... right there on the surf ... well, on the turf of the surf. I had remembered everything for our beach vacation except dish soap and mustard ... and the camera's battery charger, I realized too late.It's like trying to apply thoughtful answer to the question, "What would you do w/ only one week to live?" Try, "What would you photograph w/ about 30 seconds of battery life?" On the beach. Nothing but sweaty, tired kids. Men w/o shirts. A rainbow of Igloo coolers. Battered tarps. Ice cream-stained forearms and elbows. Plastic sidetables w/ bean dip and Fritoes. And OFF. Empty beer cans.
Would my battery have lasted another day or two, or had I remembered to bring the charger, I would've taken some exterior full-body shots of the RV that I've discussed to such exhaustion. I've only a couple photographs of the interior of that gas-guzzling behemoth. One where we're huddled (driver, two boys, DOG and me) in the cab of said vehicle w/ 31 ft of travel space behind us. Beds, a table, all sorts of lounging apparati at our disposal, but cozily surrounding the driver as we hurtle thru downtown "4th Largest City in the Nation" towing a Jeep, THAT'S where we wanted to be.
The Tall One to Whom I am Married later told me that was "stressful." He thought I should've been "entertaining the kids back there or something." That hurt. I had books to read. In the air conditioning. That was MY plan. STRESSFUL. Phhht.
I also have one of the kids and dog looking out the rear window before we departed. Kinda of an eager "we don't get out of town much" shot. But, I don't have one of the dog sleeping in my camping bed. The hair in my laundry is proof she was there. I also don't have one of her with her beagle head on my pillow. Damn dog.
I don't have pictures of the boys sleeping til 10 most mornings in the sweet chill of refrigerated RV air.
I've no photos of us plugging in our camping rig and blowing up the downstairs electrical system of the nice guy at the beach who loaned us his downstairs plug.
I've no pictures of it being repaired the next day. Repaired to the point that we were adequately air-conditioned unless he tried to dry his laundry.
I don't have pictures of the perfect skies, NO rain, few mosquitoes, near human-less beaches, perfect fireworks.
I DO NOT have a picture of the crab nachos and shrimp poboys for which I endure a week of beach life.
I DO have a shot of The Big One so proudly driving w/ great caution and pride a golf cart over a short stretch of beach countless times and being the ONE IN CHARGE of taking the mommies to a suitable, sandless bathroom.
I've no pictures of us taking only outdoor showers all week. Not that I've EVER had any of those. I think I could really dig having an outdoor shower in the backyard.
I've no pictures of me finishing the sleezy beach read w/ great enjoyment, scanning blogging reference books w/ great speed (what was I thinking taking REFERENCE books to the beach) and beginning the heaviest book I've ever read. I think I'm going to like it. It has men in kilts.
I have no pictures of the wood floor at Gruene Hall. Been there a bajillion times and have just realized that THOSE are the wood floors I want in my house. Guarantee the Gruene Hall-bearers are not worried about a few little scratches.
I have no pictures of the boys near the rainswollen Guadalupe River. Awesome. And close enough to the water to make their Grandmommy wince ... and gasp.
I would not have been fast enough to capture The Short One on one WORLD FAMOUS waterslide at one WORLD FAMOUS waterpark. He was moving too fast in his yellow life vest to catch his fists-wielding "woooo hoooooo!"
I probably have a few shots of little boys w/ sand-coated hair and greasy sunscreened noses.
All of a sudden our lovely, photograph-worthy nieces don't WISH to be photographed. But, I think I snuck in a couple.
I don't have photos of the smiles on our faces when we returned home.
My lens is not wide enough to record the piles of laundry and unemptied coolers of beach food.
Got THIS ONE seconds before the battery died. Told you. His feet hang to his daddy's knees. Or at least they will next year.