on our 10th anniversary

before one more memory gets crowded out by another,
i would like to say:
it has been fun
and funny
and slightly more than i expected.
which, as you know, with my track record, is a good thing.
when all else is gone,
when old age has vanquished all that i have of us,
i will remember this one thing:
i once lived in a home inhabited by joy.

monkey

oh my second son,
i feel as though i should put something down.
something for posterity.
so that the "we" lives on after the "i" is gone.
i informed you, in secret,
(i hope you have not told)
that i do not enjoy being a mother.
this is not entirely true.
it's just that, sometimes,
your sighs are so suggestive.
and your smile so long suffering.

gift from the sea

"i have been tricked." i thought as i stood in front of the 'religious' section in borders book store. i almost walked away but a friend of mine had suggested a book to read and i had said that i would. at first, i had searched through the fiction section and then the literature. finally, i asked a sales clerk for help. "try the the religious section" they suggested. hence my standing, grinding my teeth, in front of books bearing the faces of joyce meyer, and sylvia something or other. i had been good and tricked.

and so"gift from the sea" sits on my dresser, untouched. i look at it every morning when i wake up. it looks like a nice book. the color of the dust cover is a lovely blueish green and it's a good size and weight. it feels at home in my hands. i have not opened it since reading the description on the inside. i am waiting for my feelings of resentment to go away.

the inside cover says that it is a selection of musings that the author wrote while staying in a cottage by the ocean. things that the ocean had taught her. today i actually found myself staring at the book wondering what those lessons might be.

i love the ocean. always have. it fascinates and terrifies me. i dream of it often and miss it constantly but i won't actually go in it. well, not all the way in. not since being pulled out to sea by a fierce undertow while body surfing on spring break.

those were the days when my t-shirts proclaimed "no fear". when getting burnt and dehydrated was just part of summer. water. it was the sinking down, the disappearing, the quietness that wasn't really quiet at all but more of a rushing in your head. like wind or falling snow. i love that. i love the sound, the smell, the blue on blue of water and sky. i love the vast. the deep. but now, now i am also uncomfortable with it. because i know it's strength. because i know that it's stronger than me. maybe i didn't realize that when i was younger. or maybe i didn't think about it. not until that afternoon when i fought the ocean. i am very much aware that i did not win that fight. i'm only alive now because the ocean allowed me to live. left to my own defenses i would have drowned but the ocean, after playing with my flailing limbs, spit me out. rejected me. that's a strange way to feel but never the less true. i was beached.

now i just go in up to my thighs or lie on the sand in the shallows letting the waves pull at my hair and gently rock my body back and forth. it's funny and sad at the same time. my heart longs for the ocean. i physically ache for it but i don't give in to it. i am a selkie, but my husband hasn't hidden my pelt. i packed it away myself and now i've forgotten where i put it.

so what lessons have i learned from the sea? i learned to be cautious. i learned to live with longing. i've learned not to be dragged down by something beyond my control. ok. now i'm curious. hostilities aside, i'm ready to open the book.