One sort of slams into island life.
At least, it feels that way: perhaps it is the other way round, that island life sort of slams into one; not maliciously, of course, but rather in the way it would be if you started running down the beach, into the surf and suddenly the water drags on your limbs with its thousand and one fingers.
We left Santa Cruz two weeks ago, in a frenzy of wrapping up things and placing that sear on changing relationships so carefully opened; that sauter of a goodbye which can totally scar over the love, or simply change it’s bleeding to a much slower version: for love of friends are like wounds we open to share ourselves.
The trip away was so frantic that I didn’t even look back to the familiar sea-lines and silhouettes of tree and cliff which I came to love: perhaps it was easier that way. We left in shock (at our lack of organization and my irrational fears of the car wheels blowing up as a result of the weight) and we reached the San Juan ferry in shock (at four days in the car with three kids and a cat and each other).
Then island life hit.
The house we are living in right now is a home, in a real sense, in that it was built in the sweat of fathers and uncles, a loving expression of extended family and a dream of my Dad’s. A work of art in rustic cabin style, with large picture windows looking out across Puget Sound to Sucia Island downstage and Vancouver, BC lights peeking out from upstage. The lighting is run by a master, every sunset and sunrise different, and with all the moodiness of the ocean. How I love the ocean, since I was little- perhaps it is that it matches my mercurial creative nature. I am sure I could be called treacherous too, sometimes, in my moods. But no one paints my moods. The ocean’s are much more interesting and informed by the light of the sun. I suppose that is what I hope will happen more and more with mine; that they become informed by the true light.
We’ve been trying to get our family home back from some squatter spiders, bees and birds. Paco the cat is helping with the birds and I am not sure who will help us with the other, more devious things. It is fun to watch the birds dive-bombing Paco as his little black head peeks out of the beach grass. They just don’t know what they are dealing with: this isn’t some bumbly sea otter, but a sleek, black hitcat.
One daughter is grieving the loss of the social life she loves so much, the other (like me) is just absorbing the new atmosphere in her own mysterious ways, and our son is peeking in the garage at Grandpa’s ‘driving boat’ and making bows and arrows out of driftwood (he might kill someone…).
People maddeningly drive the exact speed limits, limits unheard of like 15 and 20- and 40 on the only thing that resembles a highway. We’re dependent on the ferry system to get off and on the island; over to Friday Harbor for Mass and the cheaper groceries; or Shaw to the monastery; or to the Mainland to get Thaddeus off to his various real-time conferences and other things. And dealing with these green and white monster-boats is where the Strange Island Day for Rookies grabbed us while saying it its crusty voice, “ Haha! You’re on an island now, me hearties!”
We left Orcas in a hurry (40), and drove onto the inter-island ferry, the Kakima or Tacoma or something like that; and we made our languid way threading through the islands, leaving us time to look at each other, the water, other passengers, or just read (Thaddeus, who never leaves home without a good supply of books). Then, a little scuffle and then back in the car, and OUT! Wow. Excitement. A new island! A bigger town! We went grocery shopping in a big way (cheaper), hoping the cold day would keep the food ‘til we got home to Orcas.
Friday Harbor still has the saltly feel of an old, Western sea town, with the richly decorated buildings sticking out of the street like old teeth, and the saloon on the corner; although nowadays, besides the one tattooed guy, the patronage is mostly anorak-coated, biking short spindly Northwest types. We got ourselves to Mass in the little 1894 St. Francis Church, where we heard a homily from a Maryknoll missionary on ‘being sent’ and educated by his stories of poverty and hospitality in the Philippines. One story stuck out, about a dining room table doubling as a bed for him to sleep on, complete with the hosts still sitting around the table as he slept.
We left thinking about poverty and being sent by Christ, as we made our way down to the ferry for the ride back to Orcas Island and home. That is where the day got weird. The ferry-man, looking a bit like Charon, told us that there was no other ferry, except for the 8 in the morning.
