Writing On The Water

Writing On The Water

Writing on the water
Writing on the water.

Finding peace to write.

It’s overcast here at Sand Point Park, only hints of a blue sky trying to peek through, but even on the water, somehow it’s hot as hell.  The intercostal river only blows hot humid air through my hair; it’ll begin to poof any minute now.  Even with all of the negatives, like sitting next to a dumpster, it is still serene. The calm of the water stills my restless spirit.  I like this park, not only because I live so close, but because of the wide open field. I can bring my dog, Elwood, to run around in the open and then find a shaded picnic table. This is also the town gathering spot for events, like fireworks or concerts.

Oh! Manatees coming up for air only a few yards in front of me! Yeah… This is what I needed today.
View by the water -Bridge to Merritt Island
View by the water -Bridge to Merritt Island.

Ignoring the screaming teens at CrackerJacks restaurant on the pier, I try to let the songs from the crickets and seagulls engulf me.  There truly is something special, therapeutic, about sitting by the water.
Merritt Island - Anchored sailboats on the intercostal
Merritt Island - Anchored sailboats on the intercostal.

I can’t help but wonder if the dozen or so sailboats anchored in the distance are empty, awaiting the return of their captains. (The manatees are closer now; their cute, fat noses cause only small ripples as they break through the reflective surface in search of air.)  Maybe the boats’ crew, like other people my husband, Chris, and I have met, are permanent nomads sailing from port to port. Personally, I don’t consider this a port, but it is a nice stop on the way to Canaveral.

Love this place.

Merritt Island has so much wildlife to observe that I wouldn’t even know where to begin with cataloging what we’ve seen – wait, yes I would: a Florida panther.  On one of our many trips to the island in search of a new trail (we only live about five minutes from the bridge) I gazed out of the car window into the scrub and noticed a pale brown cat, standing taller than the grass. I had never seen a bobcat before and assumed since they are common to the area that that is what it was, but as I began to describe it to Chris, he said, “That’s not a bobcat,” hit the brakes and reversed. As you can imagine, the elusive feline had gone.

Side note: Although this is my first entry, this blog was a long time coming.  I’m constantly writing and keeping details about my life, I’ve just never bothered to put it anywhere other than paper. So, why now? The simple answer is: It’s time. 
Throwing a snowball in Tacoma, Washington
Throwing a snowball in Tacoma, Washington.

Where I've been.

If I’m honest, I would have to blame my dad for instilling the love of travel in me.  He raised me as a military brat, moving from base to base throughout the U.S., plus a two year stint in Germany.  I remember the plane rides and my mother giving me medicine before boarding.  One ride that stands out in particular was on a military cargo plane coming from Germany to the U.S.  It was wider than the normal passenger planes we usually took, but with only about six seats, it was the most exhilarating experience a four year old could have.  We were returning to the states to visit family and as we disembarked the plane I asked, “Are we in America?” a place that seemed so foreign, to which my mother replied, “Yes,” and I followed up with, “When will we be in Florida?”  It’s crazy the things you remember.  I still love that feeling of wonder and seeing the world as new. However hard to explain, I will try to represent that same feeling through this blog.

We always seemed to find our way back to Florida, whether holidays or funerals, but my mother never looked as if she minded the life of a nomad. I think it was because like me, she too was a military brat. In fact, we attended the same elementary school in Mannheim, Germany.

The constant moves had me on my toes awaiting the next adventure.  At the age of seven, we lived in Tacoma, Washington not far from Mount Rainier.  Every day I would walk outside and look up toward the mountain to say hello; to me, the behemoth appeared as nothing more than a puppy sleeping under a blanket.  I even fantasized about running into the woods and living amongst the animals that roamed around the smaller surrounding mountains; no clue as to the danger – I had a crazy imagination, and like to think I still do!

One day my parents and a few of their friends decided to make a day of hiking up Mount Rainier. Although we made it up and down safely, my only memory is feeling distraught because I could not figure out how, as a girl, to pee in the woods. Can any other women relate?

Even living there at a young age, I can remember appreciating the breathtaking beauty of the surrounding mountains, enjoying the crunch of freshly fallen snow and trying desperately to save snowballs by placing them in the freezer. You just don’t get memories like that from flat Florida.

Where I ended up.

Eventually, like most, my parents separated and I moved with my mother to Savannah, Georgia. There I learned to appreciate a different kind of beauty, architecture.  Sure, I had seen castles and buildings much older in Germany, but Savannah had a quaint charm that felt like home; a warm, inviting, stay-a-while kind of feel.  But alas, it didn’t last long before we settled in central Florida close to family.

Although when I first arrived I hated it, since then I’ve discovered it truly has a lot to offer.  Not just theme parks, but nature, water, and my husband ;) .  I was able to get into a good school program and graduate with my Associate of Arts before my high school diploma. The University of Central Florida offered me a scholarship and I graduated with my Bachelor of Arts at 19 in Anthropology (my love of travel played a part in that decision), and now I own a great home not far from the water.

Keep reading for more detailed experiences to come!

This post contains affiliate links! :)