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I’m the Sea King’s Daughter
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Six weeks ago, I almost drowned.
I was alone in the vast, mysterious wetness of the Atlantic Ocean. I’d never felt so small.
I was so far from shore that the Labor Day tents faded into one bright, distant smear across the sand.
I was so focused, I never noticed tourists grouping into a tight knot of alarm.
I kept swimming, despite the shock of cold water that brushed my toes with every kick. After a time, I floated. Then I went under again.
Eventually, someone called Emergency Medical Services. Two first responders tore down the beach on official black ATVs. They kicked up wild arcs of sand in their rush to save my life.
As for me, I was past the point where anyone could hear me scream for help.
…or wait.
Flip that.
Maybe they couldn’t hear me because I never screamed.
You know those stupid BuzzFeed quizzes? The ones with titles like, “What Mythical Creature Are You?” Well, I’m a mermaid, every time.
I was raised on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. I went to school on the mainland, but every weekend was sacred. We went to the beach.
To this day, I’m so connected to the ocean that I have a ritual I perform as soon as I set foot near any shoreline. I sprint down to the water’s edge, dip my right index finger in the surf, and trace a heart on my forehead.
Some people prefer their ash crucifixes. I crave salt on my skin.
In those days, my father was my ultimate hero. Ever notice how, in The Little Mermaid, King Triton was just overwhelmingly strong and noble? Remember how he sacrificed himself to take Ariel’s place as a prisoner, because he loved his daughter more than anything in the world?
I saw that movie when I was five. We lived at the coast. My dad was the Sea King in my eyes.
My father’s legend only grew the first time I saw him swim beyond the end of the Bogue Inlet Pier. That pier reaches exactly 1,000 feet into the ocean. It stretches so far, skimming above the briny deep, that fisherman catch sharks out at its tip.
One day, my father said, “Stay here, Jenn. I’ll be right back.”
He stretched his tanned arms to the sun, threw himself into the water, and pulled his lithe, strong body across the surface of the waves. He swam so far out, I could barely track his head as it passed the last row of wooden posts.
I never worried. I sat there and made sand castles.
No one else on the beach worried either. They must have known my father was the Sea King.
Now, back to six weeks ago.
These days, when my husband and I return to my island, we always stay in a friend’s vacation home. It’s strange to cross the bridge over Bogue Sound and know I won’t be sleeping in the bedroom where I grew up. My parents sold their house three years ago to come live closer to me, which is generally wonderful.
What isn’t wonderful is my father’s health. Long story short, he’ll never swim again. The man who could once hold his breath for two full minutes now slumps in a chair and watches maritime nature shows.
At the end of the holiday weekend, with my father in mind, I snuck down to the beach alone. My husband was packing our car when I told him I needed one more swim, and he promised to keep our friends occupied. I flip-flopped across the weathered boardwalk, dropped my towel, and sprinted to the shore.
For the first time in my life, I was going to swim past the end of the pier.
Yes, I knew there might be sharks. But they normally don’t bother people. And, with each stroke toward my goal, I believed more firmly in the cleansing power of a calculated risk.
And yes, I knew the ocean could be fickle. But I understand how to evade riptides; what to do if a cramp attacks. In honor of my father, that day, I chose life over fear.
So… how did we arrive at almost drowning?
Everything I described at the start of this story is true. It just got twisted a bit.
I swam, slow and focused, until I felt frigid water stirring beneath me. When I passed the tip of the pier, I took a break to float and savor the sensations I wished my father could feel. For sixty of the most peaceful seconds of my life, I floated in the arms of the ocean and cried.
Then I turned toward land. I was triumphant, ready to face three more months of full-time work and graduate school and visits to my parents’ house to rub my father’s shoulders while he moans in pain. I could do that now. As I stroked steadily toward shore, I felt alive, and strong, and…
Why are those surfers paddling straight for me?
I’d been so busy counting the legs of the pier, marking my progress toward shore, that I never noticed the crowd clustered on the sand. What I’d presumed were playful shouts between two surfers were really the worried calls of the men who’d come to “rescue” me.
