Whoever Built that House I Stay in at the Beach: Thirty People in 30 Days

Day 2 of 30

Outer Banks

So, I know the history behind the Outer Banks. The stories about pirates and treasure, ship wrecks and the stormy seas. The Wrights even have their own special memorial there that I've visited. They are great, wonderful inventors, and I highly recommend visiting the memorial if you ever find yourself in the area, but this post is to the builder of the house I stay at during my week long vacation every summer with my family and our friends about two blocks back from the Atlantic coast.

Since before I was born my parents and a number of family friends and relatives have been pushing through the 7+ hour drive it takes to reach the house.  That doesn't include the countless hours of planning. I remember the "beach planning" parties my Aunt used to have each summer before we left. Not so secretly, I think they all just used this as an excuse to get together, have a few drinks, and enjoy themselves.  The lists were real, however, couples were in charge of one meal a night, and plans were in fact made. When they made these plans between the laughter, jokes, and story telling I'll never know...


So to that building/designer/owner (I honestly don't have a clue who he is), thank you for designing the perfect place for the memories we've created together. Thank you for allowing us to borrow your piece of land, your weathered decks, the pool that oddly enough seems to collect frogs in the early morning. With out, I would have missed out on a number of lessons in the last twenty-two years.

Since I've been alive our family has only missed going to the Outer Banks two years. The first was the year everyone in the group seemed to have different plans and we ended up staying in some place at Ocean City Maryland (nice, but not the Outer Banks by a long shot), and the last was the summer of 2010-2011. My sister was in between two surgeries and the right decision was to not go.

That beach, that house, somewhere between Corolla and the Town of Duke, between TimBuckII and the BBQ place we frequent each summer lies a number of my childhood memories. Hacky-Sac in the garage during a storm, water balloon fights with the neighbors across the street, my cousin Will hiding the monkey my parents bought me, singing THE original songs that my generation of pop stars attempted to redo, making sand castles with my neighbors, burying toes, getting so burnt my dad took me to the in door community pool... they are all there. Memories I've collected and am finally old enough to cherish.

So thank you very kind sir for your beach house for our week of vacation each summer. It is because of that house that I learned a very valuable lesson about life... it goes by. It look all year to plan, hours of driving, tons of packing and repacking (because lets face it, my dad was not prepared to have two girls clothing choices fit into one suitcase...), and in one week, seven days, we would do the same in reverse to come home to our dog a the time, the need to collect our mail from the post office, and to realize that we did in fact finish two bags of combos in seven hours...

Fonzi. Happy Days. Get it?

So breath it in, because you've got what, a solid 80 years here if we're lucky? Take a moment to dig your feet into the sand, or ride the waves in, jump from the diving board into the pool yelling "FOR FONZI"  (or whatever you want to yell!), and watch the fireworks on the 4th with your favorite people. Because life is short, but if we stop waiting for life to begin, and start enjoying everyday we're blessed to live... we might just get to 80 and be glad we went to that beach house every year and reclaimed a bit of our childhood.