Week Twenty-Seven was a breath of fresh air. It was nice to get out of the house, and it was especially nice to get in the ocean. As with all of them, Week Twenty-Seven had its ups and downs, but it was the first week in a long time that I felt like I fully lived.
Sunday
I accompanied my parents and their dog to Rhode Island for a mini getaway. I love my parents and we had a good time, but next time I think it’s a good idea to go on a vacation with BOTH my parents and NO ONE else, someone needs to remind me that it’s probably not. At least I got in the ocean every day, which was my main objective.
The first day on a surfboard was a short one because we got in so late, but the people renting boards under one of the tents were so kind. They gave me a nice, large, foamy beginner board, and when I asked the price, they said they’d had a good day and waved me away. A few minutes later, when I realized I needed to pay ten dollars to actually get onto the beach, I brought the board back over, propped it against the pole, and told them I’d be right back. They looked at me inquisitively and I explained I was running down to the pavilion to hit up the ATM.
“For a beach pass?”
“Yeah…”
“Nah, just take ours.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, here. Just pass it back to us over the ledge.” The man pointed to the right where there was a gap in the shrubs against the concrete barrier. I thanked them profusely, picked up the board, and headed down the stairs to the beach.
After I returned the lanyard to them, I got in the water as quickly as I could, knowing I only had a little over an hour. I was a little scared, though. I’ve only been surfing a few times, and each time was with an instructor, and two of the three times were with about twenty other people who also had no idea what they were doing. Here I was at an unfamiliar beach, alone, with a big board and only a vague memory of what I was supposed to do with it. But I did what I always do — I didn’t think about it. I just took the plunge.
And it was great! I stood up on my first wave! I made a few friends out there, too, and when the hour was up, I couldn’t wait to get back in the next day… and the next… Always returning my patronage to the same tent to show gratitude for their generosity.
Monday
I got up early so I could get in the water right away. The weather didn’t hold all day, though, and after about three hours I called it quits, went back to the cabin we were renting, and waited out the thunderstorm with my dad, watching MASH while my mom napped (Wednesday night, my mom and I binge-watched Love,Victor while my dad slept).
When the storm passed, we drove to Newport for some shopping, walking, and dining. It was bougie AF, and my mom walked me over to a little crêperie stand at which I got an absolutely delicious apple pie crêpe.
Tuesday
I didn’t surf on Tuesday. We got a late start to the day, but my body was okay with the break and my parents were happy not to have to accommodate surfing time. Instead, we relaxed at the cabin, went back to Newport, then visited a non-surfing beach in the evening where the ocean floor dropped off quite suddenly, creating undercurrents and intimidating swells. There was no wading into the ocean here. You had to dive headfirst into a wave.
Almost no one was swimming. At first, I actually thought no one was swimming. But then I spotted a couple down a ways playing in the waves. They weren’t venturing too far out, but they gave me courage. I moved closer to where they were and made my way in. I bodysurfed some of the waves, taking a little time to get to know the ocean in this spot. The first few tries churned me about and filled my bathing suit with sand and small stones, but once I got the hang of how the water flowed and where the drop-off was, it was a delight. Because I’m a woman in her thirties who acts like a child.
Wednesday
Traveling to Rhode Island as a New York State resident felt a little like traveling to Europe as an American. Their COVID response seems to be a lot better than ours in Upstate, NY, where people have pretty much decided they’re done with the whole quarantine thing. In Rhode Island, almost everyone was masked and the stores have revamped the way they do business. The book store only allowed a certain number of people in at once, sanitation stations were set up at the entrance of every shop, and the clothing stores that allowed you to try on items, steamed them before hanging them back up. Even the whale outside the bookstore felt it was important to put on a mask.
Thursday
Back in Utica. Went for a walk with Chris and discovered this lovely graffiti. “A fun jog, you will have.” I can dig that message. Oh, Utica. We walked the path through the marshes and came upon a raised platform. We walked up the steps and took in the view. It was pretty enough, I suppose. I told Chris it was very beautiful in a very Utica way. The swampy area was serene looking, but a giant telephone pole obstructed the view, and the train tracks were cool, but just beyond them was a littered path. The rest of the view was the highway in the distance. He laughed and tried to agree but got tongue-tied and the result was: “You’re right! It is very beautica!”
Friday
This would have been my eleventh anniversary with Brian. But we let it go unobserved because I guess it’s not our anniversary anymore. I did suggest we play guitar together at one point, but it was muggy and when he said he wasn’t really in the mood, I was kind of relieved.
Saturday
Utica LOVES the Fourth of July. It’s not a one night celebration here; it’s all summer long. But the night of the fourth, especially when it lands on a Saturday, is really something to experience. I’ve heard rumors other cities have jumped on the fireworks bandwagon this year, but I’d wager they don’t hold a candle to Utica’s explosive efforts.
Every block had its own large show, and scattered around the rest of the block were smaller, supporting displays. Block after block of not just run-of-the-mill sparklers, but LEGIT fireworks that sent a rumble through your chest. It sounded like the Revolutionary War was actually happening again all down the streets of Cornhill, and you could look beyond East Utica and see similar shows in the other parts of the city.
My favorite part about this holiday on my street, though, is the monk a few houses up. Every year he acquires one — just one — genuine item of contraband. It’s usually a giant chrysanthemum rocket or a classic coconut burst. He comes out in his orange robes and his sandals with his bald head and his wire-rimmed glasses. He positions the firework on the sidewalk, bends down to light the fuse, then returns his hands to prayer position as he takes small steps backward on the balls of his feet. He only makes it about ten feet before the rocket shoots skyward. His smile is that of a little boy’s as he watches its journey into the night sky and his glasses reflect its colors when it bursts. He takes a moment to marvel in the music of the explosions all around, then walks back into his home.