MORE THAN SEASHELLS
Barb was getting better at packing for these getaways - clothes that didn’t wrinkle, basic makeup, a toothbrush, don’t forget the camera, where did she put that little travel purse?
Tim’s, “Relax honey,” his endless, frustrating calm made her want to scream.
After a decade of happily-ever-after his family was still a mystery. Theirs was a tight-knit clan, who’d grown up in the same small town, hung out with people they’d known since kindergarten. It was so alien to an army brat who’d attended seventeen schools before turning thirteen.
“Our childhoods were so different,” mused Barb. “I wonder if we’d have liked each other as children.”
“I know I’d have liked you,” said Tim, “I don’t think you’d have liked me.”
“Why?”
“You were too angry.”
Barb couldn’t deny it. She returned to packing.
She was thinking about children, about the nieces and nephews, when she suggested geocaching. It was a sport she enjoyed, a reason to get outside, take long walks and discover hidden green spaces around Portland.
The sport reminded her of scavenger hunts she and her sisters had played. Of course they hadn’t needed a GPS or a website to find the hidden treasure, or caches as they were now called. They’d been purely low-tech back then.
Times had changed. This morning she’d had to nudge her father-in-law away from his computer long enough to log-on and print a few of the local caches. She concentrated on ones hidden on the beach, imagining a hunt for pirate’s gold.
She explained their quarry were small plastic containers holding such search worthy objects as golf balls, erasers and the ever popular “free with your kids-meal” toy. No one seemed disappointed, and riding the wave of enthusiasm, Barb smiled as they dove into their cars.
At the first location she read the coordinates wrong and took everyone on a wild goose chase. After leading them 100 yards in the wrong direction she realized her mistake and blushed with embarrassment. What an idiot. Couldn’t she get anything right?
Then Liz, Tim’s ten year old niece, found the cache, a camouflaged pickle jar, hanging in a cedar tree. As first finder she chose to keep a shiny blue marble, swapping a temporary tattoo of a frog. Everyone gathered, laughing and congratulating Liz.
They seemed happy, but a headache was starting at the base of Barb’s skull and her smile felt pasted on as she studied the next coordinates. “Will you check this?” she asked Tim, “I got us lost for awhile.”
“No one cared.”
“I did.”
The next site was harder to reach. Instead of a stroll on the beach the trail led steadily upward. There were switchbacks, logs to climb over, and branches to duck. The group began to fall apart. She’d given the GPS and simple instructions to the children. Faster and more focused, they quickly took the lead. Older family members fell off in groups to chat, to point out a distant fishing boat, or comment on the wildflowers.
It was chaos.
Then, a horrible thought--what had she been thinking? She had taken people who lived at the beach--to the beach. They couldn’t think this was fun. They were trying to be nice, to be kind to Tim’s odd wife, who’d dragged them away from more interesting pastimes to play a silly child’s game. The headache throbbed.
When a yell of triumph rang across the dune grass and sand she was so grateful she felt like crying. Now the ordeal could end.
They decided to meet for lunch at a restaurant on 101 with great pizza and an ocean view. The lunch crowd was large and boisterous but the noise was a welcome distraction from Barb’s increasingly frenzied thoughts.
She was sipping a glass of root beer when her mother-in-law slid into the seat across from her. Before she had time to settle in Barb was apologizing.
“You must think I’m crazy, dragging everyone out here, making them waste an entire day.”
“Making them? You can’t make them do anything. You should know this family better by now,” she laughed. “Not a one of them is helpless. If they get hungry they eat. If they get sleepy they nap. If they get bored, trust me, they leave. They are all very good at taking care of themselves.”
Could it be true? Barb thought about her alcoholic dad and her chronically depressed mom. She thought about her sisters, how as they grew up, they each took their turn at hiding the car keys, paying the bills, staying ever vigilant, because the truth was their parents could not take care of themselves.
Would she ever be able to trust that the people in her life could?
Could she really let go of need to control and be responsible for everyone? Just imagining that it might be possible was…suddenly she understood Tim’s sense of calm, the freedom. She felt as buoyant as that ship they’d watched bobbing on the ocean earlier. Could she hold on to that feeling?
As she looked out at the sparkling sunlight and the waves she realized she had a lot to think about, a lot of work ahead. She didn’t know if she was capable of that much change.
