It was on a train back from Coney.
I had been visiting someone half way there and when I got on I could smell the sun and the sea and the sand.
It was a mother and her two daughters and one of the daugher's daughter and that daughter's son. Three generations. Doing what I had done with my gramma. A day at a beach, bags of wet suits and empty sandwich and cookie containers and just like that little boy, the ride back lulling me to sleep, my head on a warm lap.
8 comments:
What peaceful, warm and wonderful memories of summers spent with those we love. If you close your eyes now can you still smell the sun and sand?
CO - Wow, I could almost smell Coney just from that post.
Time for me to visit, I guess . . . .
Though to be honest, I've always liked Coney best in the cold weather months when the boardwalk is deserted except for the Russians on the piers and (what's left) of the carney has that ghostly, abandoned feel . . .these were my first impressions of Coney when I first went down in 89, and I guess they linger . . .
T.
like pavlov's dog.
In fact, that will be a future post. Those winter visits.
And when I saw Take The Money And Run that winter beach/cut the balony scene felt intimate to me.
I agree, CI in winter is an experience and one of the first I recall having of the city. The cold, desolate, melancholy isolation is something that has an eerie appeal...the complete opposite in summer.
Those day-trips to the beach were something my grandparents did as there wasn't much money for a 'real' vacation. Funny how they often rendered the best and happiest memories.
Oh, I wish to be doing that today! The sand. You have to recall the sand. In every sock, every article of clothing. Jim and I do this every so often. You've got to add the whiskey by the surf as a potential highlight.
Ah.. I love your version. Whiskey.
Florence would tuck a beer in her bag.
on my list to visit in the winter. :)
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