Leave it to Leonor #191

This week, I am thinking about the beach. Growing up, we went to Coney Island or Orchard Beach, which is sometimes known as The Bronx Riviera. Hardly the platonic ideal of a beach with its dirty, grainy sand and murky waters. But still, it was always a good time. We'd bring coolers packed with cold cuts and mayonnaise for sandwiches that we made on white Wonder Bread and eat bags and bags of salty chips. Our father would bring us into the waves and inevitably the fun would end when one of us choked down too much saltwater. 

The first beautiful beach I remember was in Miami, when we went to go visit my brothers. It had that soft sand that slipped through our fingers and shifted under the weight of our feet, plus blue waters. The sun felt hotter, but the humidity was lower and our delicate skin crisped without the protection of sunblock. Our father would put tanning oil on our skins, so we'd tan faster. The 80's were a wild time. When I was a teenager, a family I babysat for took me to the Bahamas. It the first Caribbean beach I ever visited and I remember being in awe of how much it resembled a postcard.

Going to the beach became a big part of my twenties. I traveled to Caribbean beaches with my boyfriend. I scandalized myself (and only myself) by going topless on a rocky beach in southern France. I went to Long Island with my friends on a regular basis, either by car or the over air-conditioned LIRR.  I'd sit directly in the sun with minimal, haphazardly applied sunblock. Even though I regularly go to a dermatologist now, I still worry about the damage I inflicted in the years before I became meticulous about protecting my skin. I shudder to think about it. And then, I just stopped going to the beach. It wasn't purposeful or calculated. It just was no longer how I spent my free time in the summer. Beaches became a vacation thing.  

The most beautiful beach I've ever been to was in Pipa, Brazil, a tiny city on the north-eastern coast of the country. The beach was in a bay and only accessible via boat or when the tide is low. I swam in the calm waters (the first time I actually swam in the ocean) and Kate and I saw a dolphin swimming nearby. It was magical. I think about going back all the time. 

In the three years before I got pregnant, I was visiting Mexico every year. There, I'd sit on the beach under an umbrella and read, nap, and sip an icy beverage. My perfect beach day.

And then last weekend, I went to a NYC beach for the first time in what I think was a decade? Mamiche was meant to have her first beach experience in the Caribbean in April, but COVID happened, so instead a NYC beach (the location of which I've been sworn to protect) was her first. It was shockingly clean and pleasantly empty. She scooped sand from the safety of the blanket and flung it around. She enjoyed playing with it as long as her feet didn't actually have to rest in it. The water was too cold for her to go in, nor was she very interested in the prospect, but she liked to exclaim "bubbles" when she was near the water. When there was a gust of wind, she stood up, raised her arms, closed her eyes and squealed as it blew through her hair. It was ridiculously cute. So, even if going to the beach with a baby is an entire ordeal (so. much. stuff.), it seems like we'll be there regularly because it was clear that she loved it. And I think a part of parenthood is discovering (or rediscovering) things with your kid. 

But we'll all be wearing a lot of sunblock. 

This week in reading. . .
Oof. When You Were Everything was an absolute sucker punch of a book about a friendship breakup. It's the second book about a friend breakup that uses the then/now format and it does it to great success. I was heartbroken reading it in the best of ways.