I’m sure Freeport in the Bahamas is very nice, but to me it’s a place that isn’t Mexico. I don’t understand the hold that Mexico and it’s gulf have on me and I don’t need to know. I know that I feel at home there and peaceful and happy, and while I speak so little spanish as to be considered to not speak spanish, the sound of it rolls through me, calms my whole self down and lingers in my brain, sing-song, like a salve.
I don’t know the number, haven’t a clue, but I’d guess that if ten people try diving, five never do it again, 4 become recreational, go a few times in their lives, once per vacation divers, and the last one, is done for. The dive masters are usually from all over the world and they have similar stories. Went somewhere in their early twenties, did a dive, went home, sold their possessions and began lives of itinerate dive instructors. Often, they don’t stay anywhere longer than a year or two. I don’t know what happens to them eventually, do they open their own shop somewhere? Stay in whatever country is home to the girl or guy they settle with? Give it up after a decade, or become wise old men and women of the sea, having seen the world and picked up more languages than I will ever speak?
If I learned to dive at twenty, would I have become one of them? Probably not, I still had too much stuff to work out, can’t say I’ve exorcised it all, but piece, by piece. I am, however, the one out of ten, because in the first minute of my first dive I was overtaken by a pure, simple joy I’d not before experienced. I remember that dive as being in crystal clear, sparkling water that let me see unclouded, unobstructed, to infinity. I’ve never encountered those conditions again, so maybe my memory is embellished by how I felt. In that one thirty-minute increment, I went from battered and bruised to happy goddess/sea witch if only in my own mind. So I get those folks who go home and sell all their belongings, but that’s something I no longer crave, as I did growing up because I finally love my home and the boys that grew up there, and it’s their home too.
The folks on the boats thus far haven’t been the friendliest, they’re like New Englander’s, insular. There was a guy from England, living in Singapore in Freeport for business, extending his stay a few days to dive and we had the same modus operandi. First ones in, last ones out, so we became dive buddies by default. He was very sweet underwater, kept checking on me asking for the “OK” signal and I could sense he could navigate, We were absolutely, perfectly on the same page, luckily the divemasters were chill, and confident in our abilities because we took off both times. We were both good divers, explored a wreck and wandered off. I saw the first shark and didn’t want to turn around and alert him, so i kept my eyes on the shark and did jumping jacks in midair, midwater, diving is like flying, he saw me, and thanked me later. And then another shark, it was lovely.
The currents on the surface were mild today, yesterday they were ferocious and I swam as hard as I could in place for 5 minutes trying to get to the tow line and, well, at least I didn’t get further away. The guys on the boat threw out a longer line because no one was getting any closer. Climbing up the ladder was insane and we all got thrown off a few times. My legs are all bruised today from getting thrown into the ladder and boat and I slept well last night. I always come back from my trips bruised and scraped and it makes me feel alive and proud. In my normal life, a paper cut makes me complain daily, it’s all about state of mind, I suppose.
Englishman was lone and standoffish on the boat, but next dive, we were first ones in and took off looking for sharks and it didn’t take long. This was one of the most enjoyable dives of my life. I kneeled in the sand, and watched shark after shark after shark swim by. The visibility was low, water murky, so I’d dangle and look into the abyss and one would appear and I’d hope, hope, hope it would come my way and often they did, several times I could have reached out and petted them. Each sighting sent a rush of calm and contentment over me because I was seeing what I wanted to see and doing what I wanted to do. English was great, he was just as into it, but also 25 feet away, neither of us getting in the other’s way. First in, last out and with a half tank of air to spare.
Yesterday I found a quiet greek restaurant that had reasonable prices. I’ve been eating a lot of the free apples from the lobby because food is really expensive here which I suppose puts the overhead bin filled with chips into context. Every dive boat I’ve ever been on passes around fresh fruit and cookies between dives because you need the calories, but not here which left me with skull splitting headache the first day. Everyone brings their own food and water bottles on the boat, and they don’t share, so I found a tiny convenience store and stocked up on tiny bags of frito’s which between dives, couldn’t taste better. Freeport is pretty deserted, it’s low season and they’re still rebuilding from a hurricane two years ago, so I’m back at the greek restaurant who doesn’t mind me using their wifi all this time and I was just chatting with the waiter who is a jolly young guy. But only on the outside, some people hide things well, I should learn that trick some day. He asked where I was from and he yelled “Rhode Island?!”. His wife is from Rhode Island, small, small world that it is. He lived in the states for a few years in South Carolina and Miami, but overstayed his Visa and got kicked out and so now he can only skype with his wife and two young sons and his only hope of getting back to them is trying again in five years. FIVE YEARS. Let’s hope in five years there isn’t a wall around our entire perimeter. It’s real people, real families, real hardship, real sadness.
I’ve been diving for five years, my whole life has changed in five years, who will he be, who will his wife and children be in five years?
