Saturday, October 10, 2009

Siren Calls

Today I want the ocean.

I’ve successfully battled an upper respiratory virus this week. Did the prudent thing and stayed home and as a result I’m now pressed up against some work deadlines. So I must attend to those tasks.

But I want the ocean. I want her messy fish bits and kelp filled brine to wash over me and take away the last of this little illness. I want to smell the marine essence and hear the scolding gulls. I want to sit in the breeze at the foot of the cliffs, read Julia Child’s My Life in France, and fantasize I’m on the Gallic coast. I want the damp air to seep into my skin and I want sand to scrape against my toes and get stuck in every crevice of my surf slippers. I want to watch the long legged birds race up and back at the water’s edge as they dig out hapless crustaceans from the surf line with their long bills. I want a cold salty face and black sand under my fingernails. I want all these things and yet I sit in my home and take care of business.

So I do what any magical homemaker would do. I take a short break and sit with my bowl of shells and look at them, hold them, and feel their energy. The pyrite sand dollar has a gurgling blurb of peacefulness. I remember each shell and where I got it: Coronado, Playa del Carmen, Carlsbad, Catalina, Grand Cayman, Cabo, Tulum, Marco Island, Cape Cod, Jekyll Island, Old Orchard. I reach in to the jar of Clearwater Florida sand… the beach of my toddling childhood. I press my finger into the granules and feel their roughness. I remember Nana and Great -grandmere Mellie.

And I get up with a sigh, refreshed, and get back to work.

1 comment:

  1. Well, might not be any closer to the're definitely polishing up your writing skills. Put on an ocean sounds cd and "play like" you're there.