the beach in front of the Pelican Retreat House

Heaven. I'll risk the hyperbole. For all of my tendencies to whine, taking pea princess into cartoon land, my loudest inner moan today is not wanting to leave tomorrow morning. Of course I may ask to stay longer, however I am booked into Bon Paul and Sharky's Hostel (can you believe it?) in Asheville, to the west and in the mountains. At least close to the mountains. I'm not prepared to cancel the hostel's one private room.... just yet. 

I'd booked this self-directed time here at the Trinity Conference Center's Pelican Retreat House (that was a mouthful) called Personal Time. I found it by scouring through various websites with criteria such as "retreat centers," "Episcopal," "religious communities." Piecing together this so far wondrous USA Road Trip has been a bit of a hiccupy process....but stumbling across a beachfront Episcopal retreat house in North Carolina felt like finding an enormous chest of golden treasure. I have a room with a view, like-minded and really interesting retreat housemates, catered meals that are just way too delicious for words, the Holy Spirit present while two-lane resort traffic zooms by on Hwy. 58.... for $70/night. I had felt edgy about having 'five whole days' with less structure than my normally manic whirl of a life is used to. It is in fact such a sacred and restful space in which to sink that I have abandoned otherwise laudable desires to explore the Outer Banks (Kitty Hawk, Nags Head, every lighthouse imaginable), particularly since realizing that it's just not a day trip unless you have your own boat. 

Instead I sit in the sand and watch for ghost crabs, who are more hypervigilant and skittish than I can be. I do not envy a life of being constantly on the lookout for sea birds who are constantly on the lookout for their next meal. This might be analogous to the movie Finding Nemo except I have not seen all of it although I do remember one crab holding up another above the water line with the diving gulls crying, "Mine! Mine! Mine!" A ghost crab and I got into a staring contest. The crab won. 

I have not been in the ocean in many many many years. The water is warm here, unlike the Pacific. I last lived close to the ocean in Venice Beach in the late 1980's and early 1990's. The Santa Monica Bay was and is still renown for being so polluted it could send you to the local ER, so I wouldn't even wade. Yesterday I went in up to my chest. I felt like an exultant 5-year-old. Today - if the waves and rip currents are kind - I shall dive in as long as a strong swimmer is close by. One of the retreatants is a young lad who claims he was on his high school swimming team. Score! For the record I have taken swimming lessons three times in my life - at ages 6, 14 and 35. In spite of this, I have almost drowned on perhaps four occasions. Deep water and I keep a cautious distance. Today we explore the friendship.