“Miss? Miss! Are you OK?!”
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine!”
“But… you were so far out there. We thought you were in trouble!” — “Yeah! My gran even called EMS!”
“Oh. Oh, wow. Well… thank you for trying to save me. If I had been drowning, you would both be heroes. But, you can see I’m not, so… should we go the rest of the way in?”
In the most surreal ten minutes of my life, I reached land and walked out of the surf like a less graceful Bo Derek. Wringing water from my hair, I assured the members of a large and scandalized family reunion that I was, indeed, fine. I greeted the paramedics with an awkward wave when they arrived seconds later.
“My name is Jennie Saia. Yes, I’m fine. Yes, I know the date. It’s Labor Day, 2014. Really, truly… I was never in danger. It was all a misunderstanding.”
I’ve never had to prove that I was in my right mind before.
And that’s where this story leaves me… wondering what the word “right” even means in this case. I was right about my ability to swim deep. My would-be rescuer’s gran was right to call EMS if she was worried. (Better safe than sorry.)
But gran’s husband, who scolded me in front of dozens of strangers for “scaring his wife”?
That man was NOT right.
He grumbled that no one should swim out so far alone, especially not a girl. It didn’t matter when I told him I was a local or assured him I was a strong swimmer. Eventually, I just said I was sorry and hoped the rest of his day would be much less exciting.
But, looking back now, here’s what I wish I’d said:
Have you heard of Diana Nyad, sir? She swam from Havana to Key West without a shark cage.
Have you heard of Gertrude Ederle, Queen of the Waves? She crossed the frigid waters of the English Channel alone.
Have you heard of Lynne Cox? She set a world record for distance swimming before she turned 17. Once, she swam with a lost baby whale and helped it find its mother.
Yes sir, it turns out women can swim deep.
So thank you for trying to help, but no thanks to the lecture.
Because there’s just one more thing. You’re not from here, so you might not have known…
You know, this is the kind of post that made me fall in love with you, don’t you?
I just sat here for 5 minutes trying to think of what else to say about this post. It’s magnificent. I just can’t conjure up the right words. It’s so beautiful, it may have rendered me speechless.
So, instead, I’ll just say this:
“Welcome home.”
xoxoxoxo
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You know your words are enormous hugs for my heart, right? Thank you! I love learning how to write for professional communication, but sometimes I just want to tell the grad school folks, “No more press releases! I have stories about mermaids to share!”
All the kisses back at you, lovey.
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To be fair, it’s hard to tell if you’re the Sea King’s daughter or not from 1000 feet away. 🙂
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I know, I know, plus I generally leave my crown at home. Can’t take the constant public adoration, y’know?
But seriously. If a swimmer waves frantically, screams, or keeps disappearing underwater, call EMS. If they look like they’re swimming a nice, even breaststroke, don’t waste the professionals’ time!
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Actually, as far as I know, it’s a myth that a drowning person will always scream when they drown. Often
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Someone awesome told me I needed to check this out, Jennie. I’m so glad she did.
As a big fan of my father, a big fan of not always doing what I’m supposed to, and a big fan of piecing words together, I adored every sentence.
Heard a rumor you’re not writing much these days. While I wish that wasn’t so, I’m so grateful I got to see this.
Wonderful.
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Would it happen to be the same someone awesome who introduced us in the first place? ‘Cause I really love that person.
“A big fan of my father, a big fan of not always doing what I’m supposed to, and a big fan of piecing words together.” <– I might steal this next time I need to give someone a bio. 🙂
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The very same person. 🙂
And I would love it if you did. Thoughts and prayers for your father, Jennie. And you. Hug him tight. Every chance you get.
And eHugs for you.
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Jennie, your words are always magnificent and come together in such a beautiful way. But there was so much more here than a beautifully told story. There was so much nestled between your words that seems so important. There are so many things I want to ask you and to say about what you wrote, but I will take a cue from you and practice some graceful restraint. I’ll just say that this was… sublime.
