Wednesday, July 21, 2004
It has been unswervingly gorgeous here these past few days: high blue skies, 80 degrees, nary a cloud, and fierce clear light. And I have to share with you that I am sitting by my window, typing on the laptop and the Olympic mountains are etched dark purple against the post-sunset-orange sky. Pure bliss.
This July giftedness makes everything more redolent of joy. This morning, I took my Hydro-fit class at the Magnolia outdoor pool, where I am most days at 11. Yes, it’s the old ladies water aerobics class, but you stop snickering until you have joined me there. It’s a hell of a workout. I can feel my body deepening, the muscles loosening and strengthening at the same time. Finally, the slow unraveling. Perhaps the last skein of pain. With yoga and long walks and the promise to do this every day, my muscles might just be letting go of most of the knots. There are no words for that gratitude. And knowing that I'm giving it to myself makes it all the sweeter.
And I love the outdoor pool. I feel six years old again, being there. Little kids run around the white cement, chasing each other and laughing. Two little girls with pink bathing suits walk slowly around, one with her eyes closed, the other guiding her. Small boys learn how to dive by flopping on their bellies, over and over again. Pregnant women, trim men ready to swim laps at noon, old women limping, and babies feeling the summer sun for the first time--we're all there. Everyone squirts on the sunscreen but manages to be berry-brown anyway. (You should see me with my bathing-suit tan. You'd never believe that I live in Seattle.)
I’ve made friends there, especially my 73-year-old friend, Mary. She's alive, feisty, deeply kind, and unswervingly fashionable. She's the one who told me where to find the best pedicures in Seattle. I adore her. Her throaty giggle fills the air above the chlorine-blue water every morning. This afternoon, after our watery social hour, she took me out to lunch at Ray’s Boathouse. She has been wanting me to meet her daughter, Maureen. A lovely person. Mary has told me stories for months about Maureen's daughter, who is a twelve-year-old writer. And she is. I read a couple of her poems, and I was moved. Immediately, I wanted to meet her, start working with her, start talking with my hands about the joy of writing and how it's okay to look at the world differently than everyone else. Mary also brought her friend Lee, who’s visiting from Tucson. Oh god, what a character. She had that wispy-thin, old-lady hair, and it had been dyed bright orange, like carrot soup. She wore these sunglasses that took up half her face, rose lenses and intricate, 18-karat-gold frames. Elton John would have tried to steal them from her. She talked about her husband of 58 years, who just died this year, whom she referred to as Papa. And how Papa took her jewelry shopping all around the world and never looked at the bills. She wore three or four gold necklaces, about twelve gold bracelets, and managed to have such a sense of humor about herself that I ended up adoring her too.
We were sitting at the outdoor cafe, in the sun. I had my back to the water, but I could see the vast expanse of Puget Sound behind me in the windows. The mountains gleaming blue, and white sailboats dotting the blueberry-colored water. And my arms could feel the sun. Now, I have a sunburn down the back of my arms that’s going to throb tonight. We drank gin and tonics, ate salmon with fennel and mashed potatoes, moaned at the citrus creme brulee, and laughed for three hours. And Mary wouldn’t let me pay for a thing.
Isn’t it amazing how people just drop into your life?
This July giftedness makes everything more redolent of joy. This morning, I took my Hydro-fit class at the Magnolia outdoor pool, where I am most days at 11. Yes, it’s the old ladies water aerobics class, but you stop snickering until you have joined me there. It’s a hell of a workout. I can feel my body deepening, the muscles loosening and strengthening at the same time. Finally, the slow unraveling. Perhaps the last skein of pain. With yoga and long walks and the promise to do this every day, my muscles might just be letting go of most of the knots. There are no words for that gratitude. And knowing that I'm giving it to myself makes it all the sweeter.
And I love the outdoor pool. I feel six years old again, being there. Little kids run around the white cement, chasing each other and laughing. Two little girls with pink bathing suits walk slowly around, one with her eyes closed, the other guiding her. Small boys learn how to dive by flopping on their bellies, over and over again. Pregnant women, trim men ready to swim laps at noon, old women limping, and babies feeling the summer sun for the first time--we're all there. Everyone squirts on the sunscreen but manages to be berry-brown anyway. (You should see me with my bathing-suit tan. You'd never believe that I live in Seattle.)
I’ve made friends there, especially my 73-year-old friend, Mary. She's alive, feisty, deeply kind, and unswervingly fashionable. She's the one who told me where to find the best pedicures in Seattle. I adore her. Her throaty giggle fills the air above the chlorine-blue water every morning. This afternoon, after our watery social hour, she took me out to lunch at Ray’s Boathouse. She has been wanting me to meet her daughter, Maureen. A lovely person. Mary has told me stories for months about Maureen's daughter, who is a twelve-year-old writer. And she is. I read a couple of her poems, and I was moved. Immediately, I wanted to meet her, start working with her, start talking with my hands about the joy of writing and how it's okay to look at the world differently than everyone else. Mary also brought her friend Lee, who’s visiting from Tucson. Oh god, what a character. She had that wispy-thin, old-lady hair, and it had been dyed bright orange, like carrot soup. She wore these sunglasses that took up half her face, rose lenses and intricate, 18-karat-gold frames. Elton John would have tried to steal them from her. She talked about her husband of 58 years, who just died this year, whom she referred to as Papa. And how Papa took her jewelry shopping all around the world and never looked at the bills. She wore three or four gold necklaces, about twelve gold bracelets, and managed to have such a sense of humor about herself that I ended up adoring her too.
We were sitting at the outdoor cafe, in the sun. I had my back to the water, but I could see the vast expanse of Puget Sound behind me in the windows. The mountains gleaming blue, and white sailboats dotting the blueberry-colored water. And my arms could feel the sun. Now, I have a sunburn down the back of my arms that’s going to throb tonight. We drank gin and tonics, ate salmon with fennel and mashed potatoes, moaned at the citrus creme brulee, and laughed for three hours. And Mary wouldn’t let me pay for a thing.
Isn’t it amazing how people just drop into your life?
Comments:
Post a Comment
