Pepper in the sand
slight seasoning for the senses
a small fire for the tongue.
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I had a glum sort of day yesterday. Remembrance Day is always a somber day in Canada. Whenever it rolls around, all I can do is dwell on the image of young men in trenches in WWI and WWII…and now…young men in trenches still…all over the world. It weighs on me, November 11, every single year. I’m sorry if you found my last post depressing. Every time Remembrance Day rolls around I find myself in so serious a mood, I walk around with easily wetted eyes and the feel of the heartache and weight of war stinging in my breast. My gloom was further compounded by feelings of homesickness — the missingitude (not a real word…but in case you’re wondering, it’s a splice between magnitude and missing) of my home, my man, my friends, my pets, my mountains. Sigh oh sigh! Traveling is the best and worst of times!
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Today, you know, I had a fabulous day.
I spent a few hours in my engraving workshop this morning followed by a delightful lunch with friends. I said good bye to one of my dearest friends as she continues her journey through Southern California and then I went walking for a few hours, on the sea shore, with a woman who is quickly earning my respect and love. She’s like my other, other mother. You know the kind! The kind of girl you just want to hang on to, a mother to all, a lady always, a staunch gal who really knows how to get her mind across. What a chickadee. What a chickadee.
We just strolled and strolled by the feathered fingertips of the ocean this afternoon; scooping up sea shells, running from the reach of the waves. At some point I wound up telling the entire story of Robert and I, I cried a bit (I always do, in the telling of that story, it’s too miraculous not to…I’m too thankful for him, not to…).
And then I took a photo for a pair of Canadians on the beach and they said, eh, and it felt great to be with my own kind for a moment. I filled my pockets with beach things. I daydreamed about making mobiles when I arrive home, like I did so long ago, in New Zealand.*** I bought a few tubes of lipstick over at Sephora, sipped a tasty tea latte and laughed out loud so many times.
I hope your day was just as wonderful.
And if it wasn’t, I hope you see shore birds tomorrow, or a tidy flock of starling, and
feel the spice of their witty landlubbing rapport with the sand and sun.
I hope they lift your heart up, like a thousand sprays of gentle pepper
and carry your soul closer to the warmth of the sun.
I hope each feather
they leave for you
there on the beach,
close to the weeping fingers of the surf,
serves to remind you of the fact that
your wings are wide.
It won’t be long now,
Plume
***The first gift I ever bestowed upon RW was a seashell and driftwood mobile I crafted out of beach combed components I collected at Raglan, New Zealand. He hung it outside his dorm room at the school we attended in that lovely country. In return, he gave me a magical copy of Joseph Conrad’s Typhoon and Youth. He watercolor painted a ocean scene on the cover, wrote me a long letter on the initial title pages and then gift wrapped it in corn husks and put it in my mailbox. What a romantic first gift exchange. We were so beautiful. We’re still beautiful. I love him so.
