one line Wednesday - Twenty On, Twenty Off

Yesterday, one missed step; today, elevation, compression, ibuprofen and ice (twenty on, twenty off).

missed opportunity

I actually wrote this on September 17th . . .

When we walk along the ocean in the Outer Banks it always amazes me what the ocean has deposited on the beach. Usually remnants of sea creatures, pieces of wood and gobs of seaweed. Today I had the opportunity to see a shark that had washed up on the beach . . . and I missed it!

I first heard about the shark this morning at breakfast. Katie, one of the ladies in our group here at the Sanderling found it while she was walking on the beach at dawn. There was a life guard and several other people looking at it when she came upon it. The life guard had paced off the shark's length and said it was around 16 feet long.

Katie said they thought it was a great white shark due to its size. The cause of death seemed to be natural; no marks from fishermen's hooks or propellers. The life guard suggested that they would probably haul it away to the Currituck Nature Center to determine the cause of death and dispose of it. I decided the mid-morning jaunt a mile down the beach to see the shark would be pointless because, in my mind, they would haul it away quickly and I wouldn't get there in time to see it. However, when John came back to the room from his meeting around two o'clock, he said someone had seen the shark on the beach just 45 minutes earlier.

Yikes!! How could I have sat here all morning doing financial spread sheets and emails and not ventured out to witnessing this creature from the abyss? Why didn't I grab my camera and take a hike on the off chance that I could have snapped some pictures of something I may never again have the opportunity to see? When did I get so rational?

The sense of urgency to get down the beach where the shark lay was overwhelming. John and I walked at a pace we haven't hit since we were training for a half-marathon. We caught up with Jenny, a co-worker of John's who was also looking for the shark, and as we walked the three of us discussed the shark's probable cause of death, spouted random shark trivia and admired the effect of the north wind on the water and the size of the waves it created.

The landscape of the beach didn't change much as we walked. It was apparent by the number of foot prints going up and down the beach that many people were walking the beach today. Swimming was forbidden and sitting in a beach chair would be good only for a total body abrasion from the blowing sand. A beach umbrella wouldn't stand a chance in the wind. After fifteen minutes of walking along the water's edge the landscape of footprints in the sand were replaced by a mishmash of large tire tracks and smooth sand. It reminded me of a freshly made sandbox; the center, a clean, flat, horizontal plateau made by kids with a large stick and their footprints around the perimeter. Based on the size and configuration of the tire tracks I imagined a large fork lift or front-end loader moving around in the sand manipulating the shark's dead weight onto a flat bed truck to be hauled away. Then the tractor retraced its route and smoothed out most of the deep trenches its tires had created with its shovel, minimizing the damage to the beach. The only remaining evidence of of the shark was dark red bloody sand at the edge of some outlying tire tracks. We had missed it!

We headed back up the beach toward the Sanderling, the north wind now in our faces and our shirts luffing in the wind like sails. My mind was trying on all kinds of scenarios as to what the whole event must have looked like; the early morning discovery, first reports and the hearsay that followed, people converging on the spot to take pictures, the experts called to the scene to identify the big fish and oversee the removal. The magnitude of the beast and the creepiness of its black, staring eyes.

Small groups of people passed us and inquired about the location and status of the shark. Disappointment was tough to share but alas, the event was over. Eventually we ran into someone who gave us the full story; the 20' shark had been buried where it lay - on the beach. We had been walking on a grave site! Conversation between the three of us speculated on how long it would be before the wind would move the sand and the beach revealed its contents. How many people would unknowingly stab the beach with an umbrella pole trying to anchor it in the sand only to hit the rotting carcass? Would nature's garbage patrol of seagulls, crabs and other little sand dwellers begin to seek it out? If we came back in a month or so would we find its skeleton?

Another beach comber said the official identification was a basking shark. Wikipedia says these sharks get their name because they are often seen in shallow waters trolling or "basking" for fish that are close to shore. When their mouth is open it looks like a huge fishing net in which it can catch large amounts of fish and small sea creatures. Sharks need to keep moving in order to breathe so the probable cause of death is that it had apnea, died and washed up on shore. Not the normal resting place for a shark, but the ocean is really rough today and the red flags are flying. The heavy surf probably brought it in to shore before it could do whatever shark carcasses do in calmer conditions.

We admired the other trophies the ocean had spit up on shore for us to see; lots and lots of empty skate egg sacks, an empty, upside down horseshoe crab shell, a starfish, a couple of jelly fish, several round things that we thought were rocks but were soft and rolled back into the sea when I nudged them with my flip-flop. John said it was whale poop; who knows?

All were dead. Trash from the sea. Treasure for us.

a stitch in time . . .

I used to have a closet full of projects that I started but never finished. Most of them were needlework and sewing projects. I actually weeded out most of my "work-in-progress" piles but I still have some of them. I recited my mantra, "I will finish them someday" every time I cleaned my closet and moved the bags of sewing and stitching supplies from shelf to shelf.

Back in the 80's cross stitch was big and it was fun. It took little mental energy and was colorful and portable. I had a sizable Rubbermaid box of floss wound around numbered cardboard spools, large zip lock bags of canvas and an even larger collection of cross stitch patterns. Cross stitching helped me feel productive in a world of diapers and military moves. Just count the rows and squares and stitch the x's accordingly; eventually a design would emerge. I have since given the patterns and left over canvas to the thrift shop and finished all of my cross stitch projects, except one.

The 90's brought about quilting; I loved the challenge of designing and building a quilt. However, my new passion had its side effects. It was much more time consuming and required a higher level of commitment.

Upon each of my niece's graduation from high school, my sister-in-law, Jen, made each one of her girls a quilt. The quilts were pieced from fabric she used to make their clothes when they were little. Naturally, I wanted to do the same. Occasionally I made clothes for my girls so I saved scraps from their outfits with the intention of following in Jen's footsteps.

When Courtney, my oldest, graduated from high school, I diligently pieced her fabric scraps into squares and she took a finished quilt with her to college in the fall. The summer after Ashley, my middle daughter, graduated from high school I pieced some of her scraps into squares but when Ashley left for college, her quilt did not go with her. During Christmas break that year she and I pieced more squares together, arranged them on the floor and stitched the squares into a quilt top. February brought Ashley home for her birthday and I rejoiced when she returned to school with her finished quilt. Sarah, my youngest, is patiently waiting for her quilt - she's going to be a sophomore this fall . . . I'm pitiful, she's very forgiving.

Our first grand baby is due in January and Courtney has asked me to make him a quilt. Before I start Baby Fair's quilt I have to make Sarah's and then maybe I will finish the cross stitch stocking I started for Courtney's first Christmas 26 years ago. I still have it in a bag in my closet, somewhere . . .

Au Revoir

Packing for a trip stresses me - what will I need, what to take, do I have everything? My world in a suitcase.

I'm headed for France tomorrow. Mom and I are going together. We've talked about this trip for at least 25 years - now we're going! I can't quite get my head wrapped around the next two weeks. I will be in another world; one with which I'm not familiar and one without my husband. That's what I can't get my head wrapped around; being away from him.

This is going to be a renewing time with Mom. Our time together since I left for college has been scheduled around holidays and vacation schedules. I'm looking forward to getting to know her again . . . Matriarch to MIT.

Au Revoir!