Monday, September 11, 2023, 7:22pm
Today at the sea, the water was choppy, the sun was shining, and the jellyfish were nowhere to be seen. Or so I thought.
When I walked up to the dock I was excited to see a man swimming in the water. I shouted out to him and asked how the water was, and he said it was quite nice, not too cold. I asked about jellyfish, and he said he hadn’t seen any.
I looked into the water near the ladder and didn’t see any. I looked into the shallow kiddie swim area and didn’t sea any. Then I got my gloves and shoes and snorkel on and lowered myself into the water with the ladder.
So happy to feel the cool water and know that I still don’t need a wetsuit. I don’t mind wearing it, but it’s a pain in the butt to get on and off. Less gear is always better.
I pointed myself in the direction of the diving platforms, and started my sloppy, floppy breast stroke. The water was tossing me around a bit, so I wasn’t moving forward very quickly. Still, there weren’t any jellyfish, which left me feeling so free. I could splash and swim and do my thing without worrying I was hurting them, without worrying one would flop onto my face again. Also, I wondered where they were. Where do they go when it gets choppy?
There was a diffuse sunbeam tunnel, so I reach my hands into it to see the light on my gloves. I chanted “H, E, T, R, A,” then “TW, SC, SP.”
Too Hot
It felt so nice to be in the cool water. Why if I never even run 98.6 (I’m always 97) am I always so flipping hot. Is it hormones? Is it the extra weight I’m carrying? Is it menopause. When the f am I don’t with the madness? I’ve put in eight hard years of sweating, hot flashes, not sleeping, and being overweight. I’m sick of it.
Who Comes to Mind
The water is the only place I feel good. I like feeling weightless. I like how the water supports me if I want to float or invent new, weird strokes in new, weird positions. I treaded water for a few minutes so I could look back at the green park, then look out at the sea. I always think of that line, “the sea refuses no river,” from Pete Townshend when I swim in the sea. And when I’m in the lake I think of that line, “cool, cool water running down my back,” from the Jayhawks. Other times I remember Anne Waldman, “water that cleans as it goes.” Songs and a few select poems feed me in a way that nothing else does. They give me connection, meaning.
I would not have made it through my teen years with out the Who. Nothing makes me feel nostalgic for Minnesota like the Jayhawks. And I share my favorite Waldman poem with two of my BFFs. They are poets. They think like poets. We need more of that.
I swam back toward the dock, then paused partway to tread water a bit more. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in the water, but I assumed I was close to my 30 minutes. Of course, as soon as I celebrated the lack of jellyfish on my outbound swim, one appeared on my return. It sort of tumbled right under me. Then another. Four strokes later another. Then two more. In total maybe 15. And most of them were pretty big.
I didn’t make contact with any of them, so my sweep away stroke was effective. I paused to watch one of them, but the water was tossing both of us so before I could focus on it, the wave washed it away.
Beach Sounds
By the time I reached the dock there were lots of people around. An old man and a young woman, either father and daughter or grandfather and daughter, were sitting on the bench eating salads. There were five or six kids splashing around in the shallow area, chatting and yelling and enjoying themselves. There was a much younger boy wandering around in the shallow water, gently singing to himself. It filled my heart to hear him. He was singing in Swedish, so I have no idea what he was saying, but to me it was a perfect childhood (or just human) moment of ease, serenity. A minute later I was recording the sound of the water lapping the beach, and he jumped off the dock right into view. It’s sort of funny to see him appear on the screen. I’ll edit him out for this post, though.
I was only in the water for 25 minutes! Seemed like longer because of the waves. That’s ok. I got my clothes on over my suit, put my shoes on, and walked toward the diving platform to get some photos. The other kids had moved over there to play on that dock and take turns jumping into the water. I tried to exclude them from my arty shots.
Jumping and Diving
Eventually, I asked if it was ok if I took a photo. A boy said, ok. And he jumped off one of the high dives. Then a mother appeared, and we chatted. I apologized for giving her concern and told her I should have asked the kids if their parents were there. From a distance, she thought I was a man. We sorted it out. I suggested that she give me her email so I could send the photos to her. So she added it to my phone. I explained that I’m here in the village to work on a book about swimming, so it was quite nice for me to chat with the kids.
One of the kids remembered me from the other day. She was part of the group that I talked to at the gas station when I was looking for free wifi. She was doing dives off the dock and off one of the high boards. I was impressed.
Once I had the mother’s email, the kids were shouting, “take a picture of me and send it to my mother.” So I did a couple of videos, then a group photo. Really sweet kids. I hope I see them again because it’s really nice to interact and share the joy of the water.
They asked if I knew how to swim, and I said I did. Then they said, why don’t you jump in. So I took of my top and skirt and shoes, and I jumped in. I was telling them that I was a bit afraid of jumping and diving, then told them about my accident. I said, “it’s silly, but things scare me now.” One of the boys said, “I know what you are saying.” Then told me that he has passed out after jumping off the highest platform once. Another boy said he was afraid of jumping off of the platform, and I said, me, too. One step at a time.
I think kids really like to interact with adults around fun activities. It was sweet to have a moment of vulnerability with them. They decided to swim to the other dock, and I said I was going to go home. I thanked them for talking to me, and they all told me to have a nice day.
I walked over to the mom, who was sitting with two other parents, and let them know I would email the photos. I invited her to my talk on Friday, too.
Now I am home. It’s dark, and the laundry I did in the sink is still outside on the line. I’m gonna leave it there because I’m too tired to get up and go get it.
Lesson learned today: you really don’t know what will happen in a day, in an hour. I rode to the beach today with a little bit of dread about swimming with jellyfish, and then I spent the first half of my swim alone! And I got to talk to some nice kids.
When I left the park today, I could hear the kids saying, in an American accent, “oh my God” again and again. It’s what I said after I jumped in.
Thank you, sea. Thank you, kids. Thank you, Sweden. Sea ya tomorrow.