November 3, 2020

Leaves and a light bulb.

Rain and wind now whip the windows, it’s pitch dark outside and well past midnight, and I’m wide awake and we don’t know yet who will lead this broken country next.

I went to the water to escape today, hoping for a sign, any sign that somehow this election would work out okay, the tables would turn, we would elect a new leader. And we might. Time will tell.

At the water’s edge I looked upon swirling debris in the water with my friend, Dave, wishing to myself that I could read it like tea leaves—see the future. Adjust the future to something better. So, so much better.

I want to tell you that I saw jellyfish and wind and high waves and clouds of infinite shapes decorating the sky and took comfort in swimming next to Dave with his orange buoy bobbing along in front of me and I saw the November sun shining bright and low through the trees to the west and that under the water everything looked safe and ordered.

I want to tell you that Dave found a lightbulb in the green water, and stuffed it in his buoy to bring home and I wished that I could use magic and make it glow and I wished that a seal would swim with us and gift me with her amazing swimming abilities and show me her world below and take me away from the constant chatter and clutter and mayhem above.

My wishes didn’t come true.

But my hope that a swim would help me quiet my mind and that sharing this space with a friend might be calming and draw me back to the present moment and the truth that we are all living this, whatever this is, together, did work out.

Together we swam in very cold water, and tasted salt on our tongues and fought off large waves outside the bay and fought our way to Fletcher’s Landing, swimming into the crazy wind and enjoyed a bouncy, rolling, pitching ride north back to the head of the bay with the wind at our backs— Mother Nature’s reward for our efforts.

I did see a few jellyfish floating in on the tide and I did see Dave test the temperature of the water at the head of Fletcher Bay before we set out—53 degrees.

And I learned that the highest temperature he recorded in summer was 60 degrees.

And I learned that he jumped through ice into the bay last winter, no wetsuit, and stayed in for ten minutes. And we both agreed that February will be a very cold time to swim. And I asked him if he might consider a wetsuit this winter and he said he might. And I remain in awe of his ability to swim without a wetsuit this time of year.

I guess when all is said and done, it was a good swim. The darkness came quickly when we re entered the bay, and racing the fading light we swam fast back to the muddy bank, as yellow lights came on in the houses.

Arriving breathless and pleased to have made it to the finish just as the dark closed in, I scurried back to my own little warm house. This home, waiting for me, filled to the brim with two sweet boys and a dog and two cats and a husband with a fantastic sense of humor who cheered me up this morning by watching clips of the Wonder Twins with me, and reminding me that we will get through this. Together.

No matter what happens. Life will go on. It’s messy, I’m still scared, but at least I can handle myself in cold water and have an awesome team of lifeguards for a family to toss me a ring.

And a few good swim buddies too.