A Tide of Memories
As my grandson snacked at the kitchen island, we chatted about our experiences on the beach the previous day. In the wake of Tropical Storm Debby, the waves continued to churn, though with less ferocity. The double red flag warning that greeted us upon arrival had given way to a yellow flag. The beach was covered with a constellation of crushed shells.
Glancing at the tide clock hanging by the back door, I noted that the tide was going out. The clock’s accuracy was easily verifiable with a glance out the window: the water in the canal was flowing toward the ocean, with laughing gulls gathering on the recently exposed sandbars.
My grandson was enthralled to learn that high and low tides are caused by the moon. I am glad he did not press me for details, as he often does, because I suddenly realized the limits of my lunar understanding.
On the beach at dusk that evening, I looked up at the sky and smiled at the sight of the waxing crescent moon. Before I could resume pondering the mystery of the tides, a childhood memory washed ashore.
I am standing in the doorway of a beach house on the Atlantic coast, clutching my Malibu Barbie. Looking up at the sky, I watch as a Saturn V rocket gains altitude. When I glance over my shoulder at the television set in the living room, I view the same scene from a different angle. I am enthralled.
This is the moment when I realize for the first time that I am part of the wider world. The launch of Apollo 15 is a communal event. People up and down the Florida coast are craning their necks to the sky, watching a rocket propel three astronauts toward the fourth lunar landing. Millions of people around the world are viewing the spectacle on their television sets, anticipating the first deployment of the Lunar Roving Vehicle, a.k.a the “Moon Buggy.”
The potency of that 53-year-old memory lingered as I returned to the beach house, where we gathered around the television to view the 2024 Summer Olympics. Once again, I was immersed in a global communal experience. Once again, I was reminded that I am part of the wider world. Throughout the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad, I realized the limits of my geographic and geopolitical knowledge. I also realized that I need to brush up on my vexillology. (Such a great word.)
On the final evening of our vacation, we returned once more to the beach. As I looked up at the darkening sky, I caught a glimpse of the now first quarter moon through a break in the clouds. Another lunar memory formed.
Time marches on. The moon orbits the earth. The tides rise and fall. I gaze at the moon. I know others are watching, too.
Invitation to Wonder: What is your earliest memory of a communal experience? What other memories shape your understanding of your place in the world?
