Mermaid Parade!

All photos are copyrighted Rachel McMinn June 2014

Ever since I was a small child, I have absolutely been infatuated with mermaids. The first time I saw Ariel, I wanted to be her (maybe that's why I found a husband with red hair?). One of my first Halloweens, I had my Mom make me an Ariel costume. I remember that costume fondly, with the beautiful sea inspired headband and wand to go with it! Each bath time or pool time or ocean time I would pretend my legs were melded together into one beautiful long flipper to dash through the water with. I dreamed that I had shiny, iridescent scales on my flipper so I would catch the sun's rays as I danced through the waves. Instead of a fish as a best friend, I always pictured myself teaming up with a dolphin or beluga whale. We'd get into all sorts of under sea mischief, and collect all manner of important sea shells, drift woods and human items washed out to sea. But, as we all know, you can't grow up and be a mermaid (no matter how hard you wish upon the stars).

Fortunately for me, the annual Coney Island Mermaid Parade allows me to revisit my childhood dreams and whimsy. Maybe one year I'll actually concoct an outfit and join the parade! The first Saturday of Summer every year, the streets (and subway cars!) are filled with sea creatures! It's been a couple of years since I've gone to the parade, but not too much changed. There are some fancy new rides at Coney Island, but even the Stillwell Avenue facades haven't been impacted too much. Three blocks are cordoned off to allow for a fantastic barrage of scantily clad people in shimmery fabrics and hot glued sea shells to dance and "swim" through the streets.

I must say, there were many more mermaids on their iPhones than I've encountered in previous years, but for the most part there was the same level of pep and excitement that I have come to expect from the parade. Plus, how can you not have a great day when you get to finish the parade with a delicious hot dog from the Original Nathan's? With a large, cool, ice-filled lemonade to ease that dog down, there isn't anything I can imagine being more American.

We continued our day at the shore with a trip to the Coney Island Sideshow. There was everything you could possibly ask for- fire, humongous nails, sword-swallowing, body contorting, a bed of nails, an audience member pumped with electricity . . . fun was had by all. Now I just hope that John doesn't ask for sideshow classes for his birthday!

Then, to round out the day, we sat on the cool sand and looked out to the ocean. The persistent scent of marijuana kind of ruined my enjoyment of the ocean view, but I tried to tune it out and breathe with the waves. It's Coney Island, so you don't really expect a beautiful, clean beach to begin with--but it would have been nice to smell the salty spray of the sea. Instead I pouted with a yummy ice cream cone and looked at the worsening sunburn on my shoulders as we made our way back to the subway station.

Til next year, dear Mermaids, when we meet again on the longest day of the year.

Solitude

My Summer break has commenced, and with it a period of solitude. Not in the lonely, reaching out and missing sort of way but rather the silence and quiet of choice. At the end of the school year, the best thing for my chaotic mind is a week of hibernation. It's not about sleeping in or resting my body, it's about giving my mind time to think and recoup.

Today I went for a short walk through my quaint, lovely neighborhood. During the week days there really are only moms with strollers, the elderly, and construction workers out and about. You can walk slowly without feeling rushed and hassled. I could take time to appreciate the green seeds on the lilac bushes, the way most iron-wrought gates were slightly opened and askew. I noticed the way that the world gets dark for a split second when a bird flies through the path of the sun. The sky, without a single cloud, looks like it could swallow the world in a single gulp.

I went to my happy place, my inner peace's home, a place where I always feel welcomed: the bookstore. It doesn't usually matter which bookstore I go to, the sense of belonging resonates in each one. As I drift away to worlds of fiction and start to travel through time and space via the power of words, I feel so good! Part of me comes to life that lies dormant when I am not actively involved in literary pursuits. I feel good, like apple pie cooling on a windowsill good. And it makes me want to write again, to be one of those voices on the shelf of a local bookstore.

For the past couple of months I have been trying to take a mental journey to stillness, calm, and quiet. My mind was up in arms at every turn, unsure of what to do, where to go, if anything at all in life was going right. My self doubt has been a lifelong battle, and I have never felt good enough at what I do or where I am in life. It is something that I know to be irrational, but also something that I am unable to shake. There is a niggling voice that comes up from time to time that eats away at any confidence reserves that I build up. But I am not going to let the doubt in me win.

I started to practice yoga more frequently. I thought that yoga would be a good way to ease into exercise and work on my body. It has helped more immensely with my mind than my body. I find the breathing to be so relaxing and soothing. Moving my body and flexing in ways that I didn't think I can bend feels rewarding. For the first time in a long time, I am proud of things that I can do with my body! My proudest moment is when I conquered the shoulder stand. One of my yoga instructors commented that she loves to see me smile while I practice yoga--I can't help but smile when I feel so much joy in what I'm doing.