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Thank you so much, Gretchen. It’s been so long since I told a story. Writing it felt amazing and alien at the same time, and I wasn’t sure I was making any sense. But you, I trust. 🙂
You can ask me anything you want. These days, my dad is on my mind a lot, and all these other things connect right back to him.
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What a wonderful story. You write beautifully.
I would have sunk like a stone…I’m glad you were fine though. 🙂
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Just take off your rubber shoes before swimming… then you’ll be more aerodynamic. 😉
(And thank you.)
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Reblogged this on Tip of My Tongue.
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You rule, and while you may technically be a princess, you are no damsel in distress. Your prose is becoming poetic, and I am so impressed at how good you are getting. I even liked that you played with “the truth” of narrative… you’ll make a fine dilettante yet, darling.
I am so sad to hear about your father, and wish I could give you a hug.
I was reminded of an Ani Difranco song…. the lyrics are all about not being a damsel in distress or a kitten up a tree needing to be rescued. Enjoy:
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That’s a great song. It surprises even me how little Ani D. I’ve listened to. Funny how, for years, all I wanted was to be a “maiden fair.” Now I get a little thrill out her her declaring that she isn’t one!
Thanks for the kind words. Last weekend was my sister’s wedding. She and our dad started the father/daughter, with him in his electric wheelchair. Eventually, he ran over her dress. The wheelchair’s weight broke the bustle, so it became a dance of three: father, blushing bride, and little sister heaving an enormous satin train around.
Family life is just one big tragicomedy. He’s still the Sea King, though.
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This is a beautiful tale of empowerment and strength and… swimming… and stuff. I, too, have a complex relationship with the sea. And, not to brag, but I have the most awesome, funny, exciting story about almost drowning that ever was… but now I just sound like that guy who bitched at you for scaring his wife and making the whole world about me… but that really was awesome.
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Art, I’m really glad you recognized the inclusion of “stuff.” No one else had even mentioned the “stuff” yet, and I was getting sad!
Of course, now I want to hear your fish tales…
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It is such a long story, and so unbelievable… and I told it so well on my blog… that, although I hate to toot my own horn and use this as an attempt to lure you to my seedy, crack squirrel-infested swamp of a blog, it would probably be easier to come over and do a search for ‘what a way to go’ or ‘near death experience’ or ‘sea scouts’ or ‘that time I almost drowned like Captain Ahab’…
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also, as an aficionado of stuff, I loved the stuff…
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Jennie!!! What a post, babe. Not only is this beautifully written and transcendent (like all of your work), I could feel everything you experienced. I got the full-on download. The salt, the briney air, the feel of the soft, cool, and fathomless ocean beneath you, the love and longing for your father, the meditation, the years and years of doing this, living there, being in that air, that space. I love it. You are such a light in this world. Thank you for this gift, sis. ❤
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You make me feel like I carry the coast within me, which is about the nicest thing you could make me feel. 🙂
Thank you for seeing me. I miss you, Lizzy. ❤
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Simply beautiful.
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Thank you, Kitt. It’s good to be writing for pleasure again! (The writing I’m doing for grad school is productive as all get-out, but there’s not much room for my flights of fancy.)
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“I believed more firmly in the cleansing power of a calculated risk.”
Just fabulous.
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It makes all the sense in the world that you would understand that line. Outdoor people get it!
I devoured your post on Monday. Love that you’re so in love.
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Our fathers and the ocean. I spent years and years stepping into the waves only to return to pat the sea king’s huddled shoulders. I still go there to find him, although now perhaps I’ve become more of a seafarer than a mermaid, riding the waves on my paddle board, watching for sirens like you.
This was one of the loveliest, most whole, things I’ve read in a very long time. Just gorgeous.
“The cure for anything is salt water- sweat, tears or the sea.” Isak Dinesen
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Is there somewhere I can read more about your sea king? I love women who love the sea. It all connects – the moon, the tides, us.
Growing up, I didn’t always feel pretty, but I’d comfort myself by saying, “My lips are pink like coral, my skin is the color of warm sand, my eyes hold the waves inside.”
I like picturing you on a paddle board. Yo ho ho.
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beautiful, just beautiful. yo are indeed the sea king’s daughter.
