There's Mr. Moon out on the boat doing a little morning fishing. I should probably be packing up to leave. The washing machine here is broken and so I'll just be taking all the laundry home to do which in some strange way is easier.
It's been a good two days and I think my main goal, which was to make my husband rest a bit has been met. And I'm ready to go home. Whether I have PTSD from the time I came here alone bringing my (at that time) completely misunderstood panic and anxiety or whether the spirits who live here just truly don't like me or whether I'm just sort of over it, I am ready. I remember when I used to come here for days and days at a time, either alone or with the kids and was completely happy to be.
Not any more.
Maybe it's just time to pass it all on to the children. Let them make it their own. That thought surely brings me joy. There are so few places left which offer the opportunity to truly observe Florida as she used to be with such little human intrusion. A place to study tides and birds, sky and the creatures of the bay.
But I get restless here. So many memories. Some of them wonderful and some of them nightmarish. Why lie? It is true.
I've been thinking a lot about our culture and how the Oprahzation of it has all occurred- this constant need and belief to only stress the positive, to be every moment filled with gratefulness and it seems to me that although it is extremely important to yes, be aware of the blessings we may have, the daily miracles we may observe if we merely take time to look, it is an insult to ourselves and to life and, quite impossible for me to ignore, that which is sad and hard and tragic and even ugly and boring.
If we do not acknowledge those things as well, there is no impetus to change.
And so it goes.
Here I am in paradise, ready to go home to my other paradise. My messy oak tree and chicken- filled paradise. Where my grandsons come to play and where I can drink the water from the tap and where every square inch does not remind me of the time I was here, wishing I did not know where there were razor blades.
It is with true mixed emotions that I love this place because I DO love it. But perhaps I have just worn out my own welcome here. Perhaps it is like a once-beloved dress which no longer fits me.
Whatever. I think I'll make some breakfast for us and start packing. We try to set everything to perfect rights every time we leave so that the next time we come or that our partner comes or that our children come, the canvas will be blank for them to begin anew to paint the colors of their adventure on Dog Island. Because it is always an adventure. Every time.
See you in Lloyd.