Family, work, and the Arts seem to ebb and flow in my life, each surging in turn. But once in a while, they come together in a joyful splash.
Just this weekend, visiting nieces from Denver drew us to the coast, underscoring natural differences between the Rockies and the Bay Area. I love the mountains -- but what about the afternoon sun on the waves? Sparkling water makes children of us all!
|Happiness on the beach|
Natural Bridges, Santa Cruz
From this weekend
Last weekend, we caught the last day of the exhibit, "Impressionists on the Water," at the Legion of Honor. Just as my memories are flecked with dappled sunlight on water, so were the Impressionists' scenes from the banks of the Seine. Sails pierced the nautical blues of San Francisco Bay -- right outside the Museum -- and Monterey Bay, as if in accidental salute. (The gods of Serendipity must be enjoying this since I am also immersed in an art history project stressing the Impressionists.)
|Sailboats out on Monterey Bay this weekend|
in synch with the Impressionist sailing scenes
The seafaring displays swept me back to my summer holidays, when my sister, cousins and I navigated coral reefs and turquoise seas.
Our rustic outrigger heading out
for snorkeling adventures
Languid mornings over mangoes and coffee frequently gave way to the excitement of planning the day's excursions.
Snorkeling or scuba diving? 1, 2 or 3 coral reefs? I want to see spectacular marine life! I want to be Jacques Cousteau!
|We hopped on to smaller, yellow canoes -- mid-sea! -- from our larger outrigger|
in order to navigate shallow coral reefs
In fact, we spent so much time submerged, swaying in the hammock appeared way too airborne.
|The unused hammock on the shore|
So many activities, so many islands, so much water. But wait a moment. Nostalgia and water now swirl in an eddy of memories ...
Puddles of childhood in tropical rain ... afternoon torrents paired with naps ... typhoons teamed with a book in a nook ...
|Afternoon rain in my childhood home,|
from the dining room window
Even music and movement are claimed by the vortex. Flickering lights in raindrop tempo ... rooftop staccato plip-plop-plop... fluid ballet steps swell to the deluge ... tap-tap dancing to thunder claps ...
Oh my. J.K. Rowling was on to something when she conceived her Pensieve. Wizards and we can be gripped by an uncontrollable flow of thoughts and memories.
Some might prefer drifting with Proust's remembrances rather than Potter's. Either way, when the current takes us, we are lost in time, shipwrecked in recollections.
|Late afternoon mooring|
after a day spent in the water
Eventually, the whorls and ripples diminish. We moor our memories and seek stable shores. And once more, we are left to reflect, safely, on dancing drops of sunlight.
What are your radiant reflections attached to?