AJ (picking up a seashell from the bathroom windowsill and holding it to his ear): I can hear the ocean!

Harriet: What does it sound like?

AJ: It�s Grandma and Pop�s ocean. There�s a big wave and it�s getting bigger and bigger and Grandma and Pop�s boat goes up and crashes down.

Harriet: Oh, no! Are they okay?

AJ: They just laughed. They thought it was fun.

� � � � �

There has been a lot of talk of oceans lately as we anticipate our trip to my parents� house near the beach in a couple of weeks. We�ve begun making our lists of what not to forget. My list includes things like finding a cat sitter and stopping the paper. AJ�s list has been limited to the things he wishes to bring. So far his list includes:

tricycle
race cars
basketball
soccer ball
baseball

Clearly he is much more in the proper frame of mind for a vacation. I am much more anxious about the whole thing. I was hoping that by our next trip east I would be done, that the change of scene would be well-earned. But I�ll have to settle for much needed instead. We are all ready for a break and could use a little help with the transition to our fall schedules.

While AJ is already to be there, I always need a little help unwinding. The long drive down helps, even though it brings with it its own stresses. I always find flying to such a radically different climate a little alarming. It is a particular shock in the winter to see snow out the window of the plane as you board only to arrive a couple of hours later to palm trees and shirt sleeves. You feel sheepish in your parka, uncertain of where to stash it.

The thing that always helps me is the smell of the ocean. The second I exit the plane there is that distinctive smell. It is a different smell from the fishy smells of the New England beaches of my youth. But this is a smell from my childhood too. My family�s been vacationing there since I was a kid. It�s the greatest continuity of place I have ever known, the only place I�ve been able to observe as an insider for decades instead of months or years.

As a teenager I would get up before everyone else and slip out the door, finding the narrow sand track that led to the beach almost by instinct. In the long shadows of the rising sun, I would walk for miles on the beach, only returning when I was hungry. Or I would find a secluded spot and sit, listening to the waves, watching the sanderlings run in and out of the water, seeing the dolphins rolling over, their pink bellies skyward. In our highly scheduled, circumscribed lives, this was the one place where we could run in and out without telling anyone where we were going or what we were doing.

AJ�s been there before � at least once every year of his life. But he hasn�t been since his second birthday. He�s so much more verbal now, that I find I�m really looking forward to the chance to see this place I love through his eyes. I�m looking forward to his first view of the beach. Last time he hung back, a little afraid of the bigness of it all. It wasn�t until we spotted some tide pools suitable for splashing and far enough from the waves that he began to relax and chase the seagulls.

I think some of my longing for the beach today is due to the fact that I had to schlep my laptop around the Chicago Loop at top speed on a hot and humid day. I spent several hours in the park district offices talking to the archivists about assorted park district events from the 1930s, and found some fabulous photos of some of the stuff I�m working on. My favorite souvenir of the day, however, is a map of the grounds of the Century of Progress. It�s over three feet long and about a foot tall and carefully drawn. The archivist carefully Xeroxed it for me at full size and trimmed it. It�s going up on my office wall as soon as I can figure out how to get it up there. Oh, and eggsaucted, you might be interested to know that they�re currently preparing an exhibit on the Century of Progress to open at the Chicago Architectural Foundation in September.

I spent most of my archival time reading the park district�s annual reports, which were much more interesting than I expected, although the most interesting parts weren�t particularly relevant to my current topic. While most of the material is typical annual report fare � financial records, attendance figures, details of capital projects, etc � the director of recreational programs wrote a small essay on his philosophy of what the parks should be doing for education and community development each year. These essays are clearly influenced by the Progressive movement � rather Marxist in sensibility. Their construction reveals an author who seems not only to have admirable (if occasionally misguided) convictions and acted on them. I think this is the first time ever that I have found myself inspired by an annual report. He�s going on my list of future projects.

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