I sit here on the giant bed with the patio door open and hear the waves crashing, like roaring lions.
I have always held a romantic view of the sea. Watching a movie with fishing boats or pictures of sailors hold me captive. I thought I would be a sea dweller or at least married to one. But I married a farmer. A land lover. One who holds fast to dirt and wind and tractors. He gets sea sick when we cruise and driving a boat is not his idea of a good time.
So here we walk on the beach with golden sand and driftwood and he says he can’t stop smiling. I look at him and realize that neither can I.
We planned this trip spontaneously and randomly. The only hotel I booked was this one.
Needless to say the driving around Portland yesterday looking for vacancy was highly stressful with both of us trying to make the other feel better by not snapping. We did find one thanks to a kind front desk clerk who called for us around the local area. My American’s to the south are friends.
The Oregon Coast has proven to be all we need and more to relax. Our children are safe at camp and it is just the two of us. And here’s what I’m seeing: We aren’t twenty anymore. We carry scars and crosses that need to be readjusted. Choices have to be discussed and questions answered. Our boat has gone down the river aways.
This trip is a working trip. A business trip. The company we work on is Marriage.
Life is not static and certainly doesn’t stand still for mothers and fathers. One day you look at the man you married and he’s gone. Now there’s a salt and peppered man with eyes lined with experience. He sees a woman whose dreams have changed and body carries scars like claws on her abdomen.
There’s much I’d like to tell the younger Wanda. The newlywed. She never made it to Oregon in May of 1994. But her time had not yet come. I’m sure the Wanda of her 50’s would like to tell me something as well, but I sit here in the present. Accepting what is and taking courage to change what I can.