Hello gang! We’re back in Ketchikan now but I’m just getting caught up. Here is one of the chapters I wrote while on vacation this month. Hope you are all well!
Aloha! I am sitting in Paradise. With a computer on my lap, palm trees overhead, soft breeze on the back of my neck…oh and the remnants of sand in my bikini. I can officially report that I am a pig in mud. At the risk of making this sound contrived, a whale is breaching in the distance. I’m not joking, it has flapped its tale at me so many times I stopped counting. I can’t explain why it occasionally stands on his head and puts his tale straight out of the water, though I suppose I can’t really explain why my kids are doing the same thing in the pool right now. I hear laughter as hordes of children argue over who held their breath the longest WHILE standing on their head under water. Playing…Do whales play too? It certainly seems evident that they are happier here in Paradise. I mean they seem down right perky…joyful, effusive, and ecstatic…..happy. I watch these same whales gliding through the channel at home in Ketchikan, and they DO NOT act like this. I’m not a whale expert but I’ve been told that they travel to Alaska for the summer and spend their winters in Hawaii- “snowbirds” of the massive, krill eating kind, but “snowbirds” all the same. They live in Hawaii (playing) part of the year and Alaska (eating) part of the year. I can’t tell if I’m drunk or they are, (both maybe) but they are out in the water (as I type) flipping and flapping around, so they spend their summer in Alaska, working to fill their bellies and they road trip south for the winter and then spend their days lounging in the sun, relaxing in their environment, bonding with family and friends, and recreating…is it wrong that I aspire to live the life of a whale?
We’ve been spending our time snorkeling and diving, taking surf lessons, playing tennis and basking…It wasn’t until my second week though (yes, I realize by phrasing it this way that I am implying that I have been here for more than one week and yes, the assumption of multiple weeks in Paradise is correct though I won’t tell you how many because I’m afraid it will just make you hate me) when I assumed my 10:00 a.m. position of being poolside (with a cooler of cocktails) that it dawned on me that I was “unwound”. I could feel it in my shoulders and as I stretched my oiled toes in the sun.
Hmmm….maybe all it takes is a plane ticket to Paradise because apparently happiness resides here.
No, I suppose happiness isn’t a place is it? Measuring ones exact happiness is a little tricky t
oo. Obviously, happiness can’t be measured in years or pounds or currency, in friends, in dresses, in children….and then my light bulb (hanging slightly off center and dimmer than yours, I’m sure) sprang to life and it suddenly all made sense. My happiness can be measured in fluid ounces. I’m serious too. 3 (or so) ounces of Hendricks, 12 ounces of Coconut Tanning Oil, a 16 ounce non-fat mocha a 20 ounce diet coke and one deep blue pool and one seemingly infinite Ocean and VOILA! Julie has officially sloshed her way to happiness.
So I was disappointed later that day when a song came on the I-pod that made me think of things that were sad and I started to feel something familiar and dark creeping in. Later I looked across the pool and watched a woman struggle to stand as she repositioned the cap that she was using to protect her glaringly bald head. The tracks on her abused veins were practically screaming chemotherapy to me and I shuttered involuntarily. Shawn noticed her too and came rushing to report: “Mom, look over there! She must have cancer too. You should go talk to her!” What I found interesting and wasn’t nearly brave enough to admit to him was that instead of wanting to approach her I wanted to flee…really…I wanted to run down the beach and keep running until I could no longer see her, or the image of her…at the very least I wanted to move my lawn chair to the other side of the pool deck…every time she came within view I found myself hurriedly looking away. I am a coward….
That evening as the wind began to pick up and the sun began to set my daughter noticed the palm trees dancing and she started to dance among them in the lawn, singing a song about one of her “best friends” back home and it brought me right back to -Home- and the failings and success of our relationships there.
After the kids went to sleep, I sat on the lanai and listened to the crashing waves and thought about the creeping misery of heartbreak and disappointment and sadness and worry that plagues us in real life…the same emotions I had resolved to leave at home with the dirty laundry and the plants that needed watering. There they were, sharing a lawn chair with me and my previously happy day in Paradise. Unwanted, uninvited, unexpected stowaways sharing the seat next to me in the darkness…”How did you get here?”
So I have a story for you. Sort of. I’ll call it the story of my “Gingersnaps.” I was watching a family on the beach today that reminded me of gingersnaps…warm, round, dark, and yummy. So I call them my gingersnaps and they will forever reside in my mind and now yours as such. So anyhoo, they changed my life. Yep, there I go again…another life altering moment that would otherwise seem ordinary to those of you who are smarter than me, but since I need a lot of work on this particular subject I thought it was worth keeping in my little mental deck of cards so here it is.
