I am sitting at a table in a condo on Hilton Head Island, looking out at the Atlantic Ocean and thinking about how my life has changed tremendously in recent years, and yet the ocean looks the same as it did when I was a kid.
As soon as we got here, three days ago, I went to the kitchen sink and drank some tap water. My son looked at me as though I had lost my mind. "Why are you doing that?" he asked.
"I just want to see what it tastes like," I replied.
Within a short time he had located how to get filtered water out of the fridge, which is far newer and nicer than the one we use at home.
I didn't stop to analyze why I immediately reached for a water glass. I drink only two liquids, water and tea. I gave up sodas years ago. I limit myself to one cup of hot tea a day because I am very sensitive to caffeine.
Last night I was remembering a TV program I watched months ago on PBS, about rivers. We drink the water from a river and it becomes part of us, part of our bodies. We eat food grown in soil and that place becomes part of our bodies. I find that such a profound and moving idea. The place where we live gives us life and becomes part of our bodies, and our lives.
I lived in East Tennessee for more than twenty years. Dad moved our family there when I was 8, for a new job. East Tennessee is a beautiful place, and you see the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains everywhere in Knoxville. We made good friends there. We enjoyed the mountains, the lakes, the people.
Despite all that, East Tennessee never really felt like home to me. It always felt like a temporary sojourn, being there.
The red clay of Georgia has been growing the food of my family for generations. The water from the Georgia rivers has nurtured us. The bones of my forbears have become part of that soil. My ancestors spent their lives working that soil to get food for the families, then they lay down in the soil and became a part of it. In a very real way, we are a part of Georgia and it is a part of us.
This Atlantic Ocean I am looking at is the same ocean that brought my ancestors over from Europe and deposited them on this shore. It also took my father back across to serve in the army during the Korean War. I crossed it twice, by plane, to bring my children home.
I don't remember a time when I didn't love going to the beach. When I was 5 weeks old my parents went to Kiawah Island with my dad's brothers and their families and everyone stayed in a big old rented house on vacation. I was too little to go in the ocean but I must have sensed its nearness, because all of my life I have felt a sense of going home every time I return to the ocean. Nothing soothes my soul like watching the ocean, feeling the sand on my feet, feeling the caress of the wind, seeing seagulls and pelicans overhead.
I remember my profound shock and discomfort when I was in high school and my Biology teacher read to our class from a book that basically said human beings evolved from fish long before we were apelike creatures. It makes sense though. Our bodies are mostly water. We are natural swimmers. [I had never thought about Creationism vs. Evolution, but when I asked Mom and Dad they just said "The bible is allegorical," and that made sense to me.]
I needed this week of vacation so badly that it scares me, a bit. Being a full-time caregiver to my mother is stressful. I love her dearly but I have pretty much become a creature of obligation in the past few years -- trying to give Mom the best quality of life possible, soothe Lola and keep her happy (she was a rescue and is anxious when I leave her), do my work and keep my boss happy, and help Michael navigate the scary transition from childhood to adulthood. I also have an old house that is always needing something fixed. There is almost no "me time" on a daily basis.
This week I am trying to re-connect to myself. I spent several hours yesterday either in the swimming pool or walking along the beach. Floods of memories. "Watch this Mom!" Making sand castles on the beach. Walking into the water with Daddy and jumping waves. Eating freshly caught fish with a squeeze of lemon juice in each bite. At 57 years old I imagine these memory flashbacks will only get stronger as the years advance. Maybe this is why I am drawn to time travel stories, because I experience glimpses of it all the time.
Now I have drunk the water of this ocean once again, and eaten her fish, and they are part of my body. Now I have re-baptized myself in the waters of the mighty Atlantic, Mother Ocean, and I have hope she can heal me and bring me back to myself and help me to be a better caretaker to those I love.
Thank you God for your many gifts, especially the gift of understanding our connection to your beautiful world.
