Hey, you! Yeah, you!

I found a hermit crab yesterday.

I was looking for shells to bring back home. Small snail shells abound on the beach, but the beauties and freaks that catch the light on a well-dusted shelf are rare finds, in our shallow inlet as anywhere else. Spotting a fairsized conch through the oversized swim mask I had borrowed off my brother, I dove down to snatch it from its resting place alongside a tuft of sea grass.

When I looked at it above the water, I noticed a tiny claw reaching out to prod at the unfamiliar sunlight. I let out a sharp cry of exclamation, hurrying over to where my parents coaxed my sister to swim a few feet. As we watched, a pair of small black eyes appeared, then the creature retreated abruptly to the safety of his familiar abode.

I held that crab, wondering if perhaps it was a sign of Things Happening. I have not gone into detail here about my episode concerning the beach ball, but my father voiced my thoughts when he called it “quite an accomplishment, nearly as much as winning that badminton game.” And that isn't the only instance of a recent event becoming a sort of milestone.

Though, of course, my manner of waiting for things to happen is somewhat inane. I seem to have this idea that by sitting at home and waiting, I am enticing said Things Happening to up and happen. Okay, that was a little ambiguous. What I mean to say is that I should give up hope of ever leading an interesting life, because I don’t create the right atmosphere for interesting things to happen to me. Darn, let me try again. If I want excitement and adventure, I should get out and look for excitement and adventure. (Which probably means that I won’t find it, but that’s another field of thought…have I gone into that before?)

Still, this summer promises to be the beginning of…what? Nothing worth noting, most probably, but there are…possibilities, perhaps.

Maybe I should try an example. Two days ago, a simple visit of a couple of friends became a campfire gathering, and, later, a dramatic vigil on the balcony – all because of an enormous power outage. During the course of a few hours, I discovered my constellation, re-evaluated my position in the universe, and enlarged my hopes of becoming someone worth being (if only for the duration of fifteen minutes).

And then there were fireworks.

Perhaps the adventure lies in the interpretation of events – my family members seemed not to notice – but can I not dream?

I miss you guys. I love being here, listening to my father’s harmonica from the balcony, breaking bean pods with my great-grandmother, and above all the sea (woe betide my future daughter, if she comes into being. I’ve decided to name her Thalassa)…but I miss a world where something plays on the radio besides a bizarre mix of traditional Scandinavian music and psychedelic jazz. Monotonous though that world can be, there is no tedium when I am around people who can make the moon rise gold.

footprints in the sand