More diving lessons today. Better. I didn’t feel like a helpless tumbling astronaut as much, though I was eternally vexed by the task of detaching  the connector hose to my BC underwater. And putting on a wetsuit still feels like skull-fucking the Michelin man. But I felt so peaceful snorkeling across the pool,  watching the glittering light patterns on the bottom, broad wavering bands of light like David Hockney’s swimming pool paintings.

Why is art so often my first way into nature?

I felt happy that I’d grown a little closer to becoming a better swimmer.  Crossing the pool wearing my lovely blue split fins it hardly felt like swimming at all.  And how strange that a deep-seated fear of sharks should lead me to something so pleasurable.

Writing about struggling with the wetsuit-as-Michelin-Man made me think of my sister Janet. I can’t really think of a single thing that Janet feared.  Truthfully, she often had a bit of contempt for those who let fear paralyze them.  Janet was pure fire,  such a force of nature, that it was inconceivable to me that she would ever die. Continue reading →