Friday, July 6, 2018
Tuesday, July 3, 2018
Oh Atlanta
The Atlanta airport is a very large shopping mall, and there are also planes, and at some point everyone there, aside from those punching in and out will get on one. By the end of the day, everyone crossing paths on the concourse or in the restaurants or bathrooms will wind up places far flung. Every baked good there is prepackaged in individual plastic bags somewhere else, but meticulously unwrapped and displayed to appear freshly baked. At Starbucks they were committing the cardinal sin of visibly opening individual plastic wrappers and transferring item upon order into Starbucks bags, busting the myth wide open. It doesn’t seem fair to still pay a premium for your fancy banana bread when they so irreverently stop playing the game, especially so clumsily, the surreptitious transfer at waist height angled only slightly away, opening one bag and feeding it to another, but it sticks to the wrapper so takes several tries and touching fingers and oh, it’s airport baked goods mayhem. I’m in the Atlanta airport for the same reason as everyone else, to get off a plane and on a plane. My gate was changed at the last minute because my plane we’re told, had an oil leak, I’m fine with this change of plans, I prefer a plane not leaking anything although when I’m seated my air vent is leaking water on me which is far, far preferable to the oil issue. My last few flights have all been delayed, I think our aircraft fleet is getting old.
We eventually filed onto a small plane, two seats to a row. I was near the back next to a large man who’s wife and kids were behind us. He helpfully informed me that there were empty seats up front, either out of pity or wanting the empty seat for himself. I’d just watched him transfer the contents of three oversized laminated shopping bags the kind you get at any big box store check out lane for an extra buck or two, in this case Home Goods, into the smaller than usual overhead bins. They made all of us with small suitcases check them at the last minute as they weren’t going to fit, and as mine houses my laptop, I took that out and brought it naked onto the plane, unsheathed. This man’s large shopping bags wouldn’t fit, so he had to empty them out of their crunchy snack food contents -- bags and bags, bags of bags of chips and cheetos, cookies, a cornucopia of crunchy snack food and beach balls straight into the bin. Are the bahamas bereft of crunchy, salty treats? I can’t imagine, Freeport is within spitting distance of Florida, maybe it’s to save money, but is it really worth the price in dignity lost, number of bags schlepped? I’m in search of sharks and dolphins, I guess they’re looking for crunchy snack filled beach days, maybe road trip would have been a better option.
I snuck into first class which was only designated by the larger seats, but they kicked me back to the row behind, wedged between window and obese man who ate a banana and then ordered two bloody mary’s, for himself. The row in front of me remained empty, with it’s large comfy seats glaring backwards at me. Hierrarchy. He’s onto the third cocktail now with a bag of chocolate chip cookies chasing. Ewww.
The sky is clear blue and I’ve been able to see the ground the whole way thus far through the puffy cotton ball clouds. I’m watching the shadows they’re casting on the ground. I keep hoping the shadows will bump into each other, but they don't, they drift parallel, along the same wind. My row-mate was very quiet until we landed and then the drinks kicked in. A cajun boy from louisiana going through his third divorce, this bitch was just after his money. His grandkids, he said, kept him on the straight and narrow but he was going to visit friends who had a house down here and he’d packed a jar of rioux and was gonna catch some fish and cook it up right.
I’ve been cancer-free for five and a half years now. I didn’t announce that, I don’t know how to celebrate. I knew how to once but I stopped somewhere along the way. Maybe that happens when you’ve been a mom for a while, celebrating everyone else’s milestones, maybe it happens after living with someone for a quarter century who doesn’t give a shit about you. But ultimately, I’m the one with paralysis, I could make different decisions, I could challenge myself, be less of a lone wolf, but we are what we are and we is what we is and I'm really embracing my lone wolf side these days, I think it's who I am. I meant to celebrate my first year cancer free but then I got superstitious. I meant to celebrate my 50th birthday, but I never quite got to it, I’m 54 now. I feel untethered without my regular oncology visits at the same time I miss them less and less and I don’t panic at every anomaly, every suspicion, every bad day. Cancer will always be a part of my life, it has certainly altered my appearance and my functioning, my brain hasn't recovered from the massive doses of poison, lifesaving though they might have been. It’s a new normal, despite my very wise friend who say’s “normal is a myth” and with that I agree, but my life now and my life then are very different, not just because of the malignant cells demanding attention but because it was already a time of great change. I’m thoroughly divorced, I’ve gone through menopause, so my body is different and not just because of the surgeries and drugs, things change. And there has been loss because people with cancer meet other people with cancer and they bond strongly and save each others lives and sanity, but some of them die. Things change and sometimes it's grand. I’m getting to know my oldest son as an adult and it’s an experience more beautiful than I can describe, I won't even try for fear of ruining it by confining it to words, it seems too big to be restricted in that way. I miss having babies and toddlers so much and so often, but this is a new joy I couldn’t have imagined. My younger son is going to be a senior in high school, I don’t know how that’s possible, every cliché is true, you blink, and well, you know the rest. I'm acutely aware that this is the last year I will have a child living at home and am equally excited and terrified at the prospect. I find myself clinging to every moment with him, every shared meal, every laugh, every conversation and every single hug, every moment of our daily routines, every bit of minutia. A lot has happened in the past five years, the most unexpected is that I’ve discovered travelling for which I’ve become insatiable, and have fallen deep in love with the ocean (when it’s warm) which brings me to the Atlanta airport, killing time, waiting for a plane.
