Every morning two things happen here that are predictable and comforting. First of all at approximately 7:30 Pam emerges from the bedroom dressed for her morning kayak paddle. This year her outfit includes a bad-ass hat which I love that makes her look like Katherine Hepburn…
She never knows which direction she will head until she gets in the kayak. “Where will I go this fine morning?” She says to herself before heading out into the mist. She stays out on the lake for an hour and a half, sometimes two full hours. Usually she makes her way up to Sheep Island to check in with the family of eagles on the point. Sometimes she heads down to the dam to listen to the water rushing over the blocks and watch the lily pad blooms opening up. But, make no mistake, she’s out there every morning unless it’s raining or the wind is howling.
The second thing that happens is this…
We don’t let Lucy go down to the dock to see her off in the morning because she would jump in after her. Instead, she stays in the house and stands at this window watching every move Mom makes. She doesn’t stop this vigil until the kayak disappears from view. Then and only then will she drop her head, let out one small disgruntled whine, circle around three rotations then plop herself on the floor for a nap, where she sleeps with one eye and both ears open for the first tell-tale sounds that tell her that Mom is back. It is as predictable as the sunrise.
While all this is happening I am usually either writing or reading. Although I don’t stand at the window drooling and whining like Lucy, that doesn’t mean I’m not anxiously awaiting her return. When she gets back we eat breakfast out on the porch, Lucy gets her breakfast, and we listen to Pam’s report on all things Quantabacook. After breakfast it will be my turn. I pack my fishing gear in my kayak and head out for a couple or three hours of fishing and deep thoughts. Sometimes when I return, Pam and Lucy are on the dock getting ready to head out again, this time Pam is on her paddle board and Lucy has her bright orange vest on swimming right beside her. After securing the kayak on the rocky shore I slip my tired and aching body into the water for a swim of my own. Three hours fishing from a kayak plays hell with my back, so the cold water acts like a miracle cure.
Eventually one of us will ask the other, “You have any idea what time it is?” Neither of us do. We are always surprised when one of us says, “It’s one o’clock!”
Then the other says, “We probably should think about lunch pretty soon.”
After lunch I take a nap. Pam works on her cross-stitching or reads. Then around three o’clock or so, our dock is in the shade so we hop on our floats and attach ourselves to the swimming float around fifty yards out in the lake. The sun is bright and warm out there. We drift along chitchatting about various topics. Sometimes Lucy swims along in our little cove, keeping a sharp eye on us in case we decide to do something stupid.
Pretty soon someone will say, “I wonder what time it’s getting to be?” Both of us are again surprised how late it is. Where did the day go? After a while we drag ourselves back to the dock, dry Lucy off and head back to the house to make dinner. We eat out on the porch and Pam always asks the rhetorical question, “Wonder if there will be a decent sunset tonight?” It will be her last excursion on the lake for the day, her search for this sunset. Sometimes I go with her. No doubt, Lucy is standing at her whining window. We don’t say much to each other this time on the lake. It feels a little like being at church and listening to a really moving and powerful message…
Tomorrow we will do it all again.
No comments:
Post a Comment