domenica 20 gennaio 2013


white seagull ankle tattoo. twinzy tattoos with my baby sister and niece.

yesterday elise said 'I want Pop to take me in a helicopter and a jet and a ____ (some airplane I don't know). I want him to take me on both those.'
Katie said well, you'll have to wait a bit because Pop can't fly right now. Not until he's well again. You have to be in tip-top shape before they'll let you fly and Pop's kind of sick right now.'

Elise thinks for a minute.
'Well, I promise I'm going to drink alot of water and eat all the healthy foods, and when I grow up I promise, I PROMISE, Pop, I won't be sick and then I'll take him flying.'

(on peeing in the ocean) - 'are you sure about this, Mommy?'

(points to our seagull burial of the day before) 'Hawah, do you think that's a sandcastle?'
Me - 'No.'
Elise - 'Yeah, cause it's the birdy under there that we buried. And you said, Hawah, that it was going up to healthy but it's still there.'
Me - 'Healthy? You mean heaven?'
She nods.
I explain to her that the bird is not really there anymore even though its body is. It has gone up to heaven, which really means that it is now part of everything. She said so when I die I will be part of everything too? I say yes.

'Mommy, come here and sit down. We need to have a talk. Why are you always yellin' at me?'

'My heart is boken cause we're not at the beach. It's baking, my heart is baking. We have to go back to the beach.'

(on the phone yesterday, she pauses for a bit and I hear some sounds far off ) 'I can't see you Hawah.'

'That's because I'm at my house and you're at your house and they're far apart.'

'I miss you Hawah.'
'I miss you too. But I'll see you soon.'

high in florida.

1/7?/13 . Sunday night in FL w/Katie and Elise.

Katie paying my way to Florida cause it's the only way she could get me to go with her.

The ocean and the sea are so very different - nothing alike.

Underwater with the light on in the hot pool I can see scars decades old - on my shin where I tried to be superwoman with my sister and her friend Corin McCray in the creek and I dropped the huge slab of slate from over me 48 pound 8 year old head onto my shin and just knicked it - pouring blood into the cold bubbling creek as sister and friend splashed away at the wound. an attempt to thwart a trip with a sobbing baby sister back to the house, where mother would be waiting.

the ocean storm breeze rattles palm fronds and they skitter and squeak like a vibraphone or a xylophone.

a black rounded mountain monster slowly rises into the sky, sweeping over blacking out the ribbons of grey silk frozen there in mid-ruffle.

the storm moves ever gently on. i am warm outside and i am nearly nude. and wet.

the sky's enveloped in misty charcoal soup.

not a soul on the beach as i break my gaze from the black horizon and burst into sprint across the shore. the drum beats steady to my right and in my chest, my fists are pumping and i'm going for distance. i'll never tire at this rate. i could sprint right down the coast, around the tip and stop only when my nude toes froze in the tundra of Iceland.