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Kat! Thank you. I almost didn’t recognize you with the new avatar. I like this one. 🙂
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This story makes me feel invincible and mushy at the same time. It will stay with me for awhile, like sand on my skin way after I’ve left the beach. xoxoxo
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Does this mean you’re going to carry me into the shower with you? Y’know… like you do with sand? 😉
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absofuckinglutely. But I won’t let you wash down the drain. You’re a keeper. 🙂
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This literally took my breath away with its melancholy beauty. If you read my Immortal Mermaid post from August, you’ll understand why I so identify. Thank you for sharing.
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I haven’t, but I will now. Love you, Mermaid Sister. ❤
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That one minute of total being, floating and crying far into the ocean, is exactly where we all wish to be. Beautiful, Jennie!
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I go back there in my mind all the time. I hope you’re well, friend! We all float on…
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I miss you. Really. I understand why you’re not here very much, but dang. I miss you. Lynne Cox’s book is one of my faves. How dare anyone say you can’t swim where you want to. It’s like dancing. In the water.
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I miss you, too. I’m amazed by how busy I am, and tired of hearing myself proclaim it again and again. We’re all busy. But it was lovely to have a Fall Break free of assignments so I could write from the heart, with time. 🙂
Aren’t you coming to town soon, or were you just here? If I didn’t miss you already, I’d love to meet! I’d love a coffee with anyone who equates swimming and dancing.
And how are you? I know you have more books in you… are any of them clamoring to get out yet, or are you still riding the lovely wave of To Live Forever?
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A beautifully haunting story and a beautiful spot I know it well.
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You do? Oh, I’m so glad! Do you get as excited as I do every chance you have to smell salt air?
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If I don’t get to the ocean every couple of months I get very grumpy. I wrote about the last time I was there didn’t go well it will be up next week!
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This was a fabulous read. I worshiped my father and watched him build first a sail boat then a plane. Your swim was haunting, what you wished you said was perfect, sometimes what we wished we said, well better left unsaid.
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Your father built a plane?! That’s amazing. The stuff of heroes, to be sure. Have you written about it? Did he fly it himself?
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He had a the first of many heart attacks before he finished, he couldn’t fly (couldn’t have a license) after a heart attack. But he raced his 27′ sail boat for many years, I almost grew up on that boat.
You are so right, the stuff of heroes. I have written about my father quite a bit. We had a troubled and finally healed relationship. He was always though my hero.
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You’re singing a song I know every word to, heart attacks and rough patches and all. But no one ever said heroes had to be perfect people.
I love that you spent a childhood riding the waves. Can I ask where you grew up?
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I cannot even pinpoint an emotion after reading this, Jennie. It is stunningly beautiful, gloriously written, and an amazing tribute to your father, the Sea King. You are a wonder, my friend.
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When you say things like that, all I can do is thank the universe for bringing my SWs into my life. We are all wonders, and we need to be told! Thank you, and know the feeling is mutual. ❤
P.S. For what it's worth, absence makes the heart grow fonder. I swear, when Thanksgiving Break rolls around, I'm going to lock myself alone in a room with my dogs and a bottle of wine and read all of the amazing Blogland writing that I've missed. What a fantasy!
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I knew there was something missing in my life, it was writing from Jennie. ❤
This is absolutely beautiful. I nearly cried when you reached the 60 seconds of peace. I can't imagine the feeling of release that must have been. I am thinking of you and sending good thoughts and prayer's your father's way.
I'm also in awe that you can swim that far out in the ocean safely. Not because you're a woman or because you're anything but strong, but just because it seems like such a feat for anyone. Sending much love your way, miss you around the blogosphere!
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Oh, it’s almost unbearable how happy I am after reading all these comments, especially yours! Those sixty seconds were exactly as good as you imagine. Forget that old coot – I’m going to do it again next time I’m at the coast. I think swimming into the middle of a quiet lake would work, too… oh, water is the best. I know this sounds cheesy, but I swear so many of us are drawn to it because we’re mostly made up of the stuff!
