The Sand

The Sand

The Sand
Once, I filled my car with sand. OK, “filled” is an exaggeration – it was ankle deep. Looking back, I must have really been missing the beach. Surfers don’t love sand as much as you’d think. Sand is that annoying stuff in between the car and the waves. It messes up our wax and jams the tent poles. Sand bottoms don’t even make for the best surf. But there I was…

I’d set out to put some new speakers in my Honda wagon and vacuum it out a bit (which I did, go figure). Then the light went on; This is MY car, and I’m going to mark my turf. This is my friggin IDENTITY, man! How cool is THAT: SAND for carpeting.

Now, I’ll admit, this was a long time before I owned a surf camp. My relationship with sand was still at this time, … platonic.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that my wife hated any sand in her car. My car however, was the daddy-surf-beach car. I was the party dad that took the kids to the beach, and brought them back home looking like sugar donuts. Yeah, after a long day at the beach you can stop at the shower and TRY to shine ’em up a bit, but they’re kids – you might as well write off the interior. Whenever we returned from the beach, my wife would run out there with the vacuum before we could even get the doors open.

I told a friend about my new flooring, and he said, “..Oh, I guess your carpets are shot, huh?”  “Nope”, I said, “they’re fine”.  He looked at me with that same evacuous look the dog makes when you pretend to throw the stick.

The sand I used is the same ‘store bought’ sand we put in the kids sandbox. What a world: You can actually BUY SAND. Somebody in the Sahara desert is having a good laugh. It comes in a bag at The Home Depot. Amongst the uses listed on the bag, you won’t find “fill up your car”.

The good part was my wife was out of town with the kids during this makeover. First thing when she got back she says, “I’m going to the store, …takin’ your car.”  I shouted back, “OK,…(snicker, snicker)”  Then I waited behind the door like a guy who’d just thrown a grenade.

That was years ago, and she still thinks it was one of my stupid practical jokes devised just for her. I explained it was my way of always having a little bit of beach with me. Then the part that got me was when she said, “…But, it’s not like it’s anything special. I mean it’s just that stuff we buy for the sandbox, right?” Like this whole thing would make perfect sense if I filled it with designer sand.

The adventure lasted a couple of months before it got, well,… real messy, and I had to empty it and return to civilization. My wife came running with the Oreck, cursing me the whole time.

These days, I get all the sand I need with the surf camp, all summer long; I doubt that I’d ever fill my car with sand again.

And if I DID, …uh, …I certainly wouldn’t pick up any more stray cats.



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