You never know what you’ll find during a walk on the beach.
Sand dollars, seashells, driftwood or debris. You might spot a sea turtle trolling along parallel to shore or have to dodge a shore fisherman’s thin shimmering line. You might see crabs or jellyfish or baitfish along with surfers, swimmers and paddleboarders.
They say that smells carry you back to wherever you were when that scent imprinted on you.
For me, it’s music.
When my dad died nearly 20 years ago, it fell to my brother and I to clean out the house we grew up in and that our parents had shared for half of a century.
If there is a definition of hoarder, I’m not sure they would have checked every box.
I grew up in the age of Hallmark movies and television shows that depicted fathers patting sons on the head and multiple generations of families living peaceably together. They had family dinners every night and talked, while looking at each other.
About 10 years ago, my husband and I bought a beautiful lot in Holley by the Sea about two blocks from the water. It’s more than an acre, completely wild and unusable – at this point – for anything but animal habitat.
We like it that way.
