upon my return

A few days ago, I was so happy to have a day where I could go for a long walk on the beach. I walked from the parking lot, down the path, and then stopped at the boundary between the beachside vegetation and the sand. As is the custom here, I slipped off my sandals and nestled them into a naupaka bush for safekeeping. No need to carry them while I walked; I knew they would still be there on my return. 

It was a windy and wondrous day. My thoughts rushed in and out like the waves licking my ankles. I’d already had a good thirty minutes of solitude, when my cell phone rang. Glorious things cell phones, you can be reached anywhere. I could see that it was a girlfriend returning my call. Perfect timing, I thought. 
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So as I finished my walk back up the beach, we chatted about my grown daughter, my friend’s daughter, the progress on our kitchen renovation, and a new love interest in my friend’s life. This was wonderful news. I focused all my attention on the details she was sharing. While she talked and I listened, I left the beach, washed the sand off my feet at the showers, went back up the path, and back into my car. The phone connected with the car’s bluetooth and we finished the call while I drove home. 

As I pulled into my driveway and turned off the car, I went to put my shoes on so that I could walk into the house. Then it hit me, I had left them in the bushes! The trip back to the beach was half an hour, one way, and it was dinnertime. So I went in and said to my husband, “You’ll laugh when I tell you what I just did.” 

“Are you going to go back and get them?” he asked.

“Yes, I think I will. They are a pretty good pair of shoes. I wear them all the time. Don’t really want to lose them. But it will have to be tomorrow.”

“I bet they will still be there,” he reassured me.

“I think so, too. Even at night no one will take them. They should still be there in the morning.”

So the next day, I got up and headed back. I parked the car in the beach parking lot, and then retraced my steps. As I walked toward the ocean, I played the scene out in my head both ways—how I’d feel if they were still there and how I’d feel if I’d lost them. Finally I made it to the end of the path, and there, right where I had stashed them, were my sandals. 
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With a big sigh of relief, I thought, “They were safe here until my return. That’s just one of many things I love about living in Hawaii. But I’ll try not to press my luck next time.”