Sand, saltwater and subjective slices of life

MAXINE COHEN

I had the best time on Saturday. It was gorgeous, if you recall.

Warm, bright sunshine, clear blue sky. I went to the beach.

Actually, it wasn’t quite as simple as it sounds.

When I decided, after 11 years, to move to Corona del Mar from the

Peninsula, where I was 100 yards from the sand, I realized that I’d

have to figure out a way to make it easy to get to the beach or I’d

never go -- and that would be a big loss.

The thought of packing up my car, searching for a parking space,

and then getting back in it all sandy and yucky was just too much for

me. I knew I’d never do it. So I bought a beach cruiser and tried to

find a rack to mount on the back to carry my beach chair. Mission

impossible. Little did I know they make bike racks to hold surfboards

but nothing else. I tenaciously went from bike store to bike store

until I finally found Chicago Bike on the corner of Balboa Boulevard

and Coast Highway. The owner, Tony, said he’d jerry-rig one up for me

and he did.

So I learned how to get the chair into the rack without toppling

the bike and the chain popping off. And you tell me, how is it

intuitively obvious that you got to spin the back wheel to reconnect

the chain? Don’t laugh -- it’s all too true.

And I’ve found a better route to the beach than fighting the

traffic on Marguerite Avenue. I now go across and then head down

Poppy. And Little Corona is right there. I can’t believe I lived here

for 12 years without knowing that China Cove and Little Corona

existed. Those two beaches are simply breathtaking.

Saturday, I biked to Little Corona. It was pretty packed, but I

found a spot and set up camp. No sooner had my rear-end hit the chair

than I was eyeball to eyeball with a little girl in a pink swimsuit.

She couldn’t have been much more than 2. She was busy telling me

about something or other, half of which I couldn’t understand, before

putting her head in the sand with her tushy sticking up in the air.

She laughed and laughed as she twirled around on her head seeing the

world upside down.

Several other little girls were playing nearby and there was a

young woman who seemed to be in charge. Another of the girls, maybe 5

years old, brought me polished stones and sea shells that she had

found.

“They’re beautiful. And you’ve found so many,” I said admiringly.

“What are you going to do with them?”

“Oh, the sign says I have to leave them here,” said Miss Goodie

Two-Shoes.

Just adorable.

Mom was packing up to leave. I asked if all four of the girls were

hers.

“Yes,” she said. “They’re all mine and all of them are two years

apart. They all have birthdays coming up. They’ll be turning 3, 5, 7,

and 9.”

Wow, was I impressed. Mom looked like she was in her early 30’s.

She was slim with a flat belly. She was also, more importantly, calm

and loving and orchestrating this whole thing without being stressed

out. All the girls were behaving and listening to her and it looked

like she was having a good time, too. Once or twice I heard her ask

one or the other of them not to do something but she didn’t make a

big deal of it and she let them play and get sandy.

I, too, have daughters. Three of them. All grown now. So I can

really appreciate what it takes to lovingly keep it together and

running well. I had enough good sense back then to know what it meant

to be raising my three lovelies but I was not nearly so calm, cool,

and collected as this mom. If you asked them today, and I did, the

consensus was, “We always felt loved and you paid good attention to

us but you were high-strung and sometimes you’d lose it.”

I’d say this is accurate. If I could do it all over again, I’d be

quieter. More in control of me rather than trying to control them.

I’d let more go. I know now that those things don’t matter anyway.

They are just of the moment and will wreck the moment if you let

them.

So mom at the beach, my hat’s off to you. You seem to get it. What

I saw was a fine job of parenting. You should be proud.

After they left, I took a walk up the beach. It’s so lovely with

all the rocks and tide pools.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Coming toward me were two couples. The

men were in tuxedos, one with a pink carnation in his lapel, and the

women wore bridal gowns, complete with veils, and 3-inch platform

shoes. The women could barely walk in the sand, especially the one

with the gown that had the long train, which was slung over her

husband’s shoulder. I watched as they took wedding pictures against

the rocks and the surf lapped at the hems of their gowns.

That was way too messy for me.

I noticed a man walking toward me with two small boys.

“They don’t know what they’re doing,” he said. “I’m a professional

photographer. You don’t take pictures now. You wait until later in

the day when the light is fading and the oranges and reds have softer

tones. Anyway, that’s nothing compared to what’s behind you but don’t

turn around.”

I nonchalantly moseyed around until I had done a 180. Yup, there

she was, with a tiny little navy blue halter hardly covering a

plentiful bounty of silicone, um, enhancements that were each the

size of a cantaloupe -- nope, more like a honeydew melon. It was

absurd but I was riveted. She looked grotesque. As we watched, she

pulled out another halter and put it on over the other one.

“What’s she doing?” I asked.

“She’s changing her top,” he said. How did he know this? I’m a

woman and I didn’t know this. But sure enough, off came the blue

halter and on came a bright pink one with sequins on it. No joke.

Going from bad to worse here.

Then her boyfriend took out a camera and they walked over to the

rocks to photograph her loveliness in the too bright sunlight. The

bottom of her suit consisted of one little triangle in front and one

in back, held together by transparent strings. She had a little

tattoo on her right butt cheek, which was tasteful compared to

everything else.

What could this woman be thinking? What plastic surgeon in his

right mind with any aesthetic sensibility at all would have done this

for her even if she’d pleaded and begged and paid the big bucks?

The sad thing is, without the “enhancements” she was lovely. She

had firm tanned skin, a long mane of thick brown hair, and a pretty

face. Too bad all you saw was her chest.

And the interesting thing is that this man I was standing with was

more critical than I. After all, aren’t cosmetic enhancements

supposed to entice men? Isn’t that the whole point? Guess not,

because he was way beyond turned off, he was critical and sarcastic.

I ‘d had enough. I walked back to my beach chair to pack up and

go. The man from the group of people behind me asked if I’d take

their picture. He handed me a disposable camera and showed me where

the clicker was. I aimed it at them but only a blurry image in the

little window. Oops. Holding the thing backward. Gonna take a photo

of me at that rate.

Fun and funny. Just a slice of life on a random day in paradise. A

study in contrasts. Surprising. Haphazard. Lovely. Curious. Pathetic.

Inspiring. I sure am glad I was there, and present, for the ride.

* MAXINE COHEN is a Corona del Mar resident and a marriage and

family therapist practicing in Newport Beach whose column will appear

regularly. She can be reached at [email protected] or (949)

644-6435.