Bucky's Beach Week contest
Bucky is better than anyone I know at writing guest posts that have no food in them at all and yet I still want to publish them. Is that a good thing? I can't quite decide, but I admire his cleverness. Here's Bucky. EL ...
"maggie and milly and molly and may
by e. e. cummings
maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles, and
milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles, and
may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea."
I am always amazed at people who spend their time and money to visit our mountains. They are just, you know, mountains. Big piles of rock. There…that’s Pikes Peak. And that’s Mount Evans. And that one over there is Long’s Peak.
So what?
In the early 80s, before the oil bust, I was offered the opportunity (and the relocation benefit package) to move to a place where I would have not only been near an ocean, I could have bought a Hunter 50 live-aboard sailboat and lived on the ocean. I know this because the guy who got the job when I turned it down did exactly that.
I agonized over whether to take that job, but in the end my decision was as least in part influenced by this: I love the ocean. And I would hate if living near or on it ever resulted in me feeling ambivalent about it, the way I feel about mountains. Among my saddest days that don’t involve death are the last nights on the beach, before heading home from vacations. They are that sad because the days that precede them are that happy.
No food hook today, because there is nothing I can say about beach food or beach dining or beach restaurants that hasn’t already been said at least once this week.
That’s what comes with going last.
But…I do have a contest and a prize!
The very collectible Dining@Large Beach Week 2009 apron pictured above will be awarded to a person who completes the following comment: “My best day at the (beach, shore, coast or ocean — pick one)…” or to the person who responds to one of those comments in some notable way.
Tomorrow is Saturday-lunch-at-the-bar day and I will drag my laptop along this week. Paco, JMT and Stacy, if she’s not too busy tending bar, will select the winner from the comments submitted, using their own criteria. That means the contest closes at about 11 a.m. MDT tomorrow.
by e. e. cummings
maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles, and
milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles, and
may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea."
I am always amazed at people who spend their time and money to visit our mountains. They are just, you know, mountains. Big piles of rock. There…that’s Pikes Peak. And that’s Mount Evans. And that one over there is Long’s Peak.
So what?
In the early 80s, before the oil bust, I was offered the opportunity (and the relocation benefit package) to move to a place where I would have not only been near an ocean, I could have bought a Hunter 50 live-aboard sailboat and lived on the ocean. I know this because the guy who got the job when I turned it down did exactly that.
I agonized over whether to take that job, but in the end my decision was as least in part influenced by this: I love the ocean. And I would hate if living near or on it ever resulted in me feeling ambivalent about it, the way I feel about mountains. Among my saddest days that don’t involve death are the last nights on the beach, before heading home from vacations. They are that sad because the days that precede them are that happy.
No food hook today, because there is nothing I can say about beach food or beach dining or beach restaurants that hasn’t already been said at least once this week.
That’s what comes with going last.
But…I do have a contest and a prize!
The very collectible Dining@Large Beach Week 2009 apron pictured above will be awarded to a person who completes the following comment: “My best day at the (beach, shore, coast or ocean — pick one)…” or to the person who responds to one of those comments in some notable way.
Tomorrow is Saturday-lunch-at-the-bar day and I will drag my laptop along this week. Paco, JMT and Stacy, if she’s not too busy tending bar, will select the winner from the comments submitted, using their own criteria. That means the contest closes at about 11 a.m. MDT tomorrow.
Comments
My best day at the beach was in Cabo, Mexico when I pitched my wedding ring of 15 years into the ocean and decided to move on with my life.
Posted by: Gloria Kuebler | June 19, 2009 12:24 PM
Having grown up in NJ, where the shore is never more than an hour away, I can't remember a "best" day. Any day on sand....any day smelling salt air....is a good day. The xh had a bumper sticker that read, "The worst day fishing is better than the best day at the office" (He also had a bumper sticker that said that about golf.) That's how I feel about the shore.
The (then) husband was once offered a job in Iowa. Or Indiana. Maybe it was Illinois. A flat state in the middle somewhere. I was still in my Good Sport mode, then, so I went out to be sniffed by Management. I couldn't breath there. I couldn't feel the ocean. My internal compass couldn't find East. What do people in the Middle do? Tell direction by the moss on the trees?
Posted by: Eve | June 19, 2009 1:02 PM
What do people in the Middle do?
They become serial killers
Posted by: Owl Meat Gravy | June 19, 2009 1:06 PM
Being at the beach puts things in perspective - no matter what has happened, the waves still keep rolling in. Just as in life, it goes on, and on, and on...
There is really nothing that compares to being at the beach, the smell, the sound, the feel of the water in the air, the sand under your feet. It's a love that lasts forever!
Posted by: Suzie Q | June 19, 2009 1:25 PM
What on earth are we going to blog about now since Beach Week is over?
