tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20849978.post-1137810921217760552006-01-20T15:51:00.000-09:002006-11-10T18:42:15.588-09:00Originally I am from the Gulf Coast city of Clearwater, Florida. In Clearwater we have the Buccaneers, we have Scientology, we have Super Grouper sandwiches at Frenchy's; but most of all, we have a lot of water: Pinellas County's situation between Tampa Bay and the Gulf of Mexico ensures that salt water is a constant, sometimes subtle, but always-present theme in the lives of many of those who live there, and I wasn't an exception. It might be dry and desolate in Pinellas Park or Kenneth City or someplace, but from just about anywhere in the county, one has only to drive maybe twenty minutes max before a large amount of water begins to loom in the distance. You can often hear seagulls crying above supermarket parking lots; billboards have shrimp on them...<br /><br />Well, Jared Erickson and I used to ride our bikes from St. Pete Junior College, down Drew St. or Cleveland to the beach in between classes. Once we stopped at a dusty, microscopic Mexican restaurant on Cleveland St. where the regulars, sullen-looking laborers crouched over their plates, glared at us. Jared ordered sangria in Spanish from the sexy waitress, but it turned out to be nonalcoholic. Anyway, I remember that, while biking over the old drawbridge (they've since built--and rebuilt--a new one) across the intercoastal waterway, you could look down through the metal grating at the top and see the green waves forty feet below. One time while doing this I saw a pod of dolphins passing by under me. When we got out to the beach, we would dive underwater to look for interesting things, smoke cigarettes, talk about girls; in short, we would develop, as much as we could, a modern Florida Gulf Coast version of Tom Sawyer.<br /><br />One summer, just about every weekday I would wake up early and drive my mom to work at 7 a.m., and then drive her white mid-90's Mercury Sable out to the beach with my skimboard in the trunk. I would just skim around, read, swim, and take naps out there; it was early enough that there weren't many people on the beach. One morning while skimboarding, I went out of control and skimmed right on top of a good-sized stingray. I jumped off as quickly as possible, turned and looked, and--to think of it!--every time a long wave curled up to break, as the early light shone through it, you could see rays by the hundreds slowly moving their wings, flocking north in the surf.<br /><br />It's funny to think of myself four or five years ago--even more self-conscious, uncertain, sentimental than now!--but also more earnest and with no regret to speak of, sitting on the seaweed with my pants rolled up, salt in my hair (which was thick then), smoking Camels and reading the New Testament while the sandpipers squeaked at my feet. Ha ha!<br /><br /><br />The sandpipers,<br />Every now and then,<br />Walking on the water<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20849978-113781092121776055?l=seaboard.blogspot.com'/></div>E. Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15250953987158771507noreply@blogger.com4