'On Love'"I love you for putting your hand into my heaped up heart
and passing over all the foolish weak things
that you can't help dimly seeing there
and for drawing out into the light all the beautiful belongings
that no one else has looked quite far enough to find."
-from the writings of the Jewish poet Martin Buber
Easter Sunday. Ocracoke NC.
I wake at 4:30 a.m. and there is no going back to sleep. I make a cup of tea in the trusty microwave, and climbing back into bed, read the words beginning "Early on Sunday morning, while it was still dark...", words I almost know by heart, the words of the Easter Story. The dog snores gently. I am a quivering jangle of excited nervousness. Or nervous excitement. Not sure which.
At 6:00 a.m. I will get in the car, drive to the 'Lifeguard Beach', walk the boardwalk in the semi-darkness toward the shore, and facing east, stare out over the Atlantic, waiting for the sun to rise.
Easter morning service on the beach.
I get ready. I pull on my (as yet unworn) dressy pink silk skirt, black hoodie, leaving my feet bare.
I rouse Chester at 5:50,but he will not be moved. (After all, it's still dark.) Having planned on taking him with me to the service-on-the-beach, I hesitate, not sure what to do. But he decides for us, (in lab-like fashion), by firmly burying his nose in the depths of the covers, and showing zero interest as I go out the door.
I comfort myself with the fact that I will be back in an hour or so, (still before his normal waking time), and then we will switch gears for the activities of the rest of the day.
There are twenty or so cars in the parking lot. As I scan the still-dark world around me, I see a family heading beach-ward.
My bare feet, on the cool weathered boardwalk, follow.
The service involves lots of singing, instrumental music, short readings, prayers, all thrown skyward. At 6:41, the first blazing sliver of sun appears, rising out of the sea.
For a moment, there is silence as everyone takes it in.
And then the beach is filled with song. Not like church hymns, bouncing off the ceiling and walls and circling throughout.
But sharper. Clearer. Fleeting. Staying on earth only a moment, and then rising up and out of earshot.
Like a balloon of sound floating up and out to sea.
Following the service, there is a bit of social time on the beach. I speak to a few people, including the minister. She asks where I am from, and I tell her.
"Canada?!" she exclaims, as if I had said 'Siberia'.
Three hours later, Chester and I are on the road.
Walked, breakfasted, coffeed.
There is a bit of a queue for the Ocracoke-to-Hatteras ferry, but we, (in the little Tercel), manage to squeeze on, the last car to board. Although I have allowed lots of wiggle room time-wise, I am thrilled we are not having to wait for the next ferry. Not liking the ferry ride much, Chester sits in the back seat looking uncomfortable. He is only attentive to my efforts to distract him when I mention that we are going to see DAD.
(DAD being Doug.)
I know. I know.
Chester probably hears 'blah blah blah DAD', but his reaction to the word DAD is enough to make me believe he is the smartest dog in the world.
Once the ferry docks, we are heading northward (I tell him) for three hours, meeting DAD at the Norfolk VA airport, then driving three hours south to board (once again) the Hatteras-to-Ocracoke ferry, and spending a week at our little cottage.
With Dad.
A week of biking, swimming, strolling.
A week of restaurants, outdoor eateries, bars.
A week of lying on the beach.
The self-inflicted-hermit's-pilgrimage is (almost) over.
We do have a map with us.
But Chester is a lousy co-pilot.
I am driving the (very busy) eastern branch of the main highway through Norfolk VA, desperately trying to spot the airport sign. The map is on the seat beside me, but I can't read it and drive, and I can't (very easily) pull off right now.
I take a chance on the next major exit. I'm pretty certain this is right.
I glance left and right. No airport signs. Hmm.
The houses become more stately. The road divided by a boulevard, treed, green and floral.
Somehow, not looking airport-like.
I turn the car around, heading back to the main highway. Spotting a waiting bus, the driver outside, I ask him, (staring longingly at the cup of take-out coffee he holds), if he can point me to the airport.
Easy, says he.
I am now cutting it mighty close.
We arrive.
A bit of time to spare, thank God.
I need to pee so badly, I'm not sure I'd make it into the building to search for facilities.
And Chester is most anxious to get out of the car.
It has beautiful grounds, this airport. There is a little copse of woods in the centre of the parking lot, with criss-crossing foot paths, and lots of undergrowth. As there is no one about, Chester and I enter the woods.
Happily, there is now no longer any urgency.
We will wait for him outside.
We have a good 15 minute walk, and then things begin to happen. Obviously, something has landed, as people with suitcases scurry about. We head closer to the main doors, so as to spot him as he exits.
But looking left and right, I'm befuddled in this, not exactly a 'crowd', but a rush of people, all knowing where they're going.
Hard to look about when in the middle of it all.
Chester suddenly pulls hard on the leash, almost causing a dislocation. Nose down, he drags me against the rush of people.
What the...
People are skipping out of the way of Chester, the leash and me, so as not to entangle themselves.
And then I see.
He finds what he is after.
On his hind feet, Chester's front paws are on some man's chest, (a bearded man), licking his face madly.
It's Dad.
The three of us have a happy reunion.
Love.
I am awash in it.
I have made it through my self-inflicted-hermit's-pilgrimage, and am ecstatic with
a) where my art is going,
b) where I am spiritually,
and
c) the presence of this man.
We head slowly to the car. To Ocracoke Island. Home.
Love.
"I love you because you are helping me to make
out of the lumber of my life not a tavern but a temple;
out of the works of my every day not a reproach but a song."
The Jewish poet Martin Buber. His words speaking to me.
Love.
"I love you because you have done
more than any creed could have done to make me good,
and more than any fate to make me happy."
Love.
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