A Tryst with the Ocean, and the Other Things No One Listens to Me AboutsteemCreated with Sketch.

in life •  3 months ago 

There I rested, chest to the sky. My hips nuzzled down into the squishy sand that collects at the edge of the still water. The black sediment was beginning to edge into my bikini bottom, like thin fingertips. I didn't chastise the fingers, but instead nuzzled further into the sheets of sand. After collecting some wet sand into a pillow, I could angle my head toward the rest of the crowd.

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That fertile sky gave birth to the sun today, and I witnessed it.

Ladies were scattered here and there along the inlet, watching their little children splash in the still water—a toddler’s paradise. All the women were moms, most in their early forties, well beyond the bodily perfection of the early twenties. And yet, they were all good looking.

There is something to be said for the female body. Somewhere on all of these women there was a pocket of fat that accented a female attribute. One had a big bust, the other a big butt, one with fat thighs. Even the bit of extra on the tummy created a round curve that was respectable. Undeniably feminine—each one a perfect representation of their sex. I explain this phenomenon to women I love all the time, but no one listens to me.

Slowly, I started to pull my own feminine body from that squishy sand. The wetness was gently trying to suction me in place, and the chill of the wind against my damp skin sent me back. It was like a hand had pushed me down. Stay, my love. The ocean has a way about it. Always alluring, always charming, always beckoning me to stay just a little longer—just a few more minutes, until the minutes turn into hours. But everyone knows that there is no one less constant than the ocean.

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Blindingly handsome.

“Player,” I said as I stood up, all of me out of the ocean’s reach other than my toes still sinking in the squish. The water rippled gently, going right along its business, because no one listens to me.

I walked to my new sun shelter set up on the dry sand. The wind was battering it all of the sudden, testing the stakes, like some sort of wind greeting. A greeting that was entirely too forceful. A polite, gentle hello would have sufficed. I tugged at the stakes, letting the ropes fly free in the wind, then started the next challenge. It was a new pop-up tent, given to me by someone significantly better at following directions than I am. Setting the open instructions half buried in the sand, I began the process. I set the tent on its head—step one. Grasp poles A and B firmly in your left hand.

I grasped them, firmly, but those poles writhed around in my hand with that rude wind like they had very different intentions. Steps three and four escalated the confusion, so I reread them. And then again. My god, you need an engineering degree to collapse this thing, I thought as the wind sent the tent upward until it nearly smacked me in the face. Clearly the wind and ocean were in cahoots. I thought about curling back up on my sand pillow, settling back in with the warm, soft, gentle caress of the ocean…no!

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He really lights up my life.

“I am your master,” I said defiantly to the tent, but it carried right on with its rhythmic forward-backward jerking motion. It reminded me of my dogs jetting into the woods after the deer while I shouted at them uselessly, because no one listens to me.

Enough was enough. I jumped on top of it. I wrestled it. I stayed on top. I carried that beast back to the vehicle, not folded, but submitting.

I walked by the moms with their beautiful female bodies and we nodded. They understood. Sometimes a pop-up tent has to be told what for. I tossed my hair in the direction of the ocean, still softly lapping against the sand, still beckoning.

Sometimes we just have to say something, even if nobody listens.

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Nobody listens to me either. I am thinking I will go sit on the beach by myself and then nobody can hear me, so I can just stop talking and be still. I think I would let the ocean win the argument.

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It is a rare event that the ocean does not win, but every now and then you've got to fight, to keep him from getting too arrogant ;)

You know guys! You give them an inch and they will spend the afternoon explaining to you how to convert it to centimeters! I woke up to clear skies this morning and I am struggling to squelch the urge to ditch the whole family and go sit in the sand. I may lose the argument on purpose!

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Lol. That describes my husband perfectly.

Who knows, the sand might speak to you. Could be exciting ;)

I'm in awe of your writing style AND content. Your insights, so deftly articulated, with rich visuals and sensory details. Who are you?? A famous author posing as a housewife who posts essays at Steemit?
This is poetic and then hilarious:
The ocean has a way about it. Always alluring, always charming, always beckoning me to stay just a little longer—just a few more minutes, until the minutes turn into hours. But everyone knows that there is no one less constant than the ocean.
"Player..."

But it's ALL good. And I totally identify with that "but nobody listens" mantra. What you do with it in the end is spot-on. :)

I am a regular old person who likes to jibber-jabber on Steemit. Or...maybe I am a famous person...who would know?

No, I'm definitely a regular, uninteresting person. :)

It's funny, I don't even remember this one too well. I don't know what I wrote at the end, so now I am going to have to go take a look.

You, an old person?
I picture you as a young mother. Early 20s.
Now i picture you as a pathological liar: I'm definitely a regular, uninteresting person. :) Or just full of humility!
I can believe you don't remember the ending of your own story. I go back to a story months later and don't know what's going to happen next. (!!) And I've never smoked weed in my life, so I can't blame anything but my own lame brain for all these black holes in my memory.
"Maybe a famous person... " now that wouldn't surprise me. :)

Early 30s, actually. I feel like an old person though :)

Howdy ginnyannette! I'm so sorry no one listens to you. But that's just this fantasy writing isn't it? Everyone actually not only listens but obeys! I can tell. lol. Because other humans around understand consequences.

Ha, the ones around me are actively learning about consequences :)

that's what I thought! lol.

Where is my comment?? I must be slipping. I read this days ago.

I have lived on my own for 21 years. I talk to everything.....LOL.... and nothing. Sometimes my words are just spoken to the air... or the universe. I yell "Stop it !!" when things go a little wrong, like it is the chair that jumped out to stump my toe as I went buy, instead of that I left it out to far last time I had my hands on it.

I have to try to remember not to talk out loud in public as thoughts that travel through my head are sometimes verbalized to no one in particular. :)

It is a lesson though to myself, that maybe everyone I ever saw walking along talking out loud to themselves, maybe weren't the loons I instantly judged them to be. ha ha ... or they were ..... and now I am one of them.

hmmmmm

That sort of independence is wonderful. I can totally relate. Before having kids my husband worked 12 hr shifts, would come home and crash, but it was no problem because I had my own world.

Sometime you just have to let a chair know who is boss. Of course it won't remember next time, but you've still got to let it know ;)

There is a different level between the lady muttering peacefully to herself, and the lady with her face twisted in some bizarre expression while she chats it up with an imaginary person. I see both of those. You are fine :)

We need those dumb suggestions, you know? They help us really appreciate the smart ones. :)

Mum always told me, "Matt, you're never going to be a good example for others, but perhaps one day you can serve as an ominous warning."

Haha! We can't all be over-achievers. Society thanks you :)

I always loose to the tents... always...

So I did battle with that thing when I got home. It is folded neatly. I think I have conquered it. I think...