I’m sending love back to you. I had dinner out with my dad on Monday – it wasn’t easy, exactly, but he can still appreciate a damn good blue crab ravioli!
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Brilliant.
I agree you were right to swim as far as you wanted, the gran was right for calling for help when she thought you were in trouble, and the guy… Well, he’s just an idiot. I’m not sure why there are those among us who feel they need to lecture others when they do unexpected things, when they don’t conform to the norm (of how they see the world)… But, in even typing that, I’m expressing my lecture of those who live beyond the norm of how I see the world… Life is funny like that.
So, I shall simply bow to the Sea King’s daughter, in honor of your strength and fearless daring in the water. Deep water is probably the thing I find scariest, and I could never conquer my fear enough to swim beyond where my feet can touch the bottom. That doesn’t bother me, though, because I’m the son of the mountains, and it is there where my strength and fearless daring shine the strongest.
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I soothe myself by thinking grandpa just forgot to take his Metamucil that morning. I’m actually much sorrier for the high school kid who was on one of the surf boards. I think we was so excited to “save the girl” and have an amazing story to tell after his summer… who can blame him? J says I should have faked like I was in trouble, just for his sake. 😉
In any case, I now back. I hope no one ever asks me to choose between the ocean and the mountains. Right now I lived exactly equidistant between both. The was you talk about the mountains makes me picture ridge lines and lush forests in my mind… ahhh.
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Reblogged this on hastywords and commented:
I am in LOVE with this story. I am in LOVE with Jennie Saia.
I don’t feel bad re-blogging this during my 31 days of horror because if I had been swimming (I am not a mermaid) I would have drowned. I won’t scuba dive because I am afraid of drowning. I am really missing out on something amazing and beautiful but I felt the strength and beauty as she swam out to sea. I also felt the sadness as a daughter of aging parents. Please take time to visit and read this very captivating story of love and strength.
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You should take that test in my post! The one about mythical creatures… Since you’re not a mermaid, I think you might be some kind of mischievous sprite or pixie.
Thank you for reading, sharing, loving, and being Hasty! I’m tempted to sing you more Beatles songs. ❤
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wonderful story! Captivating and I clearly understand your atraction for the sea as I feel the same. I once wrote:
I often wonder about my skin
experiences held captive in ridges and folds
meant for salt, brightness and sun.
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Thank you, Hector. I think anyone who writes poems about the waves needs to plan a trip to visit them, as soon as possible. Clearly, you belong there. 🙂
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Tochee Sea Kings Daughter!
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Touche, good sir!
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O-Well, a toad’s spelling ain’t so great, a special laughing kiss…
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I read this at the perfect time. I just found out some news that makes me want to cry but reading this… gave me strength. You are beautiful in a million different ways and I am glad to be a SW with you.
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I hope all is well… I’m worried that it isn’t. I want you to be happy, lovely – you deserve it.
Let me know if I can help in any tiny way. Meanwhile, I love you, SW, and I’m so happy the words helped.
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Fantastic story! I loved it 🙂 And as for that man, could he have been more degrading to women with that lecture? I mean come on, that is just down right sexist. You go girl! Swim those deep seas, for your love of the ocean is pure and you should savor every moment while it’s still feasible ❤
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Thank you! I’ll swim as often as I can, as long as I can. Sometimes just getting your feet in is still enough though, y’know?
As for that guy… he is one in a long line of old men who have told me my adventures are bad ideas. I remember getting vaccinations before moving to Mexico. The doctor said (as he was sticking the needle in my arm!), “I just can’t imagine why on earth you’d want to go down there…”
Hopefully the young guys now – the old men of the future – will have a different outlook by the time they’ve gone grey. 🙂
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AMAZING!
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THANK YOU! YOU ROCK!
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It’s confirmed, you’re a mermaid. I just hate it when words fail me when I am on the spot, and once I rethink it…I have all these quirky come backs! Nice story. To this day, I fear going into the sea at night, and even recently realised it includes deep swimming pools at nighttime. I realised this on a New Years evening when we all ran into the sea, and I suddenly went head over heals in a huge wave. When I cam up, I could not see the shore immediately and was so disorientated that I actually swam into the sea and not towards the shore. That day I realised how easy it could be to drown. I was very lucky because I am a strong swimmer as well.
