I’ve never lived near the ocean. In fact, I live in the desert. So, why does it beckon me like it is “home”? It took me years to be able to call Arizona home. I was born in the Midwest and yet was uprooted to the arid confines of the southwest as a young girl. Every summer we would make the trek back to the heartland of America to visit all that we had left behind in my Dad’s quest to start life over. It never felt fair that his decision to need to “begin again” necessitated me giving up everything that felt comfortable and familiar….friends, family, green, trees, the smell of newly mown grass, the fresh smell of summer rains, lightning bugs, seasons, snow, the fourth of July with sparklers and home fireworks…all of that good stuff. So, for years I would refer to Illinois as “back home”. Now that I no longer refer to those roots as home, for some reason I have that same sense of “going home” when I visit the ocean.
I love walking the beach and feeling the sand being pulled out from underneath your feet as the tide ebbs and flows. I love that the crash of the waves drowns everything else out but the sound of my thoughts as I mentally process life. I am energized by the cool breeze as I just lay on my towel on the beach. I can lay there for hours listening to music lost in my own world, outlasting even my sunscreen and the batteries in my IPOD. I love walking piers. In fact, one of my favorite places to eat is Ruby’s Diner on the end of the pier in Huntington Beach. 
There is really nothing special about the food, it is all about the environment. I love being able to eat, watching the ocean, without ingesting sand at the same time! I save the bonfires, not necessarily for eating, but for just the perfect ending to a perfect day. There is nothing more beautiful than watching a sun set over an ocean. The colors are majestic and so captivating to me that I think I have every conceivable picture of ocean sunsets in my image file. When I dream about my perfect house, it is always a home set on a hill overlooking a secluded section of beautiful sandy beach with majestic views of the oceans. There are windows galore in every room so that I can do everything with an ocean view….eat, sleep, bathe, sit by a fire, watch TV, listen to music…..everything with an ocean view. Of course, in my “dream” world somehow my windows are always sparkling clean and free of all that salty sea residue! There is a path leading from the back porches through the gently sloping green grass of my backyard down past the rock breakwater with a short, easy climb down to the white, clean, sandy beach. I even have this amazing wooden staircase down through the rocks, of course perfectly weathered, that allows for easy access to the beach even in the darkening hours of dusk. Ideally, there is beach glass and shells that wash ashore but the beach is free of human litter, broken glass, and cigarette butts. From outside I can smell the salty, fresh smell of the ocean and feel the cool ocean breeze from either my porch swing hanging from the rafters of my back porch or from the hammock in the Gazebo that is perfectly perched on the grassy knoll at the edge of the lawn. I can stroll the beach, alone with my thoughts, removed from the din that accompanies the crowded beaches of the cities. Somehow the inside of the house is not as clear to me. The décor changes periodically based on whim and somehow the only necessity seems to be comfort. There is, however, a music room. One for playing and recording music and for dance because in my dream world I can do all of those things beautifully! I told you it was a dream world! Of course, the dream is not complete if it cannot be shared with those you love. You need to have someone to share the porch swing and hammock for those times of processing life and sharing your heart. I suppose in some ways just writing this is that…..sharing the dream. Thanks for taking a stroll along the beach with me! 
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