And a feeling like you've been here before, ‘cause you've been here before.
I’ve reflected on this before, but it never ceases to amaze me the good that some water, sand, and sun does me, especially in the off season. The cold season. To me, there’s something magical and restorative about the sea and the sand in the winter; the smell of the salt in the frigid air, the sight of a boardwalk with its boarded up summer businesses and the other wintertime revelers out and about, like me, bundled up in coats, hats, and scarves. And sunglasses. How great is that. Wearing sunglasses in the winter, because the sun cutting through the crystal clear sky is brutal and unforgiving, and magnified when it reflects off of the water. The air is cold but the sun is warm, and the water is rough and reminds me of other times when the air is warm and the water is full of people in bathing suits. Couldn’t get a tan now if I tried.
I went to Coney Island on Saturday. Took myself out there, and reveled in the things I’ve just described. What a day. What a place. I’ll always be in love with it, and I always forget that when a significant period of time goes by between visits. When I was a child, Coney Island was such a mystery. I would see it in the distance, the parachute ride, the ferris wheel, and the top of the Cyclone (I’ve always had a thing for roller coasters) peeking out between the buildings on the Belt Parkway as I drove with my family to visit relatives in Brooklyn and Long Island. I asked about it every time, and couldn’t get enough of the stories of that crazy place, supposed to have fallen into disrepair and abandoned after its brief heyday. They would tell me stories of people getting stuck on the menacing looking parachute ride, people getting killed on the Cyclone. Maybe true, maybe urban legends, but in my mind they only heightened the appeal of this faraway wonderland.
The first time I made it out there, ten years ago probably, really was magical for me. Not just because it was the fulfillment of a destiny established in childhood, but also because of its stunning mixture of life and decay. Coney Island still is that for sure, but every time you go now there’s more life and less decay. Not that that’s a bad thing, but I’ll never forget that first time, those first impressions. And I can’t be there without thinking about that, and reflecting on those family members that came before me, reveling there under such different circumstances, and the legacy they’ve left behind.
Saturday was no different. I reflected on the past and the future, and also made peace with and gave thanks for the present. I read Kafka on the rides there and back, which though not planned, seemed oddly appropriate. And I arrived home that afternoon refreshed and renewed.
Such is the power of the sun and the sand on a sunny winter’s day.
I went to Coney Island on Saturday. Took myself out there, and reveled in the things I’ve just described. What a day. What a place. I’ll always be in love with it, and I always forget that when a significant period of time goes by between visits. When I was a child, Coney Island was such a mystery. I would see it in the distance, the parachute ride, the ferris wheel, and the top of the Cyclone (I’ve always had a thing for roller coasters) peeking out between the buildings on the Belt Parkway as I drove with my family to visit relatives in Brooklyn and Long Island. I asked about it every time, and couldn’t get enough of the stories of that crazy place, supposed to have fallen into disrepair and abandoned after its brief heyday. They would tell me stories of people getting stuck on the menacing looking parachute ride, people getting killed on the Cyclone. Maybe true, maybe urban legends, but in my mind they only heightened the appeal of this faraway wonderland.
The first time I made it out there, ten years ago probably, really was magical for me. Not just because it was the fulfillment of a destiny established in childhood, but also because of its stunning mixture of life and decay. Coney Island still is that for sure, but every time you go now there’s more life and less decay. Not that that’s a bad thing, but I’ll never forget that first time, those first impressions. And I can’t be there without thinking about that, and reflecting on those family members that came before me, reveling there under such different circumstances, and the legacy they’ve left behind.
Saturday was no different. I reflected on the past and the future, and also made peace with and gave thanks for the present. I read Kafka on the rides there and back, which though not planned, seemed oddly appropriate. And I arrived home that afternoon refreshed and renewed.
Such is the power of the sun and the sand on a sunny winter’s day.
posted by P/O at 1/09/2006 12:00:00 PM
4 Comments:
Amen.
Sadly I have never been to Coney Island. 10 years in nyc and have never made it out there. However, in my defense much of those years were spent in The Bronx and I've seen MUCH more of The Bronx than most people can say and that is actually me bragging because of all the bad rap it gets there's lots of great stuff to see in The Bronx.
However, now you have me convinced. Next free random weekend taking the wife out to Coney Island!
If you don't already have it, download Coney Island by Death Cab for Cutie immediately.
Years ago I had a winter rental in Atlantic Beach and one cold but bright Sunday morning I bought some coffee and went to look at the water. It was shimmering in the morning sun and a girl was standing by the water - on the hard sand - dancing, doing pirouettes. I thought of Dylan - "To dance beneath diamond skies with one hand waving free, silhoueted by the sea, circled by the circus sands with alll memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves..." After a few minutes, I took my memories and left. Perfection should not be tampered with. Thirty years later and it still gives me pleasure. Yes the beach is restorative.
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