When I wake up, it is too quiet. There are two dogs in the house, a mother-in-law, and a husband, but I can immediately sense the absence of my kids. Outside the window, the Penobscot bay is dead calm. I grab coffee and my water ski…wet suit, for sure–it is Maine after all–and in five minutes, everyone is on board The Lobstar.
I have a torn rotator cuff and will probably have to have surgery soon. After 50+ years of active living, this is hardly unusual. The pain makes it hard to sleep and brush my hair but on the water, my shoulder feels young again. I pull…hard…not a ripple or a boat wake to slow me down, slaloming in and out of lobster buoys. And damned if I’m not almost as good as I was in my 20s.
This is the closest I’ll ever come to walking on water and so this morning, I ski simply because I can–as in am able— hoping that there is indeed something healing about the sea, for both my shoulder and my soul.