Posts Tagged ‘Beach’

Beach in Winter

Monday, February 7th, 2011

CloudyDay

With our furnace dying, the temperature dropping, and the prospect of an unexpected major purchase looming, I am wondering if a vacation is in the cards for us this year. Yet I am dreaming of the beach. (I’ll bet that ocean is cold today.) But our chilly household temperatures are nothing. Today is the birthday of Laura Ingalls Wilder, and for a picture and a story about SERIOUS weather, please see A Long Winter.

This image is available as a high-resolution print on 8.5″ x 11″ archival paper.


Beach Birthday

Saturday, December 11th, 2010

It’s ironic that my husband’s birthday falls in December, because he is a sun-worshipping beach-loving guy. So on this day I post a sketch I did of him the summer that he bought and launched his inflatable kayak. This is what I would REALLY like to give him for his birthday: warm, happy hours gliding through the ocean at sunrise and sunset, gazing at dolphins, dreaming.

JKayak

PieForJJimmy


Father and Daughter

Thursday, August 19th, 2010

Here is a sketch from a past beach vacation, which is when our family customarily plays lots of card games. (We are all especially addicted to La Belle Lucie.) A doting father is so tolerant of a girl’s little foibles. Like cheating at Go Fish.

In honor of Ogden Nash (1902-1971), whose birthday it is today, I post his poem, “Song To Be Sung by the Father of Infant Female Children.” At one time my son wouldn’t have been amused by its depiction of boys. Now, as a big brother, he also has morphed into fatherly protective mode.

J&EGoFish

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
Contrariwise, my blood runs cold
When little boys go by.
For little boys as little boys,
No special hate I carry,
But now and then they grow to men,
And when they do, they marry.
No matter how they tarry,
Eventually they marry.
And, swine among the pearls,
They marry little girls.
Oh, somewhere, somewhere, an infant plays,
With parents who feed and clothe him.
Their lips are sticky with pride and praise,
But I have begun to loathe him.
Yes, I loathe with loathing shameless
This child who to me is nameless.
This bachelor child in his carriage
Gives never a thought to marriage,
But a person can hardly say knife
Before he will hunt him a wife.
I never see an infant (male),
A-sleeping in the sun,
Without I turn a trifle pale
And think is he the one?
Oh, first he’ll want to crop his curls,
And then he’ll want a pony,
And then he’ll think of pretty girls,
And holy matrimony.
A cat without a mouse
Is he without a spouse.
Oh, somewhere he bubbles bubbles of milk,
And quietly sucks his thumbs.
His cheeks are roses painted on silk,
And his teeth are tucked in his gums.
But alas the teeth will begin to grow,
And the bubbles will cease to bubble;
Given a score of years or so,
The roses will turn to stubble.
He’ll sell a bond, or he’ll write a book,
And his eyes will get that acquisitive look,
And raging and ravenous for the kill,
He’ll boldly ask for the hand of Jill.
This infant whose middle
Is diapered still
Will want to marry
My daughter Jill.
Oh sweet be his slumber and moist his middle!
My dreams, I fear, are infanticiddle.
A fig for embryo Lohengrins!
I’ll open all his safety pins,
I’ll pepper his powder, and salt his bottle,
And give him readings from Aristotle.
Sand for his spinach I’ll gladly bring,
And Tabasco sauce for his teething ring.
Then perhaps he’ll struggle through fire and water
To marry somebody else’s daughter.

Ogden Nash

CakeSprinklesLucy



Beach collection

Wednesday, August 18th, 2010

Treasures I picked up long ago on early morning beach walks.

The painting has outlasted the objects, which were gradually absorbed into the garden. But I remember vividly the finding of the horseshoe crab. Not because I can look at the painting, but perhaps because of having painted it.

CollectionBeach


August

Tuesday, August 17th, 2010
For this August day, a painting from a North Carolina beach house deck, one bright hot summer afternoon; and a poem.

BeachHousesTrees
The sprinkler twirls.
The summer wanes.
The pavement wears
Popsicle stains.
The playground grass
Is worn to dust.
The weary swings
Creak, creak with rust.
The trees are bored
With being green.
Some people leave
The local scene
And go to seaside
Bungalows
And take off nearly
All their clothes.

—John Updike


Sparkle

Saturday, August 14th, 2010

This is for those of you headed for the beach this weekend. May you find sunlight on the water.

SparkleSunrise2

CakeWeddingPatti & Andy


Beach Beauty

Saturday, July 31st, 2010

Getting ready for the family photo.

BeachBeauty

CakeRedRosesBonnie Rose

CakeBerries2Zoe


Say Cheese

Friday, July 30th, 2010

Recording those jolly family holiday moments.

BeachPix

Elevenses

Thursday, July 29th, 2010

Time for a little sandy something.

BeachSnack

Beach Buddy

Wednesday, July 28th, 2010

The beach is more fun with a friend along.

BeachFriend