Island life

I MISS the ocean.  Maybe more than I miss family and friends.  While they always talk to me and respond, the ocean expects me to stop by and invite myself in.  It doesn’t care if it’s too cold and uninviting - or too far away. 

Growing up on an island, I took regular ocean swimming for granted until I moved to Dhaka, Bangladesh.  Although it's a harbour city, surrounded by water, the water is polluted: rank, and green or purple.  It enjoys a cooling monsoon season and a flash storm could flood the streets in seconds.  Later, Jbird and I moved to Baltimore.  Though it's another harbour city, we did not own a car, and because we followed the winter to New Zealand, we were never able to swim in clean salty waters.  Now we’re in Indiana and I'm landlocked for the first time in my life.  We’re pacified with a pool nearby but secretly yearn the ocean.

On Monday, I’m going to drive out west to get my hair cut.  Afterwards, I will drive to Piha with my body board in tow.  I hope there's at least a four foot swell.  Strong enough to take me by surprise, pick me up, and dump me on the sand.  A thorough baptism of home waters, the Pacific.