For Jim

In remembrance of Jim, we swam out to The Cove's quarter-mile buoy this evening. Many thanks to Kevin Koresky for organizing the event and purchasing the leis.

When I pulled up at the buoy and lifted my goggles up to my forehead, there was a one-breath summersault contest going on (the winner did twelve; yes, you should be impressed; it was a flurry of pointed toes and a tucked head). It was just the type of thing Jim would've organized, egging people on to join in.

Leis were placed on the buoys, a few words were said. Then some continued further out for a longer swim, and some high-tailed it back to the shore for the potluck. I bobbed around the buoy for a bit. It was my first ocean swim in a year and a half. It was good. But soon I got cold. Really cold. (No wetsuit). But it was still good. I will be back before another year and a half passes.

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I ducked out of work for a couple hours this afternoon for my book club. This month was "favorite children's stories" and the girls shared books they'd bought for their newborns on a recent trip to a bookstore. We had an interesting discussion on whether children should be exposed to fairy tales and other "lies" like the Tooth Fairy. Most of the girls thought it was fine, but some believed it would only delude the child about the harsh realities of life. These girls have gone through hell in their short lives, but I don't always realize the profound effects of such a trauma. It was only a couple minutes into the discussion that I realized I'd been holding my breath.

After work I jetted over to Shores for a swim. It was my first Monday swim of the year without a wetsuit. The water was 67, which is just on the cusp of being comfortable for me. As Pam and I waded in, we looked at each other and wondered what we'd gotten ourselves into. Nearly everyone else was covered in neoprene. But the water was fine once I got going. Stopping at the halfway buoy, though, was another issue. Swim, swim, swim, and I'm fine. Stop for one second and I'm instantly cold, kicking a mean eggbeater and sculling to try and stay warm. Its effects were only marginal and I swam double-time back to the shore. Still, it was a great swim, and a bit liberating being without a wetsuit.

I emerged from the sea to a voicemail from my good friend Patchen. A couple months ago, I'd asked him to give a reading at my wedding (something related to love or life or some equally serendiptious thing). He'd called to say he may not be able to make it because of work. Which makes me sad but I completely understand. The best part of his phone call was the declaration that "I've been writing 500 words every day. It doesn't matter if they're good words because I'm doing it consistently." This made me so happy. Juggling a pay-the-bills job with an artistic pursuit is difficult. Especially with the complications of rent, health insurance, the approval of family, the salary raises of friends and feeling like you don't measure up. But Patchen is capable of some really fine writing and although we can get distracted, you always return to a stasis of what you should be doing.