Pura Vida

Oh, metallic blue paint at the office supply store! Oh, canvases and silver hue! I hold my sunglasses in my teeth, the better to pile art supplies into my arms. Was hard to leave the quality paints behind on Kaua’i.

Back aboard Habibi, these treasures now take up three shoeboxes and a cubby and a half. Satisfaction. I unfurl a paper chart of Bahia de Todos Santos from 1975 and use it as a tarp. Painting is just for me, like swimming. Pure bliss, no thinking. Just reveling in color or ocean or both. I may be painting the ocean, or swimming the paint. When I was landlocked, I used to paint a fish-woman. Now I am a fish-woman. My nearest neighbors swim beneath the hull in celadon water. They’re bigger than the neighbors in Puerto Escondido, but they also like to jump occasionally.

My other near neighbors are pelicans, and one cranky heron. A seagull likes to perch on the bowsprit, and crows squawk from the top of the mast. They are messy: poop, seeds, fish vertebrae, and chicken bones (resort food).

In the evenings a long parade of boats exits the marina for sunset cruises. Many play loud music, some with live brass bands. They pass right next to me, tossing Habibi in their wakes. Cacophony. Last night I recognized an opportunity – I can make as much noise as I want during the procession, and no one will know. So I did. Grief and Rage yelled until I was spent, processing, still, the deep betrayal of relatives. I keep thinking I should be over it. I’m not. It is unfathomable.

I am so grateful to México and its healing heat and humidity. And the ocean, of course. Pure Life.