That certain sunrise....

Sunrise on Deerfield Beach, Florida

There is a certain, almost magical look to sunrise on a beach.  It feels, for a moment or two, that anything is possible...any dream can come true, any mistake can be corrected, any pain can be overcome. 

As I watch the sky being painted in light and breathtaking swirls of pastel pinks and blues and lavenders, it seems that even a whispered word is too loud, too out of place.  Even more so than in a synagogue or church, I feel that saying anything out loud would be sacrilegious. It feels as though I am being given a glimpse into the very process of creation -- a view through G-d's eyes at all the world was meant to be. 

Over the years, sunrises on the beach have been times and places for special moments.  I said goodbye to dear friend one sunrise on a beach a little south of here.  We sat in silence, and watched as the light crept in, the colours and patterns of the morning clouds created before our eyes. We always planned to get together again someday...now years later, it has never happened. A goodbye sealed on a sunrise beach is a forever kind of farewell. I think we both knew that then, but neither of us said it. 

I've sat on sunrise beaches alone, crying for a lost dream.  And I've walked along sunrise beaches with my heart singing in joy and hope and excitement.  I've seen them alone, and with dear friends and family members.  Each time, the experience has been something unique and meaningful  You can't take sunrise on a beach for granted...it won't let you. 

The pictures on this post were taken on a breezy December morning as I sat on the beach in Deerfield Beach, an area just north of Fort Lauderdale.  Except for the one lone soul walking along the water's edge (just visible in one shot), I was alone.  It was a morning of "anything is possible" and all is right with the world. It was a perfect winter sunrise. 

I just joined a meditation and yoga group that meets once a week at sunrise on the beach. I'm excited about the prospect of greeting the sunrise with mindfulness and spirit. Whatever I see and feel there next week, I know it will be something special.  The sunrise would not have it any other way. 

(Posted in honor of Pink Saturday) 

Time for art and for opening to new possibilities

I have the next five days off from work. It's been years since I've had that much time to myself. Wow!

I was supposed to spend tomorrow at the beach with my friend, but she is sick. So I have a new plan. I will work on the art project that is taking up a portion of my bedroom floor, and a significant amount of my mind. I will enjoy my space, and welcome any visitors who happen by. I will spend some time getting to know someone better. I will read and write and treat myself to breakfast out at least once. I will go for walks on the beach. I will care for myself.

Such a gift!!! Five whole days! I am blessed.

Midnight at the Beach

Silently, tears fell. The sadness for lost friends, lost love, lost dreams, lost years. For sitting in that beautiful spot all alone. For friends who never showed up. For things that had once seemed a certainty and now certainly will never be....

On Saturday night, I was supposed to meet a friend for tea. We haven't managed to get together since last September, and this was supposed to be a chance to sit down and talk and enjoy a cup of tea on a beautiful evening. He's asked at least a dozen times, but our schedules make get-togethers tough. About a year and half ago, he lost his beloved wife in a car accident, and he needs someone who will still listen to his happy memories of their time together. I listen on the phone, but it's not the same as sitting with someone who knows the story and understands. Finally, we had a night that worked for both of us.

We spoke on the phone at about 8:30. I told him it would be an hour or two until I could get there...I wanted to get my little one to bed, and take care of something for my teenaged daughter. No problem, he said. Just call me when you're on your way. A couple of minutes after 10, I left my apartment. I called his house. No answer. He's probably busy, on another line, away from his phone. I drove towards our meeting place. Fifteen minutes later, I was almost there. I called again. Still, no answer.

I decided to give him a few more minutes. I pulled into the parking lot. Called my daughter to check on her. Chatted for a few minutes. Still no call. I called a third time...no answer. Sent a text. No response. After a dozen requests to get together and at least three times that many calls asking me to come over, I had been stood up.

It was almost 11. I was only a few blocks from the beach. I started my car and headed for the water.

A few minutes and a few coins for the meter later, I was walking on the sand.

