The Beach and Pizza

Watching a beach sunset likely falls somewhere in everyone’s life-to-do list, and there’s a good chance it’s been checked off most of them, time and time again. In truth, most of us have done it at some point in our lives. It’s peaceful; one of the most tranquil of life’s pleasures is the sound of waves washing up to the sand while seagulls caw. It’s meditative; all of the day’s thoughts and worries seem to flow away with the water as it rolls back to sea. It’s romantic; few things compare to tasting the lips of the person you love as the earth’s candle goes out around you.

But I would venture to guess that a lot of us don’t do it just to do it. We don’t take the time to sit on the beach and watch the sun set behind the ocean or the lake “just because.” It tends to be part of the bigger picture rather than the picture itself. I was definitely one who fell into this category. I’ve seen many a beach sunset, most by accident—being in the right place at the right time. And those that were intentional were meant to be a part of something else.

I added it to my list of resolutions because I didn’t want to do it by accident and I didn’t want there to be a reason I was on the beach other than to take the time to watch the sun set. It fell under my search for tranquility. I could just sit and breathe in the salt, listen to the ocean, and watch the day end in peace.

The day that I decided to go to the beach had been a lovely one. My sister was in town; my father had the day off from work; and my mother, knowing I have resolutions to complete, suggested we watch the sunset together as a family. We don’t get to spend as much time together as we once did; my sister and I are off living our lives as “grown ups.” It had been years since we had sat on a beach towel, our toes wiggling in the sand, together.

And so, despite my initial decision to spend the sunset alone, I decided it would be more meaningful with my family there—not just because I would be in the company of the people I admire most in this world, but for an opportunity to spend a beautiful day doing something that made me remember a beautiful childhood. The sunset was still the bigger picture; its frame would just be constructed of family time and memory making.

We left from my house, bags of beach towels and soda/pop stuffed into the trunk, and headed toward Malibu. But first, a food stop. We had to eat, of course. Dinner time and sunset seem so hand-in-hand. We got some pizza (and Mexican for my darling sister who craved a “run to the border”), climbed back into the jeep, and made our way up through the spiraling canyons that would eventually give way to the one and only Pacific Coast Highway.

As we got to the top, mist settled around us, blanketing the sun from view. Darn it. Come back, sunshine! Come back! It would not be easy to watch the sun set behind the ocean if the clouds were hiding her. I could only hope that once we made our descent and reached PCH, the fog would lift and sunshine would glisten once more. As we swerved through the canyon, I crossed my fingers and balanced the box of pizza against the seat cushion. At least I could save dinner.

Once we reached PCH, I knew that any hope I had of the sun coming back out was gone. We parked the car, filled up the meter with coins, and grabbed the food and bags, marching our way toward the sand.

I flicked off my flip-flops and stepped onto the beach.

“Oh My God, it’s so cold,” my sister said, squirming. She had just read my mind. “I’m so used to the sand being hot.”

I laughed and nodded. She was right. Usually we had to race across the beach like we were walking over hot coal. But it had turned into a suddenly icy, hazy day by the ocean. No such luck. Oh how I missed the hot coal feel of sand on my skin in that instant.

We went as close toward the water as was reasonable; the fear of the ocean swallowing our pizza stopped us from going too far. The blanket was spread and the food was placed in the center. The four of us settled into each corner, keeping our eyes toward the sea. The only other inhabitants were straggling runners and a family of birds colonizing the sand a few feet from us.

Dinner was consumed amongst chattering teeth (it was dang chilly) and belly-shaking laughter (we are dang funny), all the while sneaking peeks

at our watches to make sure we didn’t miss sunset. After cleaning up, we explored the beach—my sister walked around in search of shells and I snapped pictures of my family, the ocean, the birds. When the water rushed up to my feet, it felt like a million frozen needles piercing me; but when it surged back, the sand felt like calming, grainy dough against my skin. I couldn’t help but laugh, thinking how the sand I had thought so cold an hour earlier was now the thing that soothed me. The mysteries of nature are so fascinating.

When it was time to “watch the sunset”, we settled back onto the blanket and stared out toward the ocean. I smiled. We sat in the shape of a frame, literally. Each of us in our respective corners. And the sea, the sand, the sun were the picture

We waited until it was officially “sunset”, and though we couldn’t see the sun actually go down behind the ocean, we sat together, shivering in the cold and sharing our moment of tranquility with nature. And with one another.

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