The Breakfast Club, by Lea Ann Robson

As a kid I judged the quality of vacation days by the number of wet bathing suits draped over the porch furniture by sundown.  Now I’m 50, & happy to say I judge weekdays that way. 

The sea was a little too riled up to snorkel this morning at dawn, but I wore my mask to try to avoid large rock & coral formations that might prove dangerous when coupled with the surge. Even trying to pick glass out of the shallows before I got in, I was nearly knocked on my fanny.  I took some comfort in the presence of the ‘breakfast club,’ the gang of retired people who gather to bob in the surf & talk politics & current events most mornings.  Some of them move slowly or may need a cane to walk on land, but they take their ritual soak in the sea even when it is rougher than I like.  I suppose they’ve been through hurricanes & rougher things than the surf that gives me pause.

What I do with my Quarry (sea glass pendants)

It was too rough to stay in the shallows next to the rocks, so I swam out a bit, past the coral formations I know by heart.  Today they were shrouded in opaque aqua surf & the only thing I could make out startled me—a large spotted eagle ray.  He had a full length tail unlike a lot of the rays who have had close encounters with boats, & I initially noticed him because he tipped to the right & a ray of bright sunlight hit his white belly. 

 

As I swam back, I was able to grab a couple of pieces of glass before the surf tried to yank them out of my hands.  I realized as I struggled back onto the beach that though my collection bag was lighter than it had been in ages, I’m glad I came to the beach.  I’m ALWAYS glad I come to the beach, no matter what the conditions.