The Magic of Seafoam

When I woke up this morning, I didn’t realize that the day would be full of magic. I didn’t even realize we would be at the beach; the original weather forecast was anything but wonderful. However, here we are—sitting in our newly purchased grown-up, chair-height beach chairs, staring at a symphony of blue and white. The sun glows, and the water glistens silver. Groups of people—young and old—sit and stand and fish and walk and talk and play.

A young boy scampers at the edge of the surf. Intrigued, he bends down and looks more closely. Nature’s soap suds. Where do they come from? Why are they here? A sandpiper, oblivious to anything but his next meal, hunts and pecks and seeks at the water’s edge.

The ephemeral mound of sparkling bubbles entrance and enchant me. Seafoam. And I wonder why it is here today. Not yesterday. Or the day before.

Seafoam Memories

Today seafoam reminds me of many things—the first time I saw it was one summer afternoon when our young family all stood in the swirling waters of the Gulf of Mexico at the beach in Galveston, close to what is now known as the Historic Pleasure Pier; back then it was home to the Flagship Hotel. At that time, it reminded me of seafoam frosting. I remember wondering what happened to me, my working mother self, that I no longer found time to bake chocolate cakes for my family and frost them with the ethereal riff on 7-minute frosting. It reminded me that I should.

Now when I see seafoam, I will also think of magic and Michael, the warmth of the sun, and the enchantment and wonder of a young boy who wondered why. I wish I had a glass of sparkling champagne—it would suit the day.

The Magic of the Moon

In the early evening the kitchen clock tells me it is time to leave the house if we want to see the full moon rise over the ocean today. Michael tells me to hurry.

Ever since I read The Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy decades ago, I have been enchanted with the full moon rising. I don’t remember the exact words, but he spoke of his mother when they were young and her magical powers. She would stand at the end of a dock, pushing down the sun with one hand and lifting the moon with the other—that was the first time I realized that on the night of the full moon rising for the first time, the sun would set in unison.

Michael tells me we are in the wrong place to see that phenomenon tonight, but if we hurry, we will be able to see the moon rise over the Historical Pleasure Pier. But I need to hurry!

A Full Moon to Photograph

Michael eases into a parking space on the Seawall right next to an area that has easy access to the beach, so we walk down, thinking this will be the best place to see this monthly miracle.

When we see it peek over the horizon, after a bit, Michael climbs to higher ground. Of course, I follow. For the next half hour, the moon and I play hide and seek. I move. It moves. And when the colorful lights begin to glow on the Pleasure Pier’s ferris wheel—another kind of magic happens.

On the short drive home, I once again realize how much I appreciate Michael’s curiosity and his love of the simple pleasures of life.