We eventually filed onto a small plane, two seats to a row. I was near the back next to a large man who’s wife and kids were behind us. He helpfully informed me that there were empty seats up front, either out of pity or wanting the empty seat for himself. I’d just watched him transfer the contents of three oversized laminated shopping bags the kind you get at any big box store check out lane for an extra buck or two, in this case Home Goods, into the smaller than usual overhead bins. They made all of us with small suitcases check them at the last minute as they weren’t going to fit, and as mine houses my laptop, I took that out and brought it naked onto the plane, unsheathed. This man’s large shopping bags wouldn’t fit, so he had to empty them out of their crunchy snack food contents -- bags and bags, bags of bags of chips and cheetos, cookies, a cornucopia of crunchy snack food and beach balls straight into the bin. Are the bahamas bereft of crunchy, salty treats? I can’t imagine, Freeport is within spitting distance of Florida, maybe it’s to save money, but is it really worth the price in dignity lost, number of bags schlepped? I’m in search of sharks and dolphins, I guess they’re looking for crunchy snack filled beach days, maybe road trip would have been a better option.
I snuck into first class which was only designated by the larger seats, but they kicked me back to the row behind, wedged between window and obese man who ate a banana and then ordered two bloody mary’s, for himself. The row in front of me remained empty, with it’s large comfy seats glaring backwards at me. Hierrarchy. He’s onto the third cocktail now with a bag of chocolate chip cookies chasing. Ewww.
The sky is clear blue and I’ve been able to see the ground the whole way thus far through the puffy cotton ball clouds. I’m watching the shadows they’re casting on the ground. I keep hoping the shadows will bump into each other, but they don't, they drift parallel, along the same wind. My row-mate was very quiet until we landed and then the drinks kicked in. A cajun boy from louisiana going through his third divorce, this bitch was just after his money. His grandkids, he said, kept him on the straight and narrow but he was going to visit friends who had a house down here and he’d packed a jar of rioux and was gonna catch some fish and cook it up right.
I’ve been cancer-free for five and a half years now. I didn’t announce that, I don’t know how to celebrate. I knew how to once but I stopped somewhere along the way. Maybe that happens when you’ve been a mom for a while, celebrating everyone else’s milestones, maybe it happens after living with someone for a quarter century who doesn’t give a shit about you. But ultimately, I’m the one with paralysis, I could make different decisions, I could challenge myself, be less of a lone wolf, but we are what we are and we is what we is and I'm really embracing my lone wolf side these days, I think it's who I am. I meant to celebrate my first year cancer free but then I got superstitious. I meant to celebrate my 50th birthday, but I never quite got to it, I’m 54 now. I feel untethered without my regular oncology visits at the same time I miss them less and less and I don’t panic at every anomaly, every suspicion, every bad day. Cancer will always be a part of my life, it has certainly altered my appearance and my functioning, my brain hasn't recovered from the massive doses of poison, lifesaving though they might have been. It’s a new normal, despite my very wise friend who say’s “normal is a myth” and with that I agree, but my life now and my life then are very different, not just because of the malignant cells demanding attention but because it was already a time of great change. I’m thoroughly divorced, I’ve gone through menopause, so my body is different and not just because of the surgeries and drugs, things change. And there has been loss because people with cancer meet other people with cancer and they bond strongly and save each others lives and sanity, but some of them die. Things change and sometimes it's grand. I’m getting to know my oldest son as an adult and it’s an experience more beautiful than I can describe, I won't even try for fear of ruining it by confining it to words, it seems too big to be restricted in that way. I miss having babies and toddlers so much and so often, but this is a new joy I couldn’t have imagined. My younger son is going to be a senior in high school, I don’t know how that’s possible, every cliché is true, you blink, and well, you know the rest. I'm acutely aware that this is the last year I will have a child living at home and am equally excited and terrified at the prospect. I find myself clinging to every moment with him, every shared meal, every laugh, every conversation and every single hug, every moment of our daily routines, every bit of minutia. A lot has happened in the past five years, the most unexpected is that I’ve discovered travelling for which I’ve become insatiable, and have fallen deep in love with the ocean (when it’s warm) which brings me to the Atlanta airport, killing time, waiting for a plane.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)