Checks and Balances

As the sun commences it's descent, the dinner dishes are put away, Sarah props her feet on the sofa and rubs our baby and the girls busy themselves with whatever girls do, I make my way to the Beach for an Ocean swim.

Shuffling my feet through the cool soft sand, I marvel at the giant purple clouds hanging in the sky, stars on the water from distant boats and channel buoys as the Sea settles down for the night.

At the high water mark I place my glass of wine in the sand, lay my I-Pod on top along with my cap and sunglasses and slide into the salt water.

Slumbering waves softly roll in taking me up and tenderly letting me down.

I turn my back to the island and the mainland behind it ... the telephone poles and satellite dishes ... politics and nightly news ... organized religion and reality TV ... criminals and police cars lying in wait for victims ... noise.

The Ocean bubbles and slaps ... ebbs and flows ... rises and falls.

A pod of Dolphins smile as they slice through the water.

A pelican dives into an unsuspecting school of fish grabbing dinner.

Stingray swim by in the same V formation pelicans fly pass overhead.

I am baptized in the same Holiness where God spawned life in the first place.

Remaining in the water, I lose track of time ... it could be an hour ... perhaps just ten minutes ... "with the Lord a day is a thousand years and a thousand years but a day."

Slowly making my way out, I grab the wine, put my hat on and shuffle through the sand to one of the swings on the beach and resume prayers.

I love this time.

So when the old man waves at me with a smile, shuffling his feet quickly towards me, I groan at the interruption.

He is Indian, old with the nicest of smiles without a single tooth in his mouth. A red smudge adorns a dark brown forehead.

"Hi," I mumble being nice pulling the buds from my ears just as Brian Wilson is reminding me "Guess you had to be there."

"How tall you are?" he smiles. Tell me."

"What?"

Holding one hand above my head, he repeats, "How tall you are?"

"Oh! Five feet ten."

"Hand me your phone," he toothlessly grins in an infectious sort of way so I hand him my phone and he calculates standing on the beach.

"You are overweight," he beams. "This is what you should weigh," and he hands me my phone flashing a ridiculously low number.

I scowl.

"But," he smile, "you have all of your teeth. I have none."

"Checks and balances," I think.

"Okay," he smiles and shuffles away in the soft sand.

"Only on Tybee," I mutter, grinning a toothy grin.