Wednesday. 7 a.m.
Coffee - not yet made.
Steve - "I think we should leave for Maine today."
Me -"Today?"
Steve -"Yes."
This was my original plan. But it had not been Steve's plan. And so, at 7 a.m. on Wednesday, not one thing was packed. Not only was not one thing packed, but, as you may recall, the day before had been my "day off." That meant a lot of other things around the house were also not done.
But, at 11:45 a.m. - in time to pick Alex up at school, we were on the road. Pack n' play dragged out of storage. A store's worth of snacks in an organized bag, water bottles filled, winter clothes in case it was cold in Maine. Summer clothes in case it was hot. (A true Mainer once told me there are two seasons in Maine, winter and the Fourth of July). Diapers, bib, wipes, games, books, sneakers, bedtime CD, etc., etc., etc. A long trip was ahead.
It was time for Cate to meet her other family - the family of dear friends with whom we spend "non-family" holidays and long weekends - the "family" we have welcomed every new year with for the past many, many years, the "family" that waited as anxiously as our own families for Cate to arrive. She had caught a glimpse of a part of this group in NJ, but it was time for the full indoctrination - the doting of the girls, the curious interest of the boys, the devotion of the new "aunties".
And she got all of those things. She was, of course, welcomed with as much love and enthusiasm as a girl can get...
And she learned to collect sea glass.
Two months after leaving China, I held this little pink fleece-clad girl on my lap as our friend's boat carried us out to a small island. She didn't hesitate for a moment. No complaints when the awkward life jacket was donned. Not a sound as the wind picked up and the temperature dropped as we headed away from shore. She just put her head against my shoulder and was off for the ride - lifting it to say "All done," as the boat slowed and we neared the island. It was one of those moments that catch me off guard - when I can't quite believe that this life is the real thing. Two months ago, she wouldn't walk across grass. Two months later, brisk air and the cold spray of the Atlantic in her face as she headed out to collect sea glass on an empty island.
I lived for seven years in this same part of Maine. Collecting sea glass became a meditation. It still is. Completely mindless. Completely absorbing. The thrill of anticipation. The hint of mystery. Some people love gathering shells. But I love the search for glass. The buffed, cloudy smoothness. The occasional letter or word. The mystery of the function it once served.
Last year, I found a rather large, but weathered piece of glass with a few words on it. It was obviously old, very old. Steve searched the Internet for clues to its past and discovered it had come from a soda bottle, dating back at least 50 years.
And so we arrived on the island. There is nothing on this island, save a decrepit house, abandon by the Coast Guard long ago. It is rocky and barren and covered with sea glass. Any hunter of sea glass knows the joy of finding an elusive color - dark blue, bluish-green, purple. Diamonds. These colors are diamonds to the true hunter of glass, so rare among the beer bottle greens and browns and whites.
But on this island, I picked up three blues before I saw anything else. On this island, you can sit in one spot and sift through the rocks and find four different colors - even purple - without even moving.
This is where Cate learned to hunt sea glass.
She is a novice. She had to be taught to seek the glass, to desire it more than the rocks and shells. She has no preference for color. She doesn't reject something for lack of smoothness. She just picks it up, yells, "Mama," and rushes to put it in her pocket or our bag. She isn't quite sure why, but she knows it is a treasure.
It was a great day. Cate moved from her father to me, from her brother to her new kid friends, from her "aunties" to her "uncles" and back again. We filled bags with the colorful glass, closed our eyes and lay against the stones as the sun beat down. My Croc drifted out to sea with the tide and was saved by our favorite almost six-year-old. Every member of the twelve person group was convinced at some point that he or she had found the most amazing piece of glass that could be discovered, but we all kept searching, just in case.
But the best had already been found. The blues, the purples, the aqua marines, they were all around us, throwing rocks in the water, lounging in the sun, walking back to the boat. Friends like these are diamonds to the true hunter. Time spent with them can be completely mindless, or absorbing. Filled with anticipation, and occasionally, a little mystery.
She isn't quite sure why, but even Cate knows they are a treasure.
Coffee - not yet made.
Steve - "I think we should leave for Maine today."
Me -"Today?"
Steve -"Yes."