Silence. Then test-awareness happens. God threw a curve-ball, using our stupidity as an arm. We drove back into town, found the cheapest place, which, ironically, was the “Orcas Inn”, it’s motto: “Spend a night, not a fortune.”. I have never seen a smaller room in my life. I had been worried about all the food we’d bought going bad, so was wondering if these closet-rooms would have a fridge at all, or one big enough for our stuff. Lo, there was a whole row of new little fridges in the dim hallway, fridges which the kind lady in the office said we could use- “all six of ‘em, if ya need it”. I could almost hear the silent, deep laughter from Above. We had passed the test thus far, keeping alive humor and forgiveness for the person who’d assumed there’d be a ferry back on a Saturday night (non-island thinking cropping up).
We then got everyone back in the car to go out, avoiding the one queen bed in the closet as long as possible. We wandered to Paradise Bowl, but had no socks with us. The thought of fungus and the doubtful looks of the small, red-haired island man behind the counter nixed that idea. Leaving with crying kids, we went back down to the harbor. There, like a stupid giant thumbing his nose at us, was a ferry. We looked at each other and then Thaddeus sprinted down to say, “Um?” He came back as fast and said, “ Charon said he’s so glad we came back, he made a mistake. We’ve ten minutes.”
Back to Orcas Inn. Fridges back were they were. Food out of fridges. Crying children in car, who WANTED to stay in a closet. Money back from kind Orcas Inn lady. Back down to ferry, lane 11 for Orcas. On ferry. “We’ll try to get you to Lopez for the 9.10 Orcas ferry.” While waiting for ferry to get to Lopez, eating chips, cheese, grapes and juice for dinner. Laughing together.
Suddenly everything slowed down with a child’s comment, “ God wanted to teach us trust today”. Thinking about this as the sun turns back for one glorious look, peeking through a hole in the thick cloud cover, turning the grey masses of water and sky to sparkling orange and red. It seemed to me, that the eye of my Beloved winked at me.
At least, it feels that way: perhaps it is the other way round, that island life sort of slams into one; not maliciously, of course, but rather in the way it would be if you started running down the beach, into the surf and suddenly the water drags on your limbs with its thousand and one fingers.
We left Santa Cruz two weeks ago, in a frenzy of wrapping up things and placing that sear on changing relationships so carefully opened; that sauter of a goodbye which can totally scar over the love, or simply change it’s bleeding to a much slower version: for love of friends are like wounds we open to share ourselves.
The trip away was so frantic that I didn’t even look back to the familiar sea-lines and silhouettes of tree and cliff which I came to love: perhaps it was easier that way. We left in shock (at our lack of organization and my irrational fears of the car wheels blowing up as a result of the weight) and we reached the San Juan ferry in shock (at four days in the car with three kids and a cat and each other).
Then island life hit.
The house we are living in right now is a home, in a real sense, in that it was built in the sweat of fathers and uncles, a loving expression of extended family and a dream of my Dad’s. A work of art in rustic cabin style, with large picture windows looking out across Puget Sound to Sucia Island downstage and Vancouver, BC lights peeking out from upstage. The lighting is run by a master, every sunset and sunrise different, and with all the moodiness of the ocean. How I love the ocean, since I was little- perhaps it is that it matches my mercurial creative nature. I am sure I could be called treacherous too, sometimes, in my moods. But no one paints my moods. The ocean’s are much more interesting and informed by the light of the sun. I suppose that is what I hope will happen more and more with mine; that they become informed by the true light.
We’ve been trying to get our family home back from some squatter spiders, bees and birds. Paco the cat is helping with the birds and I am not sure who will help us with the other, more devious things. It is fun to watch the birds dive-bombing Paco as his little black head peeks out of the beach grass. They just don’t know what they are dealing with: this isn’t some bumbly sea otter, but a sleek, black hitcat.
