Instability to Hope

toes squishing
muddy, sandy substance. engulf. comfort.
weight and gravity push me down in the not-so-solid earth

feet wetted
frothy, gentle waves. permeate. wake.
water and shifting sand keep me aware of the surrounding scene

body rocking
windy, salty air. chill. refresh.
instability and cold shock me into a new thought of today

eyes watching
quickly, exceedingly. pain. light.
dawn and a graspable horizon invite hopes home for some breakfast

Autumn

I just love autumn. I used to think summer was my favorite season, which it would be if I lived on or near a beach, but since I live in ohio fall is really what does it for me. There is really no point in such a hot time of year if there isn't a beach close by. And so many of my fondest memories are from fall. There's the changing leaves, football games, chili, wassal, pumpkin pickin' and pumpkin carvin'. The crisp air calls for cozy sweaters and jeans around campfires.

One thing I distinctly loved as a child was going to circle S pumpkin farm. We would eat yummy donuts and drink hot cider and spend what seemed like hours frolicking in the massive hay barn. There were always goats to pet and feed. And of course there was the hay ride out to "the patch" to pick your very own pumpkin. All of us always picked the biggest one we could possibly carry so that by the time we reached the end Dad had to help us manage our giant pumpkins. The event was always followed by carving and eating toasted pumpkin seeds. The whole experience was so magical.

This year I tried to recreate this favorite childhood memory. Jess, Lindsay and I set off to pick pumpkins at the pumpkin farm. I'm not sure if it was just because I am now a 25 year old adult or because it wasn't circle S farm but the experience was disappointing to say the least. The farm was not at all impressive, no hay barn or goats, nothing but an over priced store and a few concessions selling fair food! Can you believe that, at a farm! So we quickly bought our tickets to go "pick" our pumpkin. So we set of towards the "patch." We passed several good size patches along the way and I thought to myself there must be a more well stocked one further out. But oh no, we passed all the real patches and circled around coming to a stop in-front of a small grassy area with a pile of pre-picked pumpkins, not a single one bigger than an acorn squash. I was so disappointed, we climbed out and quickly chose one of the tiny pre-picked pumpkins, crushed that this experience in no way resembled the amazing times I recall having as a child at the pumpkin farm.

I will however still cling to those memories and maybe one day recreate that fun time I remember with my own kids!

picture: the not so glorious "pumpkin patch"

Mexico

I have never really been a huge fan of the beach. I always liked having a tan and being in the sun, but didn't enjoy partaking of tans and sun from the Beach. First of all, the ocean scares me. Blame jaws, blame eels, blame Steve Irwin, but I freak out when I can't see my feet underwater. I don't like not knowing what is lurking under the murky dark waters. Something could come up and EAT ME! Second of all, I hate having sand all over my body, which is inevitable when you are tall and NO towels are ever long enough. Third of all, let's get real here, bathing suits just aren't the best thing for me to wear.

However, I have had one really awesome experience with the beach, and that was on my honeymoon in the Riviera Maya, Mexico. This beach was covered in pure white, soft sliky sand. The ocean was clear and blue and you could see the reef at the bottom. They had these little swinging beds that you could lay on, away from the sand in the cool shade of palm branches. In addition, the resort workers would come up and serve me unlimited fancy drinks and give Josh and I 15 minute back massages at the snap of a finger. Life can't get much better than that.

I discovered on this trip that Josh has a similar feeling for the beach that I do, except even more exaggerated. Even though I am afraid of the ocean, I still wanted to brave water to snorkel and look at fish. Josh went with me. As we were snorkeling (in 3.5 feet of water) my 6' 5" husband would panic every 30 seconds when a little bit of water got into his snorkel. It was very cute. And an eye opener on how both of us feel about the ocean.

For me, I will just stick to the pool or Mexico from here on out.

picture of me and Josh (my husband) on our honeymoon in Mexico.

Winter Beaches

I do like beaches. Not usually in summer though. I’m more of a mountain and woods girl, but beaches in the winter—I like. The couple of times we have vacationed in Myrtle Beach for the Christmas holidays have held some cherished moments. One I wrote about in “Legacy of the Lullaby” the other I will share here.

It was probably 2001 or 2002 and I weighed more than I ever had. I hadn’t had my dramatic 117 pound weight loss yet and I was pretty miserable physically but content in most other ways. We were having fun feeding the gulls from our balcony, going to the Dixie Stampede and to malls set on planks. Christmas morning we opened gifts. (I can’t even remember if we opened in the hotel that year or at Aunt Cynthia’s.) What I do remember is the cozy red hooded sweater Mark bought for me. Red. I never wear red. I feel like a tomato in that color. But this sweater was soft and… large. It fit with room to spare. It came together in all the right places and zipped right up. I was so happy to get it. I know why he bought me that sweater—the same reason a few years later (and me minus so much weight) he bought me long underwear: I am always cold. His sentiment was sweet and I recognized it right away for the kindness and care he meant by this very red gift.

I remember sitting outside the hotel on the beach. I was perched on the edge of a platform of some kind under a steel grey sky watching the ocean and little Emily playing with a new doll. (Wow, that was a long time ago.) I remember feeling snug and satisfied. I was warm and loved. The sweater left my heart tender.

I still wear that sweater. It is one of the few items I have kept long after it was far too big. At my lowest weight I would wrap it around me almost double and notice its generous warmth. It is a bit nubby now. I toss it in the wash every few months, and I don’t care that it is not all that attractive. I am loved and cared for. I have a kindhearted husband. I am safe and warm.

beach days

Beach days. Days when you can't wait to get out of bed, which rarely happens. All that is needed is a swim suit thrown on with a comfy sun dress over top and flip flops. Various items that may be of interest while relaxing in the sun are packed in an oversized cute colorful bag; a book, a magazine, some sun screen, a water bottle or two maybe a snack and last but not least a large fluffy towel. Hair thrown in a pony tail, sunglasses on top of your head and you're out the door. No need for a shower, your about to get bathed in sea salt and sand. 

