It takes years of experience to know what you really need at the beach. Remembering back to my youth without scaring myself to death or naming any names, I recall how my beach baskets changed with time.
1960’s: big towels, Sun-In hair bleach, baby oil for tanning, transitor radio - tuned to 77WABC because the DJ, Cousin Brucie, would time your tan and say, “Okay, for you girls on the beach, it’s been fifteen minutes, time to turn over.” We basted ourselves in baby oil and turned on an imaginary spit on our towels to achieve the perfect tan. Sunblock did not exist. If you burned, you slathered on Noxema. Yoohoo in glass bottles with a bottle opener. Bologna sandwiches on Wonderbread. The bikini was just beginning to appear, but only sluts wore them. Cool sunglasses and floppy hat with Peter Maxx design. I love going to the beach. I love the peace, the beauty, I don’t mind the sand sticking to the baby oil on my body.
1970’s: big towels, Sun-In hair bleach and Love’s Baby Soft lotion instead of baby oil. Some expensive lotion from France arrived, called Ban de Soleil, and now there were vicious rumors circulating that we should not baste ourselves with oils, nor bask in the sun, something about skin cancer. Everyone wore a two piece, so now we had to tan our middles, skin cancer or no skin cancer, we had to be evenly tanned. Noxema, Fresca’s with the pull tabs on top so you can make pull tab necklaces on the beach. Hostess cupcakes (two in a pack), Devil Dogs and Slim Jim's. Cool sunglasses and brim hat with scarf. I love the beach. I never feel better than when I’m near the water.
1980’s: blanket from home that is on its last legs and beach towels that are brightly colored, but much thinner and with a shorter life than the beach towels of yesteryear. Suddenly there’s a man in my life and somehow, once we got married, he lost all his skills at being an independent adult. Now I have to pack beer and salami & cheese sandwiches. Worse than that, children have shown up claiming that I’m their mother and they have the papers on me to prove it. My two piece bikini has been retired and I’m back in a one piece, a Jansen with a formed cup bra. I have become my mother. I am dipping my small celtic children in 50 sunblock because they will burn if they are exposed to fireworks... The beach is too much work. I can’t track two kids on the beach. I tried just grabbing any little kid that ran close to me, figuring someone would grab one of mine and we could switch in the parking lot maybe, or maybe not - but everyone seems to want their own kids and no one wants any extras. I had cool glasses until I sat on them. My hair is a sun blown wreck. The beach is no longer fun. It’s where I get to do everything I have to do at home, but with sand.
1990’s We are no longer going to the beach unless we can drive up in a Winnebago and have it catered. My children are bratty monsters. Nothing pleases them. I am weighing the pros and cons of prison time against beating them into submission. Everyone has a cell phone with them on the beach, why? Aren’t they here to get away from everything and everyone? I hate listening to all the one-sided conversations. At least with two people in the flesh you can hear the whole argument and takes sides.
2000: Back to the beach. The children grew into people with brains and are considerate of others. I have no idea how this happened. I now spread an old comforter down and sit in a folding chair. I have a book in my beach basket, a book I can read without interruption. I have some kind of guilt free healthy drink and I am wearing sunblock, which sort of defeats to purpose of being in the sun, but I’m just choosing to live with the contradiction. I am in a one piece bathing suit that looks drapey on the outside but has an inner lattice work of struts and straps that rival the Eiffel Tower for uplifting engineering. I still refuse to buy a cell phone. Unless I’m on the list to receive a donated organ, I’m not granting the world access to me at the beach. I have genuine imitation Chanel sunglasses because at dusk, when the sun is directly in a passerby’s eyes, and if the passerby has had a few drinks, I might pass for Jackie O from the sunglasses up.
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