What profound writing, truly amazing. I enjoyed readig your diary, and thank’s for the great notes. I took a brief hiatus, but now I am back, and I look forward to reading more of your diary.Expect the unexpected,

don’t feel bad for him. Even as his legs tire and his breath gives out, he has the pleasure of knowing he has passed on his joy of the game and skill to his son. I have no greater pleasure than watching my kids do things i used to do with passion and delight. I never think of what i can’t do anymore… but of what they can. a bit of parental indulgence i guess.

Willo2

August 20, 2001

I feel this sadness. My grandson whom I’ve raised is now 15-1/2. When he was small I was his world, we swam,canoed, fished, danced, traveled, etc,etc. Now I see him “dancing” away from me as I tire more easily. He laughs at me and calls me “old granny”. I know he’s teasing, but he’s so alive, and on the edge of life…. it’s a beautiful thing.

HarpHill (2)

August 23, 2001

I have a phobia. It is irrational, I know, but I cannot walk into a strange place – one where I have never been. I found if I took my daughter with me, let her step inside while I concentrated on her I could follow and it was one more place I could walk into. And for her years of leading the way I have always been pleased to be standing in her shadow.

Edelweis

August 20, 2002

Amazing, you are such an excellent observer! The scene of the man with his son reminds me of a quote: ~~I dont think Ive gotten any smarter, but your reflexes slow down before you do something stupid when youre older. ~ Kris Kristofferson Folly beach, hmmm, the paradise that I can sense, smell and hear through your words! And I love those cottages! Thanks for sharing your profound thoughts!