Before you even arrive you can smell it. The the moisture and salt that hangs in the air. The moment you step onto the sand you immediately remove your flip flops so you can feel the sands powdery texture beneath your toes. It's always a bit too hot for comfort but you brave the heat so as not to miss a single moment with the sand. There it it, spread before you, hot white sand and glistening ocean further than the eye can see with waves beating against the shore just begging to be played in. You scope out your spot quickly, and unload your gear, spreading your giant fluffy towel out,  just-so, in order to catch the sun at the exact angle for that perfect tan. What little clothing was worn is quickly removed to maximize sun exposure time. And now to the ocean that has been calling for what seems like forever but has only been a short few minute since you arrived. 

Full speed into the crashing waves which quickly slow you to a labored walk. The water is the perfect temperature. You go deeper, till about mid thigh at which point the waves are hitting you just below the neck, so as the next wave approaches you dive straight into it just before it breaks saving your self from a mouth full of salty water. Surfacing you wipe the salty water from you eyes, take a quick breath, turn and face the next wave barreling down on you. You dive and give it your all, kicking through the pull. At the point where the waves are no longer breaking you tread water for a moment and then flip on your back and float on the top of the rolling waves staring up at the flawless blue sky taking it all in.

After a moments rest you resume the breast stroke back towards the shore this time allowing each wave  to help carry in the right direction. When you reach just the right spot, where the waves are just beginning to cap you stand poised and ready for the perfect wave. It hits you and you instantly turn, push off and tense all the muscles in your body, keeping your chin up to keep the water out of you face. You pick up speed careening towards the shore line, as you get close the wave breaks underneath you ending the adrenaline rush as you float to rest on the shallow sandy bottom. 

The rest of the day is full of sun tans, good books, fresh fruit and hours more fun body surfing the waves. At the end of the day your skin is brown and dry from the salt and sun. You pack up your sand covered things making sure not to brush off all the sand. Tucked away in the zip pocket of your oversized colorful bag you store away the small shells and stones you collected that day and promise yourself you'll be back soon. The sand, the shell, the memories- all pieces of the beach you can take home with you to remind you of your favorite place on earth. 

English Rain

Looking back over the duration of my trip to the West Bank in Palestine this summer, I can distinctly remember the day I first saw clouds—if the transparent wisps of white in the air can be called real clouds. I asked probably half a dozen people that day if they saw the clouds. Those bits of gathered moisture droplets were a phenomenon in that dry land.

I thought the white puffs spectacular. You see, as I spent daily time in the sun—glorious and warm and bright though it was—I couldn’t help but long for the rain. There is something about rain that makes green leaves greener, light reflections shimmer more keenly, and the colors of the life on the ground pop brilliantly in contrast to a grey, rain-laden sky.

The morning after I arrived in England after spending a month in that dry land I woke up and the gentle sound of rain on the window caressed my ears. Opening my eyes I tilted my head to see the water in tiny streams falling down the pane. A joyful awakening—rain!

It rained through the day as I walked into the airport to fly hour upon hour. It rained as I gaily walked back out of the airport because of overbooked flights—happy to prolong my stay in England. It rained as my youthful host took me to a pub near Windsor Castle to play a game of cards over some lunch. It rained as we walked down the cobblestone streets past an old accordion player and preoccupied, umbrella-clad shoppers.

The gracious hosts apologized over again for the rain. “It would have to rain for you on your first day in London, wouldn’t it? Sorry about that.” Katie said in her proverbial British accent.
The rain dramatizes not only the colors of the world: yes, greens are greener and blacks, blacker, but also lovely moments are lovelier. “I don’t mind,” I replied with a smile.

When it rains it pours

Rain has got to be on of my most favorite things in the world. To sit in a warm place and listen to the sound of it and smell it and to watch it is one of the most relaxing comforting things for me. I can remember loving rainy days from a very young age, sitting in an open garage or breeze way bundled up in blankets reading and watching the rain or dancing carefree in a downpour, jumping in the drainage ditches and puddles.

 

One of my fondest memories is the great Creation flood of 1989. There we were camping, going to concerts, building stick houses in the woods, covered in dirt and running about dressed like hooligans (because mom was nowhere in sight) when it was sighted in the distance, the giant looming black clouds closing in on Agape Valley. It drew closer and closer and then it began to rain, not that hard at first but it picked up quickly and showed no signs of slowing down. Before we knew it puddles turned into small streams, which grew and grew until we were wading in it. Initially we crowed in the giant striped tent to stay dry until at some point we gave up that idea and joined the masses trying to save the washed away tents and belongings. From there on it is a blur of mud and water. We of course put on our swimsuits and frolicked about, loving every minute of being allowed to play in the mud and swim, oh yes you heard me, SWIM! I distinctly remember a canoe, I wouldn’t put money on it but I swear it happened. What fun we had that year as kids carefree in the pouring rain, followed by days of mud, we couldn’t ask for anything more.

 

It seems however as I grow older and have less time to sit and enjoy the rain, it has become more of an inconvenience. To be met by rain on an early work day as I rush out the door means wet hair, clothes and bags as well as slow traffic, because no one in Ohio can drive unless its sunny and seventy outside. Not to mention camping in the rain as an adult, not quite as much fun as being a carefree kid. It never fails, even the best “waterproof” tents still leak in the lightest rain. And I can’t tell you the last time I was able to just sit and enjoy a rainy day with a book and a warm drink. In spite of my new feelings towards rain, given a rainy day not filled with obligations I would still love to spend it just enjoying the sight, sound and smell of the it.