We were at a beach with huge waves… so massive that Campbellini would wait for the wave to recede, run to grab a handful of wet sand, and race back to her castle all the while looking over her shoulder and shrieking to make sure the wave didn’t come up behind her and knock her out. It didn’t help that I told her if she got near the ocean a wave was going to come up and steal her and drag her back to China and there was no way I would ever be able to find her. Whoopsie. Note to self. “Stop freaking the children out.” I was flipping through my favorite magazine and people watching. If it were a sport I would be an Olympian. So entranced was I by the people around me, particularly the newbies (from Iowa) wearing teensy tiny bikinis and who unwittingly ran into the shore without realizing how big the waves were. Then (and here comes the good stuff – sadistic though it may be) I had the true pleasure of watching their suits get pulled off and their bodies thrown to the sand and then picked up and thrown again. This would not be humorous at all (since some of them returned to shore, broken and battered) if they weren’t all the while still trying to maintain the impression that they were in complete control of the situation. It's funny because it reminded me of what an ass I must look like in real life when the crap is really hitting the fan and all the while I am attempting to tell all of you that I am fine, everything is fine, just fine.
So eventually I notice a family on the beach near our “camp site.” In order to bask in the sun, my family requires a great deal of gear. There are towels, and sand toys, coolers and boogey boards, snorkeling gear, chairs, umbrellas, oil for me and Campbell, SPF of every brand and strength for Shawn Patrick. Since my Sherpa (Trevor) went home for a week to work, I have the distinct pleasure of hauling all of the “necessities” to the beach myself which is why I noticed how much crap it takes our family to adventure for one day. So what caught my attention about the Gingersnaps was that they came to the beach without any stuff. No snacks, towels, umbrellas, coolers, and sand toys. They lumbered down the trail from the parking area wearing worn out shorts with no shoes and each carrying a boogey board. But they had no “stuff.”
Did I mention that they were not exactly Waifish in nature. In fact I had to shush my son as he exclaimed: “Mom! Look at that guy! He’s the biggest man I’ve ever seen. Take a picture of his crack!” (It’s hard to vehemently shush your child and heatedly lecture him on appropriate behavior AND make your statement seem sincere when you are all the while fumbling in your beach bag for the camera because you really, really want a picture of that too.) Once I got past that I noticed how many of them there were… all boys, various ages, and sizes but with the same dark, dark skin. Then they hit the water and all eyes were upon them…massive and cumbersome on land….yet in the water they became acrobats, athletes, amphibious…so talented and somehow, completely exempt from the laws of gravity. So by this time I’m not only fascinated, I’m hooked and as I look around I realized so was my son, and my daughter, and everyone else in our vicinity.
After a time, Daddy Gingersnap would get out of the surf, lumber to the shore and plop down in the sand to rest, his dark flesh settling in around him. From the distance he watched his family of little (figuratively speaking) Gingersnaps frolicking in the sea and he would laugh. He would watch the others, calling to one another, coaching the younger Gingersnaps and cheering each other on. I love the thought of that…this big man sitting all alone in the sand laughing out loud at his family in front of him. And the thing is, that laugh…that laugh was unforgettable, spectacular… a marvel. It was the kind of laugh that left no room for any other emotion but pure joy. It wasn’t forced, or contrived, or pleasant or well mannered. It was a rumbling, effusive, contagious force that shook his entire body as it filled the air around him.
I don’t know their story and I don’t even know if the moment was significant to them… but it was to me and I think it was to the others around me….who sat and watched as I did, we were voyeurs in their world. My magnificent Gingersnap family…they required no “stuff”, no friends, no planned activity. Their day seemed simple and spontaneous, and full…of each other. How did Daddy Gingersnap get that so right? That ability to stay anchored in that moment together? To just be….
Happy…
To just be………..
Love to all of you.
j
We’ve been spending our time snorkeling and diving, taking surf lessons, playing tennis and basking…It wasn’t until my second week though (yes, I realize by phrasing it this way that I am implying that I have been here for more than one week and yes, the assumption of multiple weeks in Paradise is correct though I won’t tell you how many because I’m afraid it will just make you hate me) when I assumed my 10:00 a.m. position of being poolside (with a cooler of cocktails) that it dawned on me that I was “unwound”. I could feel it in my shoulders and as I stretched my oiled toes in the sun.
Hmmm….maybe all it takes is a plane ticket to Paradise because apparently happiness resides here.
No, I suppose happiness isn’t a place is it? Measuring ones exact happiness is a little tricky t
oo. Obviously, happiness can’t be measured in years or pounds or currency, in friends, in dresses, in children….and then my light bulb (hanging slightly off center and dimmer than yours, I’m sure) sprang to life and it suddenly all made sense. My happiness can be measured in fluid ounces. I’m serious too. 3 (or so) ounces of Hendricks, 12 ounces of Coconut Tanning Oil, a 16 ounce non-fat mocha a 20 ounce diet coke and one deep blue pool and one seemingly infinite Ocean and VOILA! Julie has officially sloshed her way to happiness.So I was disappointed later that day when a song came on the I-pod that made me think of things that were sad and I started to feel something familiar and dark creeping in. Later I looked across the pool and watched a woman struggle to stand as she repositioned the cap that she was using to protect her glaringly bald head. The tracks on her abused veins were practically screaming chemotherapy to me and I shuttered involuntarily. Shawn noticed her too and came rushing to report: “Mom, look over there! She must have cancer too. You should go talk to her!” What I found interesting and wasn’t nearly brave enough to admit to him was that instead of wanting to approach her I wanted to flee…really…I wanted to run down the beach and keep running until I could no longer see her, or the image of her…at the very least I wanted to move my lawn chair to the other side of the pool deck…every time she came within view I found myself hurriedly looking away. I am a coward….
