Growing up on Long Island, I've always taken the ocean for granted. As a teenager, I spent many days at Jones Beach with my friends. The sand and the surf were just a background in my adolescent life. We'd lay out our towels and bake in the sun, hoping the boys would notice our sun-drenched bikini-clad bodies. By the time I reached my twenties, marriage took me away from New York to live in Georgia. Although I appreciated the lush green foliage, I missed the smell of the ocean, the salty air, and the churning waves along a sandy beach. For a long time, I felt homesick. After my divorce, I thought about moving back, but once you leave New York, it's almost impossible to return. The cost of living is too high. Besides, I couldn't handle the low-lying clouds. Some say, you need the cold weather to appreciate summer, but I'm not one of them. I need perpetual green to keep my emotions on an even keel. So, I moved to Vero Beach, Florida where the warm breezes of the ocean helped to calm my restless soul. I spent my morning walking along the beach. Over the years, I have taken some interesting shots from South Beach to JC Park. I've decided to share them in a book.
While sitting at a restaurant with two of my fellow authors, one asked me about my Sicilian background. I laughed and said, "All I know is, we always have sauce on Sunday." My friends joined in the laughter, but the writer side of my brain started churning. Something awoke inside of me and I had the desire to find out exactly from where I came from. I began the quest for my roots. Within a few months, I had the surprise of my life. I discovered that my grandfather had a second sister, who he left behind in Sicily. Who would ever have thought that the grandchildren of three siblings, separated during their youth, would find each other after a lifetime of being apart?
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