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Always. Every DAMN time. I’m still proud of myself when I manage to give a snarky response to some guy who’s sucking his teeth at me. I could never have pulled this comeback together on the spot – I needed to hit up Google for a few details first! 😉
I recognize the disorientation in your story. Once, I swam down instead of toward the surface. It’s a chilling feeling when you realize how your confusion could have gone fatally wrong. Nature can take the lives of even the most prepared, which I think is exactly why we climb Everest, ski black diamonds, and skydive. Humans love risk – it makes us feel alive. ❤
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This is really beautiful. I’ve missed your writing!
xo
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Thank you, Ann. I hope you’re hanging in there. I just stopped by your place and it seems life’s roughing you up lately – I send an e-hug.
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Yeah, I’ve been beaten up a bit!! Thanks for the hug 🙂
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beautifully written jennie. i was raised beside the sea, so I have some understanding of what you speak. As a thought, you should have a little inflatable sign made that reads “Warning: Sea King’s Daughter Operating in These Waters.” You could set it on the beach before entering to swim or if you were swimming off a boat, you could inflate it and let it bob around the area where you’re swimming. Cool Post Jennie – good to see you back. Happy studying.
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Are you from the West or East Coast? I’ve never been to the West, but I imagine them as identical but very different all at the same time.
I think I’ll ask for that sign-buoy for Christmas!
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From the East Coast of Canada – Halifax to be exact. The waters are a tad chilly there all year around – you’d be the Blue Sea King’s daughter.
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Ha! Not to sound like a Valley Girl, but I don’t really DO cold. The earliest I ever swam in North Carolina was a quick dip in May. I bet that water was already as warm as Halifax waters in the middle of July!
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Love this.
Missed you.
Love Red
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So glad.
All well?
Love Jennie
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All good Jen, just got back from celebrating 20 years married in Borneo woohoo
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Woo-freaking-hoo is right! Congratulations, you stud!
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Pingback: Writing to Keep Me Sane ~ Mother of Imperfection
Wow, Jennie. Wow. I think I just fell (even more) in love with a mermaid. Beautiful story. Beautiful tribute to your father.
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I promise I’m the nice kind of mermaid who won’t drag you underwater. 😉 Thank you for the love, lady.
(P.S. — This is super belated, but I’m so excited you and Hasty got to meet! How was the concert?)
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Good for you, Jennie S, for taking the risk. Unfortunate that people sometimes can’t even imagine what a risk might look like, or why it would be important.
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Of course you get it. I miss you, man.
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Yah, busy writing like a freak fish. I miss people hereabouts, but I can’t quit them too long, go into some kind of weird withdrawal. What have you people done to me????
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I love this tale (or tail, whichever you prefer lol). I too feel a special affinity with the ocean. I could be having the day from hell coupled with a migraine and stress coming out my ears in the form of steam, but that would all start to slowly heal with the first whiff of salt water or the hint of whispering waves in the distance. 🙂
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Hello, lovely librarian. (I had to click over to learn more about the title of your blog!)
I know exactly what you mean. I sleep with a sound machine that simulates the ocean. A friend once told me I should just open a window and the traffic would sound like the ocean… spoken just like someone who grew up in the Midwest, far from water. 😉
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Thank you for visiting my blog, you are welcome to pop by my little web corner anytime 🙂
I sleep with music/waves/whale sounds hahaha, so relaxing and I get the best sleep when I do it! You are so right, traffic is nothing like the ocean! Not at all!
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Wonderful Jennie. I grew up going to the outer banks for much of every summer. My father would swim a mile down the beach most days. Happily he can still swim, though we have both lived so long that he is no longer a king in my eyes. But we share the waves. He still rides them, though we have to help him up when he gets to the shore. I understand and am pulled out too. Now I take a sea kayak out to the end of the pier.
