I know that I’m speaking from a place of privilege when I say I haven’t had a vacation in so long my body is struggling. What I mean by that is that I haven’t had a good dose of sunshine in 18 months. Last summer I spent the entire season in a basement guest room, sleeping or watching television. Although, honestly, I did manage a few walks, and even a single short hike between rounds of chemotherapy. And this summer, being typically as warm as winter in Southern California, offers no hope for feeling the sun on my face, or hot sand on the soles of my feet. After all these years, I would have thought I could acclimate and not need a few weeks of intense heat each year. But my battery is low.
To kick off E.’s vacation, I took him to the wellness center at the nearby beach hotel. There are saunas and a cold pool, a swimming pool and jacuzzi. The space is warm. When you lounge in a chair with your eyes closed, you can image it’s evening, somewhere in the Canaries, with the white noise of the pool rather than the softly grumbling sea.
The wall facing the sea is glass from pool to ceiling. It’s a kind of triptych: tall panes of glass. To the left is a bucolic and nautical scene, far enough in the distance to look more like a painting than reality.
The center window frames the granite that juts out of the dunes to block the view of the sea. Between the granite and the window are the moss-covered remains of a Nazi fortification. I’m not certain, but it seems to be some kind of gun turret—maybe 3 meters in diameter.
The window that we “read” last—to the right—is a view of the shore. People are walking their dogs. Kids are running. Someone is kitesurfing. I know that, out of sight, there are a few surfers in wetsuits, and joggers like we had been just a few minutes earlier, dodging dead, orange jellyfish rimmed with white foam.
The triptych struck me as ways to view the world, with even attention to idealism, past hurts, and the complex present.
I just wish the complex present was more than 59 degrees Fahrenheit.
Tomorrow the wind is going to pick up, and there are warnings already for us to expect fallen trees and canceled ferries.
More time write, I guess. More time to try not to dream about beach umbrellas and the kind of sunshine that turns the insides of your eyelids orange. Orange and fluid as a lava lamp, or a jellyfish still floating in the ebb.
I’ll be back tomorrow with Wednesday’s Poem. And again on Sunday with another Process Journal Entry.
Until then, have a great day!
Warmly,
Ren Powell’s Acts of a Recovering Drama Queen
Writing against Melodrama by Engaging with the Natural World
Give some love. It only takes a little ❤️.