The day dawned beautiful, just warm enough with bright blue skies and cotton ball clouds, the type of day Florida commercials feature. Everything was packed in the truck, including the family, and we headed north, with just one trip back for a forgotten bathing suit. It had probably been twenty or more years since I’d visited Coquina Beach, the beach my grandmother named in a contest back in the 50’s. I had forgotten about the tall pine trees shading picnic tables and pavilions, the tall grasses waving between beach and parking lot, and, of course, the shell-ridden coast line. Today the Gulf was cold and the waves strong. The lifeguards whistled harshly at any brave soul entering the water outside the swim area. I remember as a child venturing out with Grandma; the water warm and so crystal clear we could see our feet as far out as we could walk. Kyle and I searched the beach, walking in the shallowest waves, and eventually found a few coquinas. Back at the shelter, Uncle Rick churned out pancakes with Dad’s assistance. The littlest kids gobbled up breakfast like a flock of starving chicks. Sunday was also Roger James’ 12th birthday, so we sang and had cake. Family members wandered in and out, catching up on news, reminiscing, going to the beach, flipping through the scrapbook of Grandma’s pictures, or watching the memorial video Trina and I stayed up way too late putting together—a great memorial for a great lady. I think Grandma would have approved.
¡Hasta pronto, mis amigos!
~N
