Sea Fever

With my Aiden: we'll be there soon, buddy!

"When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea, and the sea drowns them out with its great wide sounds, cleanses me with its noise, and imposes a rhythm upon everything in me that is bewildered and confused."

                                                           --Rainer Maria Rilke

It’s the unofficial start of summer! The weather today is rainy and miserable, but that doesn’t matter! It’s Memorial Day weekend! While we rarely leave for the shore before the beginning of July, this weekend always triggers the countdown (this year, nine more weeks) to our arrival at the beach. My usual longing for sand and surf is compounded now by the uncertainty and limitations we will face. Yesterday all cars with out-of-state plates were stopped by state patrol officers on Highway One as they approached Rehoboth; visitors at the moment are asked to self-quarantine for 14 days. The beach and boardwalk are open for walking only (no sitting on benches, no tanning on towels), and the only restaurant option is still take-out. I am optimistic that by July 25^th there will be an easing of these restrictions—it is honestly up to people to be smart, wear masks, wash hands and keep social distancing. I fear that the few protesters will ruin it for the many compliant ones, though. Like children jumping too soon out of their time-out chair, they don’t seem to realize that they may soon be put back on that chair—and for much longer, if the virus cases spike.

Another reason I’m so eager to get to Lewes? Aiden. He remembers the beach vividly, and wants to talk about it almost every day. King’s Ice Cream and Grotto Pizza, the rides at Funland, the sandbar at the bay—he even waxes rhapsodic about the ceiling fans in our condo (we don’t have them here at home; they are a summer novelty). His unbridled enthusiasm reminds me of my little Seyfrieds, who were always so so excited to get to the shore. They’d have their swimsuits on before the car was unpacked. Confession: I would, too. The apples (or, rather, beach plums) didn’t fall far from this tree.

But mostly I just need to see the ocean again. The Rilke quote resonates deeply with me: I rely on the sea to quell my anxiety with its wild beauty, with the soothingly predictable slap of wavelets hitting the sand. While I realize that the water, too, changes, for me it is the apparent sameness and stability of an ocean view that I crave. Every time the sun rises again, dazzling light glistening on the whitecaps, I am reassured that life will go on, with each new day holding a world of promise. Yesterday’s sorrows and dreads recede with the tide. That’s what I need, what we all need I think. That hope. Fresh start, no matter what has happened before.

I am happy to have made it through two months of isolation, and arrived safely at this moment, where summer thoughts comfort me. Though my body may be stuck here in Oreland on this dreary Saturday morning, my heart and soul are nine weeks ahead and 100 miles away. On the beach I love so much, where once again I know that my spirit will be renewed.

Rehoboth Beach sunrise