Beach Week isn't over. We have until tomorrow at midnight. EL
Posted by: Anonymous | June 19, 2009 1:26 PM
Saturday is still Beach Week. Keep hope alive
Posted by: Anonymous | June 19, 2009 1:42 PM
Bucky,
I see an apron-food connection. Is that so tenuous?
And I appreciated the mountain reflection.
I am, however, a bit surprised, given the seafood angle natural to beach week, that you made no mention of Rocky Mountain oysters.
Posted by: jl | June 19, 2009 1:43 PM
Oooooooooooooo ... then I still have time to pen my beach memoir. Dare I?
Posted by: `∑|:€)╬═╣ Lord Marmalade | June 19, 2009 1:45 PM
For the sake of us all, please dare not ; )
Posted by: NEPA | June 19, 2009 3:45 PM
sounds like a challenge
Posted by: `∑|:€)╬═╣ Lord Marmalade | June 19, 2009 4:15 PM
Lord Marmalade, I dare say you'd look very fetching in that apron.
Posted by: Lady Chatterley | June 19, 2009 4:21 PM
Bucky, dear, thanks for this excellent challenge.
My best day at the beach I wasn't actually there, but I tapped into the memory of baking in the Hawaiian sunshine to relax in prenatal exercise class when I was having a difficult pregnancy. Nothing else could cut the anxious chatter in my head at that point in my life.
Posted by: Dahlink | June 19, 2009 4:24 PM
Best day at the beach? It had to be Sept 2007 when we visited our son and his family who were [and still are] living in Jakarta. Twelve time zones is too far away from the only grandchildren!
Although we spent about 10 days exploring Java, the timewe were in Bali was the highlight of the visit. One day, we went to another resort to use their beach and we watched as our son and the older grandson [then just 3] frolicked in the sand and the edgy part of the water.
That may have been a changing-of-the-guard moment as we watched the bonding of the next generation.
And, as I mentioned on another topic, the fresh seafood and sunsets over the Indian Ocean at Jimbaran can't be beat.
Posted by: bra1nchild | June 19, 2009 4:25 PM
Never let it be said that a Knight of the Realm doesn't rise to a challenge. Thus I have set Vivian upon the task of reconnoitering a weblog site open to my more libertine fancies unlike this Puritan palace of codswallop. Good day sir.
Posted by: `∑|:€)╬═╣ Lord Marmalade | June 19, 2009 4:40 PM
I have had a lot of great Beach visits and
corresponding memories, but one that stands out:
going downyocean with two friends (one who is normally straighlaced, and doesn't let loose AT ALL), getting her into a hot tub and sauna; drinking lots of wine, and topping it off with belly dancing lessons in our room. Then her hip scarf slid down her hips to her ankles while dancing. We collapsed in laughter.
I know that this doesn't sound like much (you had to be there) but it was such an accomplishment to get her to do any of the above. The relaxation of the beach came through when it needed to!
Posted by: Cosmos Girl I>--I | June 19, 2009 8:21 PM
My best beach moment happened in 1975. I had just finished with graduate school and wanted to relax for a while before starting my post-doc fellowship in marine biology in the fall.
My parents had a cottage on the west end of Martha's Vineyard, which is beautiful but a little dull. One day I bicycled into town for scones and coffee, but the village bakery was closed because of a minor electrical fire the day before.
I wandered down to the docks and talked to some fisherman. A nutty local captain was taking his boat out to hunt for a shark that was reputed to be in the area, A Great White. Yeah, right. I told him that that was ridiculous, because their habitat was normally far from New England. Still he persisted and insisted that I join him. I agreed and we were joined by the MV mayor, an avid shark hunter.
What a day! We spotted a large shark, indeed a Great White,and after a number of trials and tribulations eventually subdued it.
This gained us some local notoriety and made the locals feel safer that summer. Let me tell you,that little adventure got me more free beers and glances from the ladies than my PhD ever did. And that was the greatest beach experience of my life.
Posted by: Matt Hooper | June 19, 2009 10:49 PM
Gee Matt, I thought that you had gone out shark hunting with Robert Shaw and Roy Scheider, not Robert Shaw and Murray Hamilton.
Is your memory failing you?
Posted by: Cosmos Girl I>--I | June 19, 2009 11:10 PM
Point, set, match to Cosmos Girl...
Posted by: Anonymous | June 19, 2009 11:32 PM
yeah because spoliling a joke is so clever
point, set, match to Why Bother Next Time
Posted by: Anonymous | June 19, 2009 11:34 PM
chillax my babies
Posted by: VoodooPork ■|:o) | June 20, 2009 12:19 AM
My best day at the seashore:
First you smell the salt air, as soon as you roll down the car windows, before you even drive over the curve of the hill and see all the way into the distance to where the ocean blurs into the sky. When we got out of the car, we would hop over the hot, hard parking lot and then gleefully plunge our bare feet into the cool, deep sand dunes. Then the long slow trek across the wide beach, dragging all our stuff along until we almost reached the strip of sand already wet from the incoming tide.