That evening as the wind began to pick up and the sun began to set my daughter noticed the palm trees dancing and she started to dance among them in the lawn, singing a song about one of her “best friends” back home and it brought me right back to -Home- and the failings and success of our relationships there.After the kids went to sleep, I sat on the lanai and listened to the crashing waves and thought about the creeping misery of heartbreak and disappointment and sadness and worry that plagues us in real life…the same emotions I had resolved to leave at home with the dirty laundry and the plants that needed watering. There they were, sharing a lawn chair with me and my previously happy day in Paradise. Unwanted, uninvited, unexpected stowaways sharing the seat next to me in the darkness…”How did you get here?”
So I have a story for you. Sort of. I’ll call it the story of my “Gingersnaps.” I was watching a family on the beach today that reminded me of gingersnaps…warm, round, dark, and yummy. So I call them my gingersnaps and they will forever reside in my mind and now yours as such. So anyhoo, they changed my life. Yep, there I go again…another life altering moment that would otherwise seem ordinary to those of you who are smarter than me, but since I need a lot of work on this particular subject I thought it was worth keeping in my little mental deck of cards so here it is.
We were at a beach with huge waves… so massive that Campbellini would wait for the wave to recede, run to grab a handful of wet sand, and race back to her castle all the while looking over her shoulder and shrieking to make sure the wave didn’t come up behind her and knock her out. It didn’t help that I told her if she got near the ocean a wave was going to come up and steal her and drag her back to China and there was no way I would ever be able to find her. Whoopsie. Note to self. “Stop freaking the children out.” I was flipping through my favorite magazine and people watching. If it were a sport I would be an Olympian. So entranced was I by the people around me, particularly the newbies (from Iowa) wearing teensy tiny bikinis and who unwittingly ran into the shore without realizing how big the waves were. Then (and here comes the good stuff – sadistic though it may be) I had the true pleasure of watching their suits get pulled off and their bodies thrown to the sand and then picked up and thrown again. This would not be humorous at all (since some of them returned to shore, broken and battered) if they weren’t all the while still trying to maintain the impression that they were in complete control of the situation. It's funny because it reminded me of what an ass I must look like in real life when the crap is really hitting the fan and all the while I am attempting to tell all of you that I am fine, everything is fine, just fine.
So eventually I notice a family on the beach near our “camp site.” In order to bask in the sun, my family requires a great deal of gear. There are towels, and sand toys, coolers and boogey boards, snorkeling gear, chairs, umbrellas, oil for me and Campbell, SPF of every brand and strength for Shawn Patrick. Since my Sherpa (Trevor) went home for a week to work, I have the distinct pleasure of hauling all of the “necessities” to the beach myself which is why I noticed how much crap it takes our family to adventure for one day. So what caught my attention about the Gingersnaps was that they came to the beach without any stuff. No snacks, towels, umbrellas, coolers, and sand toys. They lumbered down the trail from the parking area wearing worn out shorts with no shoes and each carrying a boogey board. But they had no “stuff.”
Did I mention that they were not exactly Waifish in nature. In fact I had to shush my son as he exclaimed: “Mom! Look at that guy! He’s the biggest man I’ve ever seen. Take a picture of his crack!” (It’s hard to vehemently shush your child and heatedly lecture him on appropriate behavior AND make your statement seem sincere when you are all the while fumbling in your beach bag for the camera because you really, really want a picture of that too.) Once I got past that I noticed how many of them there were… all boys, various ages, and sizes but with the same dark, dark skin. Then they hit the water and all eyes were upon them…massive and cumbersome on land….yet in the water they became acrobats, athletes, amphibious…so talented and somehow, completely exempt from the laws of gravity. So by this time I’m not only fascinated, I’m hooked and as I look around I realized so was my son, and my daughter, and everyone else in our vicinity.
After a time, Daddy Gingersnap would get out of the surf, lumber to the shore and plop down in the sand to rest, his dark flesh settling in around him. From the distance he watched his family of little (figuratively speaking) Gingersnaps frolicking in the sea and he would laugh. He would watch the others, calling to one another, coaching the younger Gingersnaps and cheering each other on. I love the thought of that…this big man sitting all alone in the sand laughing out loud at his family in front of him. And the thing is, that laugh…that laugh was unforgettable, spectacular… a marvel. It was the kind of laugh that left no room for any other emotion but pure joy. It wasn’t forced, or contrived, or pleasant or well mannered. It was a rumbling, effusive, contagious force that shook his entire body as it filled the air around him.
I don’t know their story and I don’t even know if the moment was significant to them… but it was to me and I think it was to the others around me….who sat and watched as I did, we were voyeurs in their world. My magnificent Gingersnap family…they required no “stuff”, no friends, no planned activity. Their day seemed simple and spontaneous, and full…of each other. How did Daddy Gingersnap get that so right? That ability to stay anchored in that moment together? To just be….
Happy…
To just be………..
Love to all of you.
j
