When I stood up there was a sharp pain in my head and a wild whooshing in my ears and I felt dizzy, which made me feel like throwing up. So I tried not to stand up too much. I lay in bed reading, and clicking on every link anyone posted on my FB feed, and when I found myself watching a video of a cat giving birth to her kittens I thought it might be the last thing on earth I saw before I died, and it made me inexplicably sad.
After 12 days of the whooshing and the pain and the fever I finally let Gary drive me to the doctor. Where I found out my blood pressure was 194/104. The nurse thought there was something wrong with her machine and brought in another one to check the numbers again. The doctor said patiently that it isn't that unusual to have blood pressure this high when you have been sick, and are at the doctor's office. The doctor's office where you have come to see the doctor who is probably going to tell you that you're dying. That you have been killed by your own adventure. The doctor who isn't even listening when you start telling him about rodents and mold and a dead groundhog in a toxic swimming pool. The one who spends two minutes with you, suggests that you might want to set up a plan to manage your high blood pressure with your primary care physician, and then hurries away before you can tell him that you do not in fact have a primary care physician.
But I did not die on Cape Cod. And once I felt better we went out to explore this narrow curving spit of land my sister describes as the place between 'the wild ocean and the giant bathtub.' We chased sunrises and sunsets and moonrises. We chased lighthouses and beaches and boardwalks and tides. We chased the colors of Cape Cod, and walked in her light for a little while.
We walked in the light of a pink sunrise at Nauset Beach. We stood at the top of the stairs and saw the colors reflected in the still waters to our left, and in the crashing waves to our right. I ran down to the ocean's edge and looked out at the rising sun. Seabirds on the sand were watching with me. A seal swam by in the shore break, poking his dark head out of the water and staring at me. For a long time we were the only people standing in the glow. Then pinks turned to yellows, and a woman walked by. The sun came fully up, and everything changed, but the miracle of the first colors stayed with me for a long time.
We walked on the moonscape of Skaket Beach when the tide had gone all the way out. We walked on waves of sand, feeling the ripples under our feet. Our shoes were dangling in our hands, and our bare feet turned pink and numb. Low tide revealed the oyster farms, each with a unique design. Families were harvesting. Dogs were barking. Kids were running. We walked far away out to the edge of the water, and when we stopped and looked down we could see the tide coming in fast, covering our toes. When we turned back towards the beach a small crowd had gathered and the sun went down all orange and black.
We walked on the breakwater in Provincetown chasing a lighthouse. We could barely see it at the end of the jumbled pile of boulders. The sun was going to disappear soon, but we stepped out anyway. I only had rubber slippers on, and the rocks were all angled and wet, with big gaps I had to jump across. Gary held out his hand, and I kept telling myself to trust my feet. The tide was low and birds were everywhere. Gulls and blue herons and shearwaters and petrels. They were floating and walking and diving and flying, and dropping their shellfish dinners on the giant rocks of the jetty to crack them open. The sun was setting to our right all heat and fire, and to our left were the pastel reflections. We were in the middle of the birds and the wonder of the light. We never made it to the lighthouse, and had to run to make it off the boulders before it was too dark to see.
We watched the blood moon rise at Nauset Beach. There was a festive feeling in the air. Photographers set up tripods. Young kids laughed and ran. An old bundled up couple held hands on a bench. Everyone was facing the same way, waiting and hoping. And when the round pink barely moon emerged from the ocean everyone looked at each other and smiled. Smiling, shivering, sharing the same thing. The sun was setting behind us and the moon was rising in front of us and all the light was intermingling.
We walked for hours on Chatham Lighthouse Beach on a cold and cloudy day. Seals on the sandbars, birds on the beach, wind in our hair. The moody light made me wish I was a painter, made me wish I could capture what I saw and keep it with a brush.
and got up for one last sunrise at Nauset Light Beach. Where we parked in the huge empty parking lot designed for the summer crowds. We took the stairs down to the beach, and as we stood there the world turned and brought the light up one more time. And the handful of people watching with us took pictures, or didn't. Drank coffee, or were just quiet. And then we ran. We ran back the way we had come to find the lighthouse. Because that's where the real show was going to be. We ran towards the light because we knew it wouldn't last long.
