The Christmas We Went to Coney Island

We typically partake of the majority of Christmas activities on Christmas Eve, leaving much time for leisure on Christmas Day. With a few hours to spend doing nothing, at the insistence of the Pumpkin, we decided to drive to Coney Island.

Coney Island, Brooklyn

I love the beach during the winter. It’s desolate and peaceful and the landscape has the most comforting color scheme. Normally, we huddle together, bundled up tight against the winds, drinking hot beverage. However, this has been the warmest December ever and the Pumpkin and I got our knees wet.

Coney Island, Brooklyn

I briefly considered going full in. However, one has to gingerly approach the seafloor residents (crabs) to avoid pinching which requires more time than the temperature of the water allows. I made it to my thighs before my toes started to protest. If I had had water shoes it would have been swim time. I believe the only thing keeping the Pumpkin out of the water was her cast.

Coney Island, Brooklyn

I was wearing a very full skirt and the Pumpkin was running around, which reminded me of the beach scene in the movie The Piano. I might have pitched a tent with my skirt but alas, no.

Coney Island, Brooklyn

Coney Island, Brooklyn

Contemplating the serenity, father and daughter. We ask ourselves during moments like this, why we left. What would have happened if we would have stayed. Of course, Brooklyn and New York are lovely when everyone is gone out of town on vacation. When the only sounds are of the subway in the far distance and the crashing of the waves and…

Coney Island, Brooklyn

The Chipmunks. Like the entire holiday album was on repeat over the loud speaker. Someone thought the Chipmunks might have been the least offensive to play during Christmas at the beach but no. It was like having a pebble in ones shoe; a gnat in one’s ear. God-awful it was.

Coney Island, Brooklyn

Back to nature, and two gentlemen who were swimming in the water in wet suits searching for something. I love the designs the water leaves in the sand; like roots of a tree. How does the sand and water know to do that? There are no trees here.

Coney Island, Brooklyn

Evidence of my presence. The one who observes, rarely is observed herself. But my affects are fair game and my footprints.

I was also glad to capture a photo for a new header as the swimming pool wasn’t working. Ahhhh, much better.

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