It Makes You Feel Fine

This morning the ocean was a khaki green, shining with some internal light; whitecaps floating like lace on the surface.  It glowed against the deep, dark gray bowl overhead that stretched from horizon to horizon.  I love the ocean in all her moods so I decided to sit and see what would happen.  After an hour or so the gray turned to blue with a slight breeze and folks poured out of their houses to sit, swim, walk and do what folks do at the beach. 


The water is warm and slides over my skin like silk, it's so heavy I rest on the surface finding it almost impossible to sink.  Home, the place where all life begins. 


I am afraid of ponds and lakes.  I don't trust the inhabitants:  snakes, alligators, leaches and snapping turtles.  They don't seem to like me any more than I like them.  Growing up on the gulf coast of Florida I know the citizens of the ocean and I trust them.  We give each other room and get along just fine.  I feel safe here in this water that glides over me and holds me up.


My skin smells of salt, sweat and suntan lotion and my hair returns to it's natural state; a mass of thick curls that I can barely get my fingers through.  I settle in and let out a deep breath that I didn't even know I was holding.  Home.

"Yeah, now the sun goes slidin' 'cross the water;
Sailboats, they go searchin' for the breeze.
Salt air it ain't thin,
It can stick right to your skin,
And make you feel fine.
It makes you feel fine."

Jimmy Buffet "Tin Cup Chalice"

We Should Be Dancing

We all walk around in these so very fragile bodies.  It's a miracle we last as long as we do.  I'm at the beach this week and I spent the morning watching people.  We show our story in our bodies.  I am struck by how uncomfortable most folks appear to be.  They mostly don't really inhabit their bodies, they drag them around.  Only the little ones are fully present in their bodies, unconcerned about what they look like or things that hurt.  But I like most the little old ladies, nut brown and wrinkled, wearing huge floppy hats.  My favorites also wear bikinis, not giving a damn what anyone else thinks they should be wearing.  Some of them inhabit their bodies again, moving like the little girls they once were, unconcerned about what the world has heaped on them.




I saw an older couple today sitting on the edge of the surf, legs stretched out in front of them.  They were a bit rolly-poly and I watched them hold hands and lower themselves to the sand.  I could tell they'd known each other a long long time.  Lovely. 




How we stand and move in our skin tells so much about our story.  What we are afraid of, where we hurt, what we try to hide.  Fragile.  We are just so incredibly fragile and we walk around like we don't know it.  I want to go up to everyone, one at a time, take their face in my palms and tell them they are beautiful.  Just go from person to person, in case they have forgotten, which most of us have.  We are beautiful and fragile and perfect.  We should be dancing. 

Let The Rough Side Drag, Let The Smooth Side Show

My soul's been feeling a bit ragged lately so today I ignored everything and took myself off.  I drove the ten miles of snaking swirling roads down to the bottom of a bowl our mountains make and into a two block town called Hot Springs.  It's claim to fame is that the Appalachian Trail runs through it.  Locals know it for the outdoor hot-tubs that sit on the edge of the French Broad River.  On a cool summer evening you can rent one and sit as it fills with hot spring water, listening to the river talk and watching the fireflies light up the trees.  There is also a large grassy field dotted with huge old oaks  and every year this time the Bluff Mountain Music Festival happens.  It's a hidden joy.  The people who come love their mountains fiercely and the Hipster vibe that has taken over Asheville and is encroaching on my little town hasn't made it this far yet.  The people gather with their lawn chairs and sit in the shade, eating barbeque, listening to old time mountain music and dancing.  Everyone dances, whether they know how or not, no matter how old or young they are.  Daddies with little girls, ten year olds and teen agers, and couples in their eighties who circle the floor with complete ease.  Ninety year old women sing the old ballads and tell stories about the mountains and folks who have been playing together for forty-five years add a twenty year old and keep on playing. 


I set my chair in the shade of an oak and settle down, tipping my head back to find the edge of that deep green bowl that we are in, letting the twin fiddles soar over my head, and my soul sinks to the ground.  The edges smooth a bit.  Why don't I come here more often?  Why did I stop learning the mandolin?  And oh, I miss dancing!  Still, those things don't feel like a critique, only thoughts, good ideas to consider once again.  Times like these, I love these old old mountains and the life they contain and have sheltered all these years. 


Coming home I am reminded of an old Jesse Winchester song: 


It's a good thing the sea's not dry
Such a good thing that cows don't fly
What a good thing to make a joyful noise
It's a good thing that beds don't talk
Such a good thing that chairs can't walk
What a good thing that God made girls and boys
Let the rough side drag
Let the smooth side show
While you pull that load
Everywhere you go
It's a good that the air is free
Such a good thing that a man can see
What a good thing the Lord above has done
It's a good thing to be young and strong
Such a good thing we're not old for long
What a good thing that making love is fun
Let the rough side drag
Let the smooth side show
While you pull that load
Everywhere you go
Let the rough side drag
Let the smooth side show
While you pull that load
Everywhere you go
While you pull that load
Everywhere you go
While you pull that load
Everywhere you go