One daughter is grieving the loss of the social life she loves so much, the other (like me) is just absorbing the new atmosphere in her own mysterious ways, and our son is peeking in the garage at Grandpa’s ‘driving boat’ and making bows and arrows out of driftwood (he might kill someone…).
People maddeningly drive the exact speed limits, limits unheard of like 15 and 20- and 40 on the only thing that resembles a highway. We’re dependent on the ferry system to get off and on the island; over to Friday Harbor for Mass and the cheaper groceries; or Shaw to the monastery; or to the Mainland to get Thaddeus off to his various real-time conferences and other things. And dealing with these green and white monster-boats is where the Strange Island Day for Rookies grabbed us while saying it its crusty voice, “ Haha! You’re on an island now, me hearties!”
We left Orcas in a hurry (40), and drove onto the inter-island ferry, the Kakima or Tacoma or something like that; and we made our languid way threading through the islands, leaving us time to look at each other, the water, other passengers, or just read (Thaddeus, who never leaves home without a good supply of books). Then, a little scuffle and then back in the car, and OUT! Wow. Excitement. A new island! A bigger town! We went grocery shopping in a big way (cheaper), hoping the cold day would keep the food ‘til we got home to Orcas.
Friday Harbor still has the saltly feel of an old, Western sea town, with the richly decorated buildings sticking out of the street like old teeth, and the saloon on the corner; although nowadays, besides the one tattooed guy, the patronage is mostly anorak-coated, biking short spindly Northwest types. We got ourselves to Mass in the little 1894 St. Francis Church, where we heard a homily from a Maryknoll missionary on ‘being sent’ and educated by his stories of poverty and hospitality in the Philippines. One story stuck out, about a dining room table doubling as a bed for him to sleep on, complete with the hosts still sitting around the table as he slept.
We left thinking about poverty and being sent by Christ, as we made our way down to the ferry for the ride back to Orcas Island and home. That is where the day got weird. The ferry-man, looking a bit like Charon, told us that there was no other ferry, except for the 8 in the morning.
Silence. Then test-awareness happens. God threw a curve-ball, using our stupidity as an arm. We drove back into town, found the cheapest place, which, ironically, was the “Orcas Inn”, it’s motto: “Spend a night, not a fortune.”. I have never seen a smaller room in my life. I had been worried about all the food we’d bought going bad, so was wondering if these closet-rooms would have a fridge at all, or one big enough for our stuff. Lo, there was a whole row of new little fridges in the dim hallway, fridges which the kind lady in the office said we could use- “all six of ‘em, if ya need it”. I could almost hear the silent, deep laughter from Above. We had passed the test thus far, keeping alive humor and forgiveness for the person who’d assumed there’d be a ferry back on a Saturday night (non-island thinking cropping up).
We then got everyone back in the car to go out, avoiding the one queen bed in the closet as long as possible. We wandered to Paradise Bowl, but had no socks with us. The thought of fungus and the doubtful looks of the small, red-haired island man behind the counter nixed that idea. Leaving with crying kids, we went back down to the harbor. There, like a stupid giant thumbing his nose at us, was a ferry. We looked at each other and then Thaddeus sprinted down to say, “Um?” He came back as fast and said, “ Charon said he’s so glad we came back, he made a mistake. We’ve ten minutes.”
Back to Orcas Inn. Fridges back were they were. Food out of fridges. Crying children in car, who WANTED to stay in a closet. Money back from kind Orcas Inn lady. Back down to ferry, lane 11 for Orcas. On ferry. “We’ll try to get you to Lopez for the 9.10 Orcas ferry.” While waiting for ferry to get to Lopez, eating chips, cheese, grapes and juice for dinner. Laughing together.
Suddenly everything slowed down with a child’s comment, “ God wanted to teach us trust today”. Thinking about this as the sun turns back for one glorious look, peeking through a hole in the thick cloud cover, turning the grey masses of water and sky to sparkling orange and red. It seemed to me, that the eye of my Beloved winked at me.