I am of course going to die. Though I would like to delay that moment for a little while longer if possible. We did buy a blood pressure monitor, and last time I checked everything seemed okay. But I am thinking seriously about reducing my sodium intake. I am thinking about giving up canned meat. Like that staple of the Hawaiian diet, the mystery molded meatlike product known as Spam. And canned corned beef hash. I'm also thinking about giving up potato chips. Potato chips. I am vowing to exercise every day from now on for the rest of my life, and eat blueberries for breakfast and spinach for lunch. And even if I do all that I will still die.
But before I do, maybe I will keep on walking towards lighthouses I know I'll never reach. Even when I have on the wrong kind of footwear and the path is tilted and slippery. Maybe I will keep looking, and hoping for the moon. Keep going out at all hours, barefoot, wide eyed, chasing the light.
But I did not die on Cape Cod. And once I felt better we went out to explore this narrow curving spit of land my sister describes as the place between 'the wild ocean and the giant bathtub.' We chased sunrises and sunsets and moonrises. We chased lighthouses and beaches and boardwalks and tides. We chased the colors of Cape Cod, and walked in her light for a little while.
We walked in the light of a pink sunrise at Nauset Beach. We stood at the top of the stairs and saw the colors reflected in the still waters to our left, and in the crashing waves to our right. I ran down to the ocean's edge and looked out at the rising sun. Seabirds on the sand were watching with me. A seal swam by in the shore break, poking his dark head out of the water and staring at me. For a long time we were the only people standing in the glow. Then pinks turned to yellows, and a woman walked by. The sun came fully up, and everything changed, but the miracle of the first colors stayed with me for a long time.
We walked on the moonscape of Skaket Beach when the tide had gone all the way out. We walked on waves of sand, feeling the ripples under our feet. Our shoes were dangling in our hands, and our bare feet turned pink and numb. Low tide revealed the oyster farms, each with a unique design. Families were harvesting. Dogs were barking. Kids were running. We walked far away out to the edge of the water, and when we stopped and looked down we could see the tide coming in fast, covering our toes. When we turned back towards the beach a small crowd had gathered and the sun went down all orange and black.
We walked on the breakwater in Provincetown chasing a lighthouse. We could barely see it at the end of the jumbled pile of boulders. The sun was going to disappear soon, but we stepped out anyway. I only had rubber slippers on, and the rocks were all angled and wet, with big gaps I had to jump across. Gary held out his hand, and I kept telling myself to trust my feet. The tide was low and birds were everywhere. Gulls and blue herons and shearwaters and petrels. They were floating and walking and diving and flying, and dropping their shellfish dinners on the giant rocks of the jetty to crack them open. The sun was setting to our right all heat and fire, and to our left were the pastel reflections. We were in the middle of the birds and the wonder of the light. We never made it to the lighthouse, and had to run to make it off the boulders before it was too dark to see.
We watched the blood moon rise at Nauset Beach. There was a festive feeling in the air. Photographers set up tripods. Young kids laughed and ran. An old bundled up couple held hands on a bench. Everyone was facing the same way, waiting and hoping. And when the round pink barely moon emerged from the ocean everyone looked at each other and smiled. Smiling, shivering, sharing the same thing. The sun was setting behind us and the moon was rising in front of us and all the light was intermingling.
We walked for hours on Chatham Lighthouse Beach on a cold and cloudy day. Seals on the sandbars, birds on the beach, wind in our hair. The moody light made me wish I was a painter, made me wish I could capture what I saw and keep it with a brush.
We walked into the sunset at Sandwich Boardwalk,
I am of course going to die. Though I would like to delay that moment for a little while longer if possible. We did buy a blood pressure monitor, and last time I checked everything seemed okay. But I am thinking seriously about reducing my sodium intake. I am thinking about giving up canned meat. Like that staple of the Hawaiian diet, the mystery molded meatlike product known as Spam. And canned corned beef hash. I'm also thinking about giving up potato chips. Potato chips. I am vowing to exercise every day from now on for the rest of my life, and eat blueberries for breakfast and spinach for lunch. And even if I do all that I will still die.
But before I do, maybe I will keep on walking towards lighthouses I know I'll never reach. Even when I have on the wrong kind of footwear and the path is tilted and slippery. Maybe I will keep looking, and hoping for the moon. Keep going out at all hours, barefoot, wide eyed, chasing the light.
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