My sister has just returned home from a week by our ancestral ocean. The warm summer waters along the Outer Banks of North Carolina were our family's favorite vacation venue and my two Eastern siblings have kept up the tradition of going there regularly to body surf and eat fried fish and steamed crabs. I had thought of going to join my younger sister's family but because I thought of it rather late the airfares were high and decided against it. I do not know if I would have regretted the impracticality of going more than I regret the practicality of not going.

Waves in the West are cold and creative, like icy surgical knives on the jut-jawed continental face. The waves I remember from my youthful summers were like a therapist's hands, firm but gentle and oil-warm.

And I am in great need of a salty tumble in that therapist's oyster-scented hands.