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What part did you go to? My island is always trying to prove it’s an Outer Bank… the bumper sticker defiantly reads “SOBX” (for “Southern Outer Banks”), which cracks me up every time. But I bet you knew that!
My father’s not a king now, either. Being a ruler is damn hard work, and I kind of prefer having a regular mortal dad. (Even if I don’t always see him in that flattering glowy light royalty generates wherever they go.) And what you have? Sharing the waves as swimmers and sailors? It sounds pretty great to me.
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Wonderful to read a story of yours again, Jennie! While you didn’t have a chance to say what you needed to in that moment, I’m happy you could here, with all of us – maybe even better! 🙂 I was just reading about the little mermaid and how it’s a symbolic tale about the courage required to be completely authentic to yourself…I like that you weave it through you personal tale here.
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Hi, Jami! I think it’s better, too. He wouldn’t have understood – y’all are my people.
That insight into the fairy tale sounds really interesting. I remember the first time I read the original by Hans Christian Andersen and was horrified that the mermaid turned to foam in the end. But… that was her decision to make. Authenticity above all, as you say. 🙂
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Oh, this is just a lovely post (and the pictures are great, too!) I also have a great love of the water and feel quite at home there (although I saw Jaws when I was 17 and it traumatized me – I’m still nervous about sharks when I swim alone). I’m so sorry about your dad – my father is in the midst of a terminal illness that is going to take his mind and his body. It’s heartbreaking to witness.
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I saw Jaws way too young! My childhood bed was situated directly across the room from my closet. I used to have nightmares where the closet doors flew open and a flood of seawater burst out with Jaws riding the wave. He slid straight up to my bed and chomped me up, every time. *shivers*
On a more grown-up note… I’m so sorry for what you’re family is going through. I know the feeling, more or less. All we can do is love harder.
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(You may note, I’m catching up on blog posts, after 2 weeks away… again).. and you may remember, I am a mermaid too. This post made me cry Jennie, because I could truly relate to every word. For the few, brief years I lived away from the ocean, I really felt like I might die. What a wonderful tribute to your dad. Love this; just beautiful.
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I’m rich in Dawn comments! And I’ve written so little lately that at least I helped make your catch-up easier. 🙂 I have so, so much make-up blog reading to do… I’m waiting for the holidays and a week-long, no work + no school binge. Delicious!
I already knew you had a mermaid bathroom. Now you know why I have one, too. These are the good kind of tears… the ones that tell us how to shape our lives by the sea.
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The nerve of that man, vomiting his fears all over you. What a wimp. You, on the other hand, totally rock. I have always had an affinity for being in water, and for the ocean. I recently found out that I’ve had a previous life as a mermaid. No wonder! Thank you for such a wonderful story. When I was a kid, in my dreams I could breathe under water. The first time I took a SCUBA class and breathed under water, it was like deja vu.
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I like your name, Persephone, and I love your attitude! SCUBA rocks my (water) world.
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That’s beautiful. I long for the ocean everyday. I grew up in San Diego and used to surf all the time. Those days are behind me now, but oh do I miss them. Wonderful piece once again.
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I wish so badly that I’d learned to surf when I lived at the beach. At the time, I thought I wouldn’t fit in with the kids who did it, so I never got interested. But now I think I would have loved that glide and surge over the waves so much… how did you learn?
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Well I grew up not too far from the beach. So I kind of self taught. I just rented or borrowed boards when I could. Then in high school we would just go every day after school (it was less than a mile to the beach), sometimes even just after lunch. I just picked it up along the way.
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Yes, you should have said that to the old man, then do that ‘grasshopper’ pose from “Karate Kid”. You’d come within 1/8″ of his nose, causing him to backpedal. He backs up once again when you scream, “BOOYAH!” at him then walk away, cutting a path throughthe gathered throng… to family, and hubby, and home. 🙂
Great story!
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Could you please script my entire life for me? I think I would be WAY cooler. BOOYAH!
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If you knew how my life has worked out you’d delete that…
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In a strange way, this story reminds me of The Whale Rider – a New Zealand film that I love. There’s something really beautiful about that sea connection between you and your father. Lovely.
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