When I was little, I remember always wanting snow for Christmas. Maybe I thought Santa's sleigh didn't work without it, who knows? Luckily, living in Wisconsin, Christmas was almost always white. However, I still remember how disappointed I was the one year we didn't have snow for Christmas.
Now, Christmas means something different. Instead of playing in the snow and opening up new toys, it means a break from the daily grind, a chance to be with family, and maybe a chance to go on vacation. Since Santa became a myth, snowless Christmases in Texas and New Mexico have not dampened my enthusiasm for the holiday. I reflected on this a bit as I drove from the familiar wintery landscape of Wisconsin down through the flatlands of Illinois, the gently rolling hills of Kentucky and Tennessee, and the pines of Georgia on my way to the palm-dotted, once-again-flatlands of Florida. I was one of several extended family members converging from far-flung corners of the country for this year's Christmas in Miami.
I arrived at my aunt and uncle's place first, then almost everyone else arrived simultaneously. The rest of my immediate family, my aunt and uncle from New Mexico, and my cousin and his new fiancee.
We had an interesting dinner at a Japanese restaurant. It was all you can eat, but not in the traditional buffet sense. You simply filled out paper menu cards with what you wanted and how much, and they'd make the food and bring it out as it was ready. The nice thing is, you could order whatever quantity you wanted, so we mostly started by filling out 1's for anything that sounded interesting and then ordered larger quantities of the things we liked. It was very nice to be able to try some new things without having to commit to an entire meal of something that may not be that appetizing to you.
So, I tried sushi for the first time. Better than I'd have thought, but I'm probably not going to go chasing it down any time soon. It is certainly better when enjoyed with the wasabi and thinly sliced ginger served along with it. I tried a few different varieties of salmon, tuna, and crab. Tempura onion (that's Japanese for "onion rings") and chicken, salad with ginger dressing, and an excellent plum wine rounded out the meal.
After quite a bit of conversation at the condo, we went back to the motel, where my dirty laundry awaited a sudsy "round trip." Normally, doing laundry isn't something I enjoy, but when the laundry machines are in a small building right on the beach next to the Atlantic Ocean, it offers an opportunity much better than the usual boring routine.
After loading my clothes into the machine, I took the dog out on a walk along the beach. The sounds of a bustling city faded behind me as the crunchy, swishy noise of my footsteps in the sand took over briefly, until the constant sound of waves crashing on the beach drowned out everything else.
I walked straight out to the water, noticing the sand becoming warmer as I approached the foamy sea. Wet sand began clinging to my toes. The dog, curious as usual, followed me down to the water until the first wave crashed over my feet and his. He doesn't like water very much, and he quickly went back to higher ground.
I began walking North in the gray area that we call shoreline. Some waves barely lapped at my feet while others swirled angrily around my shins, trying to pull me into the ocean as they retreated. The dog kept a watchful eye on me, paralleling my path about ten feet to my left on dry ground.
I paused to turn out toward the blackness. Two lights far out in the water and a tad to my left, maybe from an anchored freighter or a small island, were the only indication of a horizon. A single, solitary airplane climbed out over the ocean to my right, turning toward the southeast before disappearing through a distant cloud. Then, the stars were my only companions for a few moments. The constant sound of the ocean waves crashing on the shore obliterated any sign of civilization, just as long as I didn't turn to look behind me at the lights of Miami.
The clink of the dog's collar reminded me that I did have a furry companion as well, and we continued our walk along the beach. He ventured toward the water a couple of times, only to be chased away again by the white, foamy waves. He returned to being preoccupied with the odd smells and sounds of the beach.
You may have noticed that I think about flying a lot. It is something that I thoroughly enjoy, and many people don't know why. Some people are afraid to fly. Others wonder what the point is. It occurs to me that my walk along the ocean gave me a feeling similar to when I fly solo - It's a chance to reflect, to enjoy the world around me, to watch nature work in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, to escape the world of average, to be released from the petty problems of daily life. And I realized that while I enjoy these solo moments in the sky or on the beach, I'd certainly love to share them with someone special as well.
As I walked, I marveled at the vastness of it all - I could keep walking for a thousand miles and waves would still be crashing against a shoreline; every wave the same, yet every wave different, and every piece of that shoreline being subjected to the subtle, constant changes brought on with each succeeding wave. The sands of time are constantly moving, things are constantly changing in subtle ways that sometimes cannot be noticed.
One thing that I did notice was the presence of a rock on my return trip that I had not seen before. I stopped and let the next wave crash, moving the rock a good six inches farther up the beach. I picked the rock up. I noted that it seemed to be nearly the same size and shape as a human heart. Can a rock have heart? I'm pretty certain that this rock is much older than my heart. What has it seen? Millions of sea creatures swimming by, maybe a faraway land, long, long ago? The rock cannot choose what it sees, it can only be pushed around by the forces of nature...
...or of man. I carry the rock up the beach and deposit it on top of a concrete fence post in front of the motel. I don't have the heart to throw it right back into the ocean, it may have been waiting millions of years to make it to the shore and be plucked out of the water to see what the world is up to. Whether the next person to pick it up will throw it back in the ocean or take it on a land-based journey, I don't know.
What I do know is that I'm glad I'm not a rock. I am free to choose my own path, and so are you. Where the new year will take me, I don't know. I do know that I'll see new things, meet new people, and continue to enjoy my journey. I hope y'all will do the same.
Merry Christmas.
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