The all girls week at the gulf was coming to an end. The last morning, typical of other years, we choose not to walk and instead sit on the balcony soaking in the sound, sand and texture of the experience. It is a sanctuary, quiet, sacred and no one speaks.
“OH MY GOD THERE IS A CRAB STRANDED IN THE POOL!” thunders one of my companions. You could see the stranded land creature crawling along the side of the pool trying to escape. One companion, Holly, starts to make a mad dash to rescue the crab but we realize the effort will be in vain without a net. We have a net! A spontaneous impulse led me to purchase a child’s net so I could nab shells in the surf. Holly grabs the net and scurries off to rescue the crab. The crab doesn’t recognize his rescuer and moves towards the deep end. Holly cannot swim. You can see the dejection soak into her body like the morning rain that is beginning to fall. Her head hangs down as she heads back to the elevator.
Like superman without a phone booth, I unpack and put on my swim shorts and T-shirt. I meet the crestfallen warrior Holly at the door, grab the net and head down the elevator. There is our stranded friend sitting on the bottom of the pool. I enter the pool slowly. NOT WARM! I dive under water and push the net towards the blurred underwater dark spot. I break through the surface, check my handy tool and to my delight there is our friend. Cheers bellow forth from the seventh floor balcony – much to the delight of the other guests still sleeping at 7 a.m. Down the boardwalk to the familiar sand, like superman I carry my own little Lois Lane and gently put his feet back upon the familiar sand. Nothing. He doesn’t run. He doesn’t blink. I wonder if I was too late. I watch for a minute and then decide to leave him to recover. I will trust that he is ok.
My reverie is broken by the sudden realization that, in my haste to change into my superman outfit, I neglected to put on a bra. Rat farts batman. I wring the T shirt as dry as I can and scurry back to the pool and elevator. There stands a gentleman who wants to talk about the crab rescue he witnessed. My mind is ranting ‘this ain’t no wet T-shirt contest buster! I’m out of here!’ Without warning I laugh out loud. Me worry about a wet T-shirt contest? Me, the girl whose brother bought a T-shirt that said ‘front’ and ‘back’ so people would know if I was coming or going. Me?! Let it cling to your body girl and celebrate! Who would have thunk it!
I return to our gulf home and we celebrate the rescue. A warm shower and hot coffee are the delicious final toppings. My three companions, rejuvenated by the experience decide to go for not a final, but simply one more walk. I decide to stay, let my hair dry and enjoy my coffee before the’ Ripley’s Believe It Or Not ‘record for the most stuff crammed into a tiny car, begins. It has been a week of wonder and healing. I will take with me the texture of the sand eroding under my feet as I walk in the surf. I do not fear falling, the beach always sustains me. I will take the sound of the surge unseen in the blackened night. I will take the memory of the beach sand upon my face. But, as so often happens in life, just when you think you’ve found the best, the most beautiful and spiritual, life points you back to the simple things and says remember these – feeling silly buying an orange child size net, a stranded crab, a brave warrior who tried, the feel of cold pool water at 7 a.m., a successful rescue, the feel of wet dripping clothes clinging to my body and a wet T-shirt contest. Ahhhh, the simple delights.
And with that explanation, I would like to award the “Orange Net Award” to those who dare to release the wonder of their child and jump into the cold ocean of Life. Diving deep into her experiences your gentle orange net of words releases our imaginations, hearts, souls, tears and laughter. You are not afraid to bare your hearts and other bits. You stand before us unmasked, as you are, soaked in your own experiences, orange net in hand and set us free.To Sharnia – Your experience still jumps up and grabs me with unexpected splashes of laughter.
To Sai – From the kitten that invited herself to your work cafeteria, to Hope and to your gentle and fearless spirit your words are the warm gulf breeze against my heart, flowing, creating movement and ever, ever so quietly strong.
To Mansi We always want it all Mansi. Your writing scurries along the beach like the sand pipers leaving tracks in the sand as a reminder that perhaps we do.
To Marcime Your post “Internal Bikini” is quite appropriate as it stands. But it is the last paragraph that still leaves me standing in pause like watching the sun rise over the gulf’s horizon for the first time.
To Calming Reflections - Your words are the undertow moving the waves on and off the shore, reminding us to look beneath to what we do not see.
To Katherine Jenkins – You call us to the deep waters, to sit in the silence of meditation’s waters silencing everything save our heart beat.
To Bill and Lisa - You remind us to see the beauty of the storms upon the Gulf.
To Healing Morning, the Dawn – Your words are like the dolphin whose song penetrates the silence of the deep and whose energy and grace bursts through the surface to leap and dance like magic. Yes, magic is crisp and it does exist.
To Writer’s Rising and Authentic Bloggers You are the beach, welcoming the tides, ripples and swells, those who can wear a bikini and those who can’t. You each have a child’s magical orange net of words by which I am constantly in awe.