All she really knew was that she’d be taking much more than seashells home from the beach.
Tim’s, “Relax honey,” his endless, frustrating calm made her want to scream.
After a decade of happily-ever-after his family was still a mystery. Theirs was a tight-knit clan, who’d grown up in the same small town, hung out with people they’d known since kindergarten. It was so alien to an army brat who’d attended seventeen schools before turning thirteen.
“Our childhoods were so different,” mused Barb. “I wonder if we’d have liked each other as children.”
“I know I’d have liked you,” said Tim, “I don’t think you’d have liked me.”
“Why?”
“You were too angry.”
Barb couldn’t deny it. She returned to packing.
She was thinking about children, about the nieces and nephews, when she suggested geocaching. It was a sport she enjoyed, a reason to get outside, take long walks and discover hidden green spaces around Portland.
The sport reminded her of scavenger hunts she and her sisters had played. Of course they hadn’t needed a GPS or a website to find the hidden treasure, or caches as they were now called. They’d been purely low-tech back then.
Times had changed. This morning she’d had to nudge her father-in-law away from his computer long enough to log-on and print a few of the local caches. She concentrated on ones hidden on the beach, imagining a hunt for pirate’s gold.
She explained their quarry were small plastic containers holding such search worthy objects as golf balls, erasers and the ever popular “free with your kids-meal” toy. No one seemed disappointed, and riding the wave of enthusiasm, Barb smiled as they dove into their cars.
At the first location she read the coordinates wrong and took everyone on a wild goose chase. After leading them 100 yards in the wrong direction she realized her mistake and blushed with embarrassment. What an idiot. Couldn’t she get anything right?
Then Liz, Tim’s ten year old niece, found the cache, a camouflaged pickle jar, hanging in a cedar tree. As first finder she chose to keep a shiny blue marble, swapping a temporary tattoo of a frog. Everyone gathered, laughing and congratulating Liz.
They seemed happy, but a headache was starting at the base of Barb’s skull and her smile felt pasted on as she studied the next coordinates. “Will you check this?” she asked Tim, “I got us lost for awhile.”
“No one cared.”
“I did.”
The next site was harder to reach. Instead of a stroll on the beach the trail led steadily upward. There were switchbacks, logs to climb over, and branches to duck. The group began to fall apart. She’d given the GPS and simple instructions to the children. Faster and more focused, they quickly took the lead. Older family members fell off in groups to chat, to point out a distant fishing boat, or comment on the wildflowers.
It was chaos.
Then, a horrible thought--what had she been thinking? She had taken people who lived at the beach--to the beach. They couldn’t think this was fun. They were trying to be nice, to be kind to Tim’s odd wife, who’d dragged them away from more interesting pastimes to play a silly child’s game. The headache throbbed.
When a yell of triumph rang across the dune grass and sand she was so grateful she felt like crying. Now the ordeal could end.
They decided to meet for lunch at a restaurant on 101 with great pizza and an ocean view. The lunch crowd was large and boisterous but the noise was a welcome distraction from Barb’s increasingly frenzied thoughts.
She was sipping a glass of root beer when her mother-in-law slid into the seat across from her. Before she had time to settle in Barb was apologizing.
“You must think I’m crazy, dragging everyone out here, making them waste an entire day.”
“Making them? You can’t make them do anything. You should know this family better by now,” she laughed. “Not a one of them is helpless. If they get hungry they eat. If they get sleepy they nap. If they get bored, trust me, they leave. They are all very good at taking care of themselves.”
Could it be true? Barb thought about her alcoholic dad and her chronically depressed mom. She thought about her sisters, how as they grew up, they each took their turn at hiding the car keys, paying the bills, staying ever vigilant, because the truth was their parents could not take care of themselves.
Would she ever be able to trust that the people in her life could?
Could she really let go of need to control and be responsible for everyone? Just imagining that it might be possible was…suddenly she understood Tim’s sense of calm, the freedom. She felt as buoyant as that ship they’d watched bobbing on the ocean earlier. Could she hold on to that feeling?
As she looked out at the sparkling sunlight and the waves she realized she had a lot to think about, a lot of work ahead. She didn’t know if she was capable of that much change.
All she really knew was that she’d be taking much more than seashells home from the beach.
