Though I have lived in New Hampshire since 1995, the beach in winter has not yet lost its novelty for this Florida cracker, remaining for me an exotic inversion of the warm Gulf beaches of my youth in St. Petersburg:  white sand and palm trees replaced by rocks and sea ice.  Finding myself solo this Christmas Day and the sun shining after so luckily dodging the damage Winter Storm Elliott’s bomb cyclone might have brought, I slept late, had a fine breakfast of Quiche Lorraine and pears, and headed to Wallis Sands for a stroll. 

There I was met by many delights:  a sky so clear that the Isles of Shoals seemed near, bundled-up pleasant company wishing me Merry Christmas and spotting me as I unsteadily negotiated the granite rock barrier that separates the public from the private beach, and a man pretending to be a polar bear by braving the 26^o air temperature (plus a stiff, cold ocean wind) to the vastly amused disbelief of onlookers.

Not for me “the eternal note of sadness”!   The “tremulous cadence slow” of lapping waves that depressed Matthew Arnold has always been for me a comfort, recalling long beach walks with my loving dad and later my wonderful ex-Navy brother-in-law Neil, who never tired of strolling the beach at Naval Air Station North Island, Coronado (also home of the Del Coronado, aka “The Del,” the historic 1888 beach resort, a San Diego icon that played the role of the Seminole Ritz in the 1959 film Some Like it Hot—which streams in every room on a continuous loop, another delightful memory).

I returned home to a warm fire, some carefully selected presents to open, and an excellent Christmas dinner completed with a slice of the fruitcake I baked from Neil’s beloved Liz’s gift, a gorgeously extravagant platter of dried California fruit.

Much virtue in a day at the beach, whatever the season.

Happy Holidays!  Happy New Year to come!