We spent last week in New Smyrna Beach, Florida. It’s an amiable beach town with a rather unsettling reputation as the “Shark Bite Capital of the World.’’
So we made a pledge not to wade past our ankles as part of our 41st honeymoon anniversary prenups. Delinda spotted a shark in the shallow waters on our first day, but that’s not to say there weren’t more out there lurking beneath the surface. We managed to return home with all our appendages.
I brought along a new pair of Crocs. That’s a photo of them next to the surf. Most folks post beach pictures of their toes in the sand. I’m sticking with indestructible, black rubber. (My feet are safe from shark bites.)
I love my Crocs. They’re groovy. Of course, my sons have always thought they are totally uncool. That’s why I buy them … to embarrass and annoy my children. One of my former creative writing students came to the defense of Crocs. “I’ve got holes in my shoes,’’ he told me, “ so my swag can breathe.”
Here are a few observations I made about salt life on my last week of summer vacation.
I’m not sure how anyone could watch a sunrise over the ocean and not believe in God. When the Lord paints a sunrise, with brush strokes of yellow and orange, it is more lovely than any artwork on any wall in any gallery.