Why is it I always want to be where I’m not? Our recent cold temps have me pining for our lot in Yuma where I note it is going to be 68 degrees late this week. To add insult to injury, the low there will be the high here in Coos Bay. The guest on our lot tells me she is loving our place; a “wish you were here” from afar. I had another “wish you were here” moment this morning, transported by a loving husband to the times we spent in the islands—soft wind whistling through palms, large rum drinks, intense sun, and donning fins and snorkels to immerse ourselves for hours in bathtub water while we watched strange and colorful fish. Now how did I come up with those thoughts when it’s been months or years since I’ve thought of those vacations?
My mind lingering in the islands, we next pulled anchor on our sailboat and sailed off for another palm-tree laden idyllic bay to explore. God, I long to be there again. At least I was able to walk on a beach this afternoon as I listened to the Charleston waves gently roll up right at my feet under a chill winter sun. It was a calm day in the bay with few crabbers out and no raucous gulls calling. I felt I did the walk for my father, the Navy vet who will never see his beloved ocean again. He has told me many times recently he would just like to get to the coast “one more time”, that being here is almost bittersweet for me. I am left wondering if that’s the way it is as we face dying. Do we think of those favorite things we will miss forever, like a loving husband and a gently rocking sailboat beneath us, sipping rum drinks?