We dropped our towels and gear and raced into the sea. Oh, how good it felt! From those first few waves gathering around ankles to the mid-range breakers crashing onto your hips, perhaps even knocking you down. That surprising mouthful of salt water and how it stung if some got in your eye. Then swimming further out to where the waves rolled in and crested, bobbing up and down, waiting for that big one to take you in. The unbroken line of the horizon, the vast uncluttered expanse of sea and sky, all gave a boundless sense of freedom. Life uncomplicated.
When we tired of body surfing, we wandered along the shoreline where sea foam gathered in eddies and rivulets, hunting for seashells. Among all the broken mollusks and strands of seaweed, we always hoped to find a treasure that the ocean washed in for us that day.
An oyster shell with a pearl attached.
A chambered nautilus.
A message in a bottle.
Posted by: Camille Quelquejeu | June 20, 2009 9:32 AM
Point to Camille!
Posted by: Dahlink | June 20, 2009 11:30 AM
One of my best times at the beach only needs 2 words....Senior Week.
Posted by: Sarah G. | June 20, 2009 11:53 AM
The comment at 11:34 last night seems a tad snarky, and it seems to be commenting on another that was pulled.
I tried posting here three times last night to no avail.
Bucky,
I think Camille's post might be the one, she paints a very nice picture of an idyllic seashore.
Just my .02...
Posted by: PCB Rob | June 20, 2009 12:06 PM
Camille Quelquejeu? Camille Quelquejoie.
Posted by: Owl Meat Gravy | June 20, 2009 1:47 PM
Best day at the beach was June 1975 when I got to be a cougar at 23. I took the virginity of Andy, a 21 year old guy I was dating, right there on the beach. Of course this was really at night (1 a.m.) .
Posted by: Lone Lady | June 20, 2009 3:40 PM
Ouch, sand!
Posted by: Lissa | June 20, 2009 4:25 PM
Andy?
Andy Rooney?
Don't you just hate it when you get sand in your......
Posted by: Robert of Cross Keys | June 20, 2009 4:34 PM
"Ouch, sand!" indeed Lissa.
Didn't say it was good.
Just that it was only male virgin I ever had!
As for you RoCK, I may be old now, but not older than Andy Rooney.
Posted by: Lone Lady | June 20, 2009 8:24 PM
Ok, 1975, let's just say it was Andy Gibb...or Andy Kaufman...whoever you want it to be.
Posted by: Robert of Cross Keys | June 20, 2009 8:37 PM
Sounds like 1975 was a good beach year, except for that shark thing.
Posted by: Owl Meat Gravy | June 20, 2009 8:42 PM
My best day at the beach was ,,, see Terrier Girl blog.
So who is the winner Bucky?
Posted by: ~╥╥☺◄TerrierGirl►☺╥╥~ | June 20, 2009 8:47 PM
Sorry to have been MIA since this was posted...sometimes work does, indeed, come first. Not often.
I did squeeze in lunch at the bar with Paco & JMT earlier today. After a minor brouhaha (more on that next Friday) they set about picking a winner of the commemorative apron.
First they had to establish "criteria." What a freakin' mess that was. Finally I said, would you two just pick a winner? I have real work to do.
They decided Gloria Kuebler should win because her comment most captured the last couplet of e.e.cummings' poem.
Ms. Kuebler, we'll connect back through EL (assuming EL doesn't mind being the go-between) and I'll get the apron to you.
Thanks to all who participated. I should have made more aprons...
Posted by: Bucky | June 20, 2009 8:50 PM
What does it take to get four stars?
Posted by: Joe Jacobs | June 20, 2009 11:59 PM
4 stars? Interesting completely random comment.
Well first you have to pass through the wall of fire that is 3.5 stars, lately a kiss of death (coincidence).. So 4 stars would not only mean that the restaurant will fail but the owners will be buried uop to their necks for eternity near the Lake of Fire.
Maybe Balitmorons just don't appreciate 3.5 star places. Who knows?
Posted by: VoodooPork ■|:o) | June 21, 2009 12:58 AM
Are Terrier Girl and Terrier Mom one and the same? They both seem to know Jesus (the Pool Boy).
Posted by: Dahlink | June 21, 2009 6:12 AM
TM=TG. Just wanted to spruce up my image a little.
Posted by: ~╥╥☺◄TerrierGirl►☺╥╥~ | June 21, 2009 7:12 AM
Love the double-barreled cartouche, TG. Glad you lost the "Mom jeans" ...
Posted by: Dahlink | June 21, 2009 3:13 PM
Mom jeans? Ahhh...... Never. Just got rid of the mom-nym. Black boots and ...
Those are supposefd to megaphones. I tried to use angloe brackets but they made my name disappear. Htlm I suppose.
Posted by: ~╥╥☺◄TerrierGirl►☺╥╥~ | June 21, 2009 4:37 PM