I never really thought of myself as a "beach" person. For one, my fair skin and the sun do not get along. No matter how much sunscreen I slather on I always end up with weird blotchy burns. Second, it's kinda hard to like the beach when you're not a fan of sand. Third, I grew up in a household where a familiar saying was, "If you've seen one beach, you've seen them all."

Yet the older I get, the more I want to get away to the beach. Last weekend, P and I went down to Orange Beach, the lovely Redneck Riviera, for a three day weekend. This was not the beach trip of our college days where we divided our time equally between laying out and the FloraBama (and plenty of sleeping in to recover from the latter). In fact, we did not visit the establishment at all. We had a grown-up spring break.

I needed this weekend of sleeping, reading, eating and relaxing. I woke up early and sat on the balcony and watched the waves. I lost myself in books to block any work-related thoughts from creeping into my mind. P and I walked to the jetties and sat on the warm, smooth rocks. We gorged ourselves on seafood (mostly fried) and were so full after dinner, the FloraBama wasn't even an option.

It was on this trip that I decided I am a beach person. The beach gave me what I needed--time to be still and quiet and listen to the waves and feel the sun.