This was my original plan. But it had not been Steve's plan. And so, at 7 a.m. on Wednesday, not one thing was packed. Not only was not one thing packed, but, as you may recall, the day before had been my "day off." That meant a lot of other things around the house were also not done.
But, at 11:45 a.m. - in time to pick Alex up at school, we were on the road. Pack n' play dragged out of storage. A store's worth of snacks in an organized bag, water bottles filled, winter clothes in case it was cold in Maine. Summer clothes in case it was hot. (A true Mainer once told me there are two seasons in Maine, winter and the Fourth of July). Diapers, bib, wipes, games, books, sneakers, bedtime CD, etc., etc., etc. A long trip was ahead.
It was time for Cate to meet her other family - the family of dear friends with whom we spend "non-family" holidays and long weekends - the "family" we have welcomed every new year with for the past many, many years, the "family" that waited as anxiously as our own families for Cate to arrive. She had caught a glimpse of a part of this group in NJ, but it was time for the full indoctrination - the doting of the girls, the curious interest of the boys, the devotion of the new "aunties".
And she got all of those things. She was, of course, welcomed with as much love and enthusiasm as a girl can get...
And she learned to collect sea glass.
Two months after leaving China, I held this little pink fleece-clad girl on my lap as our friend's boat carried us out to a small island. She didn't hesitate for a moment. No complaints when the awkward life jacket was donned. Not a sound as the wind picked up and the temperature dropped as we headed away from shore. She just put her head against my shoulder and was off for the ride - lifting it to say "All done," as the boat slowed and we neared the island. It was one of those moments that catch me off guard - when I can't quite believe that this life is the real thing. Two months ago, she wouldn't walk across grass. Two months later, brisk air and the cold spray of the Atlantic in her face as she headed out to collect sea glass on an empty island.
I lived for seven years in this same part of Maine. Collecting sea glass became a meditation. It still is. Completely mindless. Completely absorbing. The thrill of anticipation. The hint of mystery. Some people love gathering shells. But I love the search for glass. The buffed, cloudy smoothness. The occasional letter or word. The mystery of the function it once served.
Last year, I found a rather large, but weathered piece of glass with a few words on it. It was obviously old, very old. Steve searched the Internet for clues to its past and discovered it had come from a soda bottle, dating back at least 50 years.
And so we arrived on the island. There is nothing on this island, save a decrepit house, abandon by the Coast Guard long ago. It is rocky and barren and covered with sea glass. Any hunter of sea glass knows the joy of finding an elusive color - dark blue, bluish-green, purple. Diamonds. These colors are diamonds to the true hunter of glass, so rare among the beer bottle greens and browns and whites.
But on this island, I picked up three blues before I saw anything else. On this island, you can sit in one spot and sift through the rocks and find four different colors - even purple - without even moving.
This is where Cate learned to hunt sea glass.
She is a novice. She had to be taught to seek the glass, to desire it more than the rocks and shells. She has no preference for color. She doesn't reject something for lack of smoothness. She just picks it up, yells, "Mama," and rushes to put it in her pocket or our bag. She isn't quite sure why, but she knows it is a treasure.
It was a great day. Cate moved from her father to me, from her brother to her new kid friends, from her "aunties" to her "uncles" and back again. We filled bags with the colorful glass, closed our eyes and lay against the stones as the sun beat down. My Croc drifted out to sea with the tide and was saved by our favorite almost six-year-old. Every member of the twelve person group was convinced at some point that he or she had found the most amazing piece of glass that could be discovered, but we all kept searching, just in case.
But the best had already been found. The blues, the purples, the aqua marines, they were all around us, throwing rocks in the water, lounging in the sun, walking back to the boat. Friends like these are diamonds to the true hunter. Time spent with them can be completely mindless, or absorbing. Filled with anticipation, and occasionally, a little mystery.
She isn't quite sure why, but even Cate knows they are a treasure.
1 comment:
Oh, wonderful post! I feel the same way about sea glass. And somehow sea glass has been very connected to this whole adoption experience for me. And now I want to go to your little island!
Let's make plans for the girls once you're back from Maine. Are you back from Maine? Fang Fang keeps looking at Cate's adoption announcement and getting all worked up and happy.
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