I hear Moana singing and I think of spirals and tunnels. The sound waves echo around and around and it takes me down a time tunnel, from radio waves to gamma waves to thoughts of ships and anchors, then back to Hawaiian surf boards.
The ocean has been a constant in my life. I was born on an island in the tropics. We moved away before I got to know it. My father learned to sail there, though I don’t remember this.
We moved to a North Pacific coastal town and then onward to a North Atlantic coastal town. Both coasts had beaches. At five we traveled on an ocean liner from the North Pacific Ocean to the South China Sea.
I learned about banana trees, monsoons, and whole roasted pigs with apples in their mouths, and chocolate covered ants. Before we left the South China Sea I learned about rock gardens and tea ceremonies, and kimonos.
At eight we moved back to the Pacific coast, and lived on a Naval base. I learned about war and absent fathers. My brother listened to The House of the Rising Sun, the Beach Boys, and the Doors. I learned how to macrame and play piano. My sister chose the flute.
By the time I was twelve we had settled in the Mid-Atlantic. We became anchored inland, no longer on a coast. Decades passed, we all went off to college. I was the only one to return home and back into my parent’s daily life. Soon after my return my parents split away from one another. My life became divided.
Eventually both my parents passed. My siblings have not returned since then. The past is now the past.
My life has moved on. My vision still works, and I live from day to day anchored in the present. This past summer I bought an anchor T-shirt. It serves as a symbol of my past and both my parents who had worn gold anchors on their lapels. I don’t wear it every day, only now and then, and as the weather chills it will be put away until the weather warms again.
movingforwardslowly 