The Absent Uncle: Treasures in the sand

Back in the spring of 1973, I was in the Navy, just back from a Western Pacific cruise on the USS Kitty Hawk. My wife and I had a small bungalow in the Ocean Beach area of San Diego, a short block or two from the small beaches and rocky Pacific Ocean coastline around Sunset Cliffs. 

My parents had driven out to San Diego from Minnesota to stay with us, crowded ,in the very small bungalow. For the life of me I cannot remember where we slept that week, only remembering we gave up our bed for them to sleep in. It was very tight with all four of us in the small confines of that little cottage. My Dad had a stroke within the previous year that resulted in some mobility issues, nothing like the issues he faced after some later strokes that really hampered his walking, ultimately putting him in a wheelchair full time. 

But for this trip, he could walk with a cane and managed to walk down to the beach at least once a day, sometimes multiple times. Both he and Mom had never seen an ocean up close and personal before this trip. To have it within walking distance and have such a scenic view with waves breaking over the rocks, or washing up over the beach at high tide, or having a sandy stretch of beach to walk on at low tide. All just a block or so from our house. 

They walked back many times with “treasures” they found. Bits of shells, some small pieces of driftwood, or broken glass they picked up like little kids playing in the sand. 

Fast forward to 2005. 

My Dad had passed away in 1987 and Mom had just died. All of us were at the farm to assist my brother with tying up loose ends of Mom’s possessions.

One of the things about my folk’s house was that when something was put into a certain place, it very seldom moved – very seldom. I had noticed over the years a brown paper sack, not a large grocery bag but a smaller one, like from a drug or candy store. It was folded over into a quart jar and put on the basement stairs landing near the end. It had been there for years.

I asked my brother about it – he said Dad had put it there and that I was right – it had been there for years. With his encouragement, I opened the sack and found an old plastic Holsum Bread bag half filled with sand. Inside the bag with the sand was a note that said simply, “sand from San Diego”.

Now to be treasured by me.