Most of us know why we celebrate Memorial Day - to honor those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for their country. For our country. But how? How can a person do such a thing, especially now when many of the institutions we cherish (the Post Office, the Ice Cream man) are in a state of unprecedented flux?
We carry on the best we can, pretending as if things were different. Quite different indeed. We go on as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. We sacrifice our good judgment for their good patriotism. We grill, we complain, we take things for granted. It's the American way.
Traditionally, Memorial Day is the traditional opening of summer. The beginning of water fights and sand castles, boogie boarding and the lathering of sunscreen. I screen, you screen, we all screen for sunscreen. Or, as the French say, "la creme." With the Ultra Violet index going in the opposite direction of my 401k, it's wise to pack on a thick layer of high SPF. Imagine you're spreading some butter cream on a holiday cake. Only you're that cake and please, whatever you do, don't ingest. The good people down at the Poison Control Center deserve a day without incident.
But summer is, first and foremost, a mental state. A season for dressing inappropriately. Donning loud shirts and louder coughs. Short shorts and shorter fuses. Summer is a fine time for reflection. The ocean allows for contemplation. We rarely get shortchanged during summer the way winter occasionally takes a year off. Summer puts in the work, year after year. Although, winter allows for the best reflection, when the water is frozen solid and mirror-like. Then you see everything you've been running from for months staring back at you in disgust.
Crowds all over the New York area flocked to the beaches for perfect beach weather. Mid 60s air temp, mid 50s water temp. Now mind you, the water is a bit balmy for me. I prefer a frosty surf, akin to what those prehistoric road trippers dealt with during their infamous cruise across the land bridge. When discussions of social distancing come up, they conspicuously omit the factor of depth. 6 feet below someone and you should be A OK. Though it does require strong lungs and an impeccable sense of your underwater bearings.
There's a lot a person can learn from a close examination of a NOAA surf index. You really should use it to live your life. There's no point in hightailing it to the Caribbean when all you need is right here in Queens. Sandy white beaches and blue sky, with a steady stream of seagulls and jumbo jets barreling out of JFK. The 777 in its natural habitat. While most of us dismiss tides as a lunar happening, it's worth noting that we measure surf height. Not unlike the two most precious commodities around - our desk chairs and our children. Weirdly, Thunderstorm Potential is an underrated band from the early 80s, who dominated the boardwalk scene at the time with hits like "Dance at your own risk" and "Sink, damnit, sink." Every song was penned by the notorious frontman, Rip Current. The band released two compilation albums "From Sunrise to Sunset" and "Winds & Tides." One day Rip drove out to the beach and said, "if I'm not back by Labor Day, find a new lead singer."
He never came back. Their instrumental follow-up "Always Wear White" was dedicated to his memory. In a way, he too gave the ultimate sacrifice. Not for his country or his fellow citizens, but for summer. They weren't a winter band because they had no stomach for caroling.
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