"Actually, I live here."

This month we are celebrating 4 glorious years of home ownership. Despite the countless trips to Lowe's, innumerable nights of eating Ramen (never thought I'd go there again) to counteract new-home-needs costs, rage over doggie accidents, and general new-place-move-in breakdowns, I still love love love the home we have made here.

One of my favorite things about where I live is just that - where I live! I am gloriously lucky to be able to claim a mailing address with the word "Beach" in it, a fact of which I am also extraordinarily proud. I grew up in the midwest, and while I loved it (Go Colts), it didn't take much longer than a 48 hour visit to my relocated parents during college to thin my blood. I knew that, post-graduation, I simply could not deal with the depths of winter (unless that pain was assuaged by 50 yard line season tickets to the aforementioned sports team of choice). But south Florida was a little *too* all sun and fun for me, so when I met Deane we decided to head to a northern part of the state where we could still experience seasons (and I would be able to pick up a knitting hobby without being forced to only make tank tops and home accessories).

When we moved here, I was so thrilled to live within minutes of the beach. I was there on every single one of my days off (when the temperature was over 65 degrees) and sported an even year-round tan. I even moved beyond my "laying and reading books only" policy at the beach and started letting Deane teach me how to surf. This experience has probably been the most trying one on our relationship -- he is an excellent surfer and a patient teacher, but I throw a lot of bullshit toward him because I know he has to put up with it (he loves me, after all). I've done a lot of whining, complaining about sore arms, and complete refusal to go in the water, but he always pushes me to get in and get to work. I had been doing pretty ok, too, until an injury sidelined me early last year. I kept going to the beach, but since my first summer here, my frequency has really tapered off.

This week, I realized I hadn't been to the beach ONCE since the summer began, and it was almost July! I made a pact to hit the sand on my first day off this week, an attempt to re-discover my love for where we live and remind myself why life is so great. We have a million beach access roads, so parking and sort-of privacy is never a problem. The other great thing is, since it's only a ten minute drive, it's easy for me to keep the sunburn in check (meaning, I don't feel obligated to spend dawn to dusk parked in full sunlight, since I can always come back the next day!). This picture is where I spent this week's beach day -- one of my favorite beach access roads by Elizabeth Pointe Lodge (who lovingly provides chairs and umbrellas for their guests, which I take to mean any city residents).

Every time I talk to someone at the beach, they ask me where I'm from, and I get to say that I LIVE here. Almost everyone else there is usually on vacation or a weekend getaway, and it makes me feel guilty for not taking full advantage of the beautiful surroundings within miles of my home. I spent a few hours at the beach this week, and I tried to soak it all in. I laid, I read, I went in the water. I gazed at all of the other Elizabeth Pointe guests in their provided chairs and thought about how they chose to come here for vacation. I looked in front of me and saw sand and waves, and I looked behind me and saw the vacation rental at which we are hoping/planning to get married. I felt so much better -- calmed down about wedding prep, ok about being broke (I mean, look what we're paying for, a great place to live!), and blessed for good health (did I mention I am re-reading "My Sister's Keeper"?).

The beach definitely has healing qualities, and I am hereby making a pact to embrace its fabulousness for the remainder of the summer -- starting with a full beach day tomorrow in celebration of the 4th (and countdown to the best day of the year in one week!) Enjoy your holiday :)