A little bit of this, and a little bit of that

This year was so much better than last. I was in the moment, I was enjoying each moment, I was loving it for me and for Dad like I wanted. Friday, our last full day, it was rainy most of the morning and when the sun finally popped out around 2 I hurried into my bathing suit and down to the dock for sunning. I wanted those last few rays to warm my skin, I wanted to be able to hold the feeling, the warmth and color on me for weeks after I'd left.
There was a family with an infant playing in the water and as I lay, eyes closed and face up I smiled and laughed along with them. It was just the four of us and it was great. The sun started to move behind the trees surrounding the dock and I kept moving my lounge chair further and further to the edge of the dock to keep the sun on me. At one point, when there was no one there, I just stood on the furtherest edge and basked in the light. I was craving it and didn't want to give in and head back up to the cabin. When it finally moved well beyond where I could reach it, I turned and gazed out at the lake. The sun was still sparkling magically on the eerily calm water and I thought, "Why don't I just get in the kayak?" So I did. It was a total Dad move. Decide you want to get out there and just go. Normally I may have just paddled to the middle of our part of the lake and lounged, but instead I kept paddling, even beyond the edge of Great Island that marked our entrance to the rest of the lake. I saw Sunset Rock in front of me on another Island, a place we'd stopped at during many family kayaking trips. I hadn't gone all last year, and now was the perfect time.
I felt great as I glided through the water. I let the sadness I had been feeling all week flow through me and pass over me and release. My arms, my shoulders, my body were in rhythm and I hummed the song that Dad would always reference as he explained the best speed of your paddles, "A little bit of this, a little bit of that, a little bit of this, a little bit of that."
As I reached the rock, I saw there was a young girl laying on a blanket reading near the water. Someone like me, I thought. Looking for somewhere to get away and just be.
As I glided to a stop and pulled the kayak up onto the rocky edge I realized I hadn't brought a towel, or anything to lean on, or lay on. Oh well. I immediately jumped into the clean, clear water and let myself slip into the cool comfort I feel when being underwater. I came up for air and swam a little bit further out before coming back and climbing onto the rock hot with the days sun.
I leaned back on my hands, closed my eyes and tilted my head up. It felt great to just sit there and be bathed in late day sun. I tried mediating, just breathing deeply and clearing my mind. I was able to for a bit, and then more people started to gather on the popular rock. I thought, if I had brought a towel I probably would have stayed for hours.
I climbed back into the kayak and began paddling back towards the tip of Great Island and then back. As I neared the Island, I slowed down my stroke debating whether to stop at some other rocks I had seen. I heard a splashing to my left and looked over as a loon emerged from the water about a paddles length away from me. I was frozen for a second as I looked at the large black and white bird and his, or her, red eye fixed on me. Loons are beautiful creatures, and large when you're as close to them as I was. I wish I didn't get scared and paddle a bit more quickly away, but I did and as I turned to look at the bird again I saw him, or her, rise a little ways out of the water and flap his, or her, wings. Territorial, I thought. Good thing I paddled away.
As I made my way back to the cabin, I felt happy and proud. I had gone into the week wanting to be able to let myself just take in and enjoy where I was, do things for Dad, and myself. And I had, and this kayak gave me a renewed since of, I'm okay. And, after a week of being in a small house with lots of people coming in and out it was nice to have some alone time too, although I didn't feel totally alone.


Too see them all