A Chapter from the Sea

My daughter was conceived at sea. Her time in the womb was not broken by any rumblings of traffic, by any strident car horns. My sight, my being, my mind was filled with light, white colour. Brilliant blues, a pale sky fringed by grey squalls along the horizon. She barely moved inside me. Perhaps she could sense no one at all. Her tiny consciousness only aware of the gentle movements of her heavy mother, pulling herself along the boat, swinging gently from handholds to rest in the cockpit. Our murmur of voices pulsed around her, coming to her as conversation in a library, in muffled, hushed voices. Broken songs, interrupted guitar, laughter. It all brushed her memory as she lay floating easily inside me. 

Our cabin was my solace. The large cabin was curvature in its shape, the bed dominating the small space - large by comparison to other yachts.  I would often lie there, small gusts of available breeze softly puffing their way through the gap in the hatch, the footsteps of the three boys creaking the deck above me, conversations whispering their way down. I crouched, bent over, one ear crooked towards their talk, wondering what I would hear, what men talk of when they think no woman is listening, but their talk never surprised me, never brought me to my knees, made me fall onto the wide bed, laughing. They spoke of simple things, of B grade American movies, of actresses they thought were beauties, nothing I didn't know, guffawed at jokes I didn't find humorous.
Alone, I would look through a drawer full of my secrets, coloured tissue paper, perfumes, scents, painted bracelets, letters from my family, boxes carefully packed with tiny sand-dollars, carefully held above my head as I kicked my way back to the boat. I read over my silk bound journals; studies of places and people, of trees, land, valleys. Seedpods from Costa Rica rested next to driftwood found on Galapagos. Comfortably wedging a pillow behind me, the boat to leeward, I unpacked each drawer, examining my treasures before organising and placing them carefully back. Creating some new order of mine below deck.

From the Shoreline to the Sea

Change. To have flown 10,000 miles across oceans to visit distant grandparents. I think I have decided that the life most affected by the upheaval is mine. Extended family; farewell.  Welcome to a different state of being where the most positive advice I received was from a woman met in a playground, 'who knows what opportunities will arise? 'Tis true. I am out in the ether. Far from hiding away in suburbia. I have found myself thrown into role playing with my daughter, not half-hearted play here, we play with vigour and she revels in the full glare of my love and attention. Acting not being something I have ever thrown myself into, in this case, the audience is open and undaunted by my somewhat wispery witch or hoarse wolf in the woods. We play chasey amongst the pine trees near our home, the biting winter wind nothing against our hot breath and rosy cheeks. My daughter's small straight back and broad shoulders in front of me, her ringlets touched by gold, the longest stretched by the wind.The pendulum has swung in another direction also, I have suddenly reached my point to write. After months of procrastinating and physical exhaustion, my children sleep and I write. It has finally happened, and so I begin a blog. Has this happened because we left, because I am bereft of family and close friends, that my husband is now at sea and I have my evenings to myself?  I am unsure why or how, but I know that a change in geography has brought about an essential seachange to life and I am happy because of it.

The Flight Over

Weeks earlier I sat in the fireroom scanning websites for tips on how to entertain my children, toddlers on the plane. Making list upon list, and I am not a list person, ideas to wrap toys like presents and offer one each hour of the flight, balloons to blow up while waiting in the airport, pencils, stories, personal dvd players. My husband, uninterested, watched tv, occassionally listening to me as I exclaimed. Why wasn't he more worried, or even interested on what could occur if we weren't prepared??? Well my female friends and mother's united, we all know the reason why,...if my one year old son started screaming,  and hyperventilating from claustrophobic cabin fever, it was going to fall on Mama. If my three yr old little girl developed air sickness and threw up all over her seat and clothes, Mama would make it all nice again. Perhaps I was being unfair, that given the chance my man would leap into action and attend to all. Perhaps control is essential to my life and I must dominate where I can when I should let him do more.
I laugh when think that he watched an entire movie, then promptly took a valium and fell asleep. Albeit not a looonng sleep, but a sleep none the less.
I think maybe the flight was not so bad? It actually wasn't as horrific as expected. One becomes blase in a sense, uncaring to the other human beings crammed into a flying metal object hurtling itself across the sky. A survival instinct is established similar to when you are in labour, or any mind numbing experience - 'I will get through this, I will get through this.' And of course, you do. It ends. And you arrive.