At the edge of the water, someone had left a chair...one of those white plastic chairs you see on porches and patios. I slipped off my shoes and headed for the water's edge and that chair. And there I sat, for the next hour. Just me, my thoughts and a chair on a beach.

I was far enough from the beachside restaurants and clubs that the music was reduced to a vague background noise. A few late night fishermen were at the water's edge further down the beach. A brightly lit cruise ship drifted across the horizon.

It was chilly, but I sat there and watched the waves. I thought about love and lost love and life and the future. The tide was coming in, and every once in awhile, the water came up the edge of my chair. I tried to figure out whether having friends who were "no-shows" said something about me or about the friends or maybe about about our society where RVSP's were often overlooked (a complaint I had heard from other moms at school, and two couples planning weddings last year.) It seemed to be happening a lot.

The tide came in a bit more, and the waves got bigger. The water came up to my chair almost every time now. I sat and thought about the fact that twenty minutes, less than a gallon of gas and four quarters for the meter got me a ringside seat at the ocean. I remembered cold nights in my Pennsylvania farm house when such a moment would have been a dream come true. A fantasy I hardly dared contemplate.

The wind picked up, and I curled up in my jacket, wishing I'd worn a sweatshirt instead of a t-shirt. I watched the curl of the waves as they came to shore. And although I was filled with gratitude for that moment, that place, that experience, I cried. Silently, tears fell. The sadness for lost friends, lost love, lost dreams, lost years. For sitting in the beautiful spot all alone. For friends who never showed up. For things that had once seemed a certainty and now certainly will never be.

So much that I keep inside came out there. With no one to explain to, in the blessed darkeness of midnight on the beach, I let the pain pour out until the tears ran dry.

We all keep so much inside. Pain, fear, loneliness. I know I do. I know my friend does. Sometimes, the tears just need to come.

I took a few deep breaths of the salty night air then headed back to my car, and drove home. Emptier. Lighter.

Maybe there is a reason both tears and the sea are made of salt water

Seizing the moment: cost -- zero dollars

Peter Max's Angel with Heart

I just woke up from a wonderful weekend.

Saturday, we met the artist Peter Max, and saw an incredible collection of his work. There were two pieces I loved...one was a water scene and one was an angel. Both had such amazing colors and a beautiful simplicity in their lines...had I an extra $6000 in my pocket, I would have left with one. But I am happy to have had the chance to meet him, to see his work, and let my daughters share in the experience.

My little one got an autograph, complete with a little heart drawing...she is thrilled!

Cost of this once in a lifetime experience? Zero dollars.

After the reception, we headed over to hear the Russian National Orchestra with Itzhak Perlman performing on the violin. The Opus from the Prokofiev Symphony No. 5 was enough to send the entire crowd into a trance...not a sound was heard from the hundreds of people gathered there under the stars, listening to this amazing performance. No one even coughed. It was was though everyone held their breath, lest they miss note of Perlman's solos or the orchestra's absolute perfection.

I have heard both the Russian National Orchestra and Itzhak Perlman on recordings, on the radio and on tv, and I have heard other wonderful orchestras and soloists in person, but NOTHING prepared me for the pure, perfect sound I heard Saturday night.

Cost for this unforgettable experience? Zero dollars.

Sunday, it was time to get outside and enjoy the sunshine. We headed for the beach, roller blades and water bottles in hand, and spent 3 hours alternately blading, scootering, and sitting on the beach. I made friends with the FATTEST seagull I've ever seen and had a great time feeding him/her tiny pieces of potato chip from my hand as it stood RIGHT NEXT TO ME on the beach! The girls played in the water, dug in the sand, and made fun of my new feathered friend's obesity.

We came home covered with sand, tired and slightly sore from the blading and scootering, but otherwise very happy.

Except for the $1/hour parking meter, the cost for our afternoon? Zero dollars.

Having my two daughters with me to share it all? Priceless.

Thank you Mastercard's ad team for giving us all a great way to look at life.