I took a class on meditative painting and how to unblock my creative unconscious through meditating (you can see my work below). I am encouraging myself to do more things independently instead of relying on someone else to go with me. I am trying to empower myself and my choices so that my mind has less to argue about.

I have been thinking a lot about family, about a place that we all use to gather, a place where I found my creative voice to be strong and vibrant. I am coming to terms with letting a lot of things go and opening my mind for new adventures. During the meditation, I saw my beloved dock/pier drifting away into the ocean. It's not moored to the ocean floor but rather bobbing up and down. The sun, when I am near the ocean, is always SO big, so reflected by the ocean waves. And so it is very big in my painting. The teacher posed this question to me, but I am not sure of the answer: Why does the dock's pylon pierce the sun? Why are the pylons uneven? My mind has not yet figured out the reasons.

What do you do to soothe your mind? How do you challenge yourself and your routines? What has been most valuable to you in your pursuits?

Pause

Yesterday I took advantage of the sunshine and warm weather and headed out to the New York Botanical Garden again--I know I went a few weeks ago, but being surrounded by nature just felt like the right thing to do. Plus, it was the very last day to witness the orchid show for the year. How could I pass that up?

Interestingly enough, I was not as captivated by the orchids as I was by the tranquil rock garden that is tucked behind a hill. On my way up the hill, I was greeted by a friendly rabbit munching on the bright green grasses. He stayed close to the safety of a large bush, but seemed content with my presence. I entered the rock garden, giving a last glance back at the rabbit, found a bench and started to think.

I'm not sure what was more awe inspiring: the rabbit grazing on the sun warmed grass, or the perfectly hued, white and black flecked bluejay that flew by and perched in a young sapling. Perhaps it was the chipmunks playing and scuttling through the low branches of the pines. Right now a bird I cannot see is grappling with a twig or insect. I hear the digging, the pursuit. Nearby a waterfall is cascading down, down, down--a never ending trickle through the algae laden rocks. The water looks purple with tree pollens coursing through it. The pond is undulating with quiet ripples as the sun tickles it. Soon it will be breeding mosquitos and tadpoles. The colors of another bluejay pop against the buds of the trees; it will be much easier for him to hide among the leaves in a few weeks. 

A day like today begs you to appreciate the breeze. Before long it will be too hot to notice the coolness, the freshness of the Earth's breath. I love it when the wind moves the part in my hair as if it were bringing me back to a more natural state of being and putting the strands back only prompts the wind to rearrange them again. 

There is nothing like the crunch of soles against pebbles. It's a sound that you would know anywhere. For me there is comfort in the sound and in the massage the pebbles give my tired feet. 

Everyone moves around as if life is one instagram photo opportunity after another. Why don't they pause? Listen, look, put down your phone. How can you think?

It is puzzling to me that more women than men are walking around with gigantic smiles on their faces, fascinated and excited by all of the life that has started to reawaken in the garden. They pull men around with them, asking them what they like, what they find beautiful. I overheard one woman say, "You're just walking through here as quickly as you can. Did you even see these?!" However, I've also noted that more men than women are actually working in the gardens. How does that work?

So many bird calls. So many answers. I love the fleeting shadows the birds make as they fly by. Yet another bluejay is preening in the sun, reflected in the water, then scared off by the red breasted robin. The robin makes me sure, without a grain of doubt, that spring is here to stay. Even the budding trees and bursting daffodils don't fill me with the same conviction as the sight of all the robins. 

I never grow tired of having birds land near me. My stomach clenches in anticipation. I hold my breath. I try so hard to keep the bird close by ignoring all the functions my body needs to live. It's worth it for another moment close to these fragile, singing creatures. I think that's why everyone loves stories like Dr. Doolittle; to be able to get close to and understand animals is such a joy to even think about. 

The air just smells so. . .pure. 

It's becoming clear to me why people who write (and write well) need the silence, beauty and truth of the earth to make sense of language. I can never think like this when I am cooped up in my apartment, glancing out the window in an attempt to feel the wink of the sun. I am on a bench in a rock garden, and my heart and eyes (and pen) are in love. 

I think I need more trips to gardens, don't you think? Hopefully more outings will lead to more musings for you to enjoy.

Cultivating a Garden

Aside from the ocean, another of my innate callings has to do with plants and gardening. While I love bouquets of fresh flowers (John, are you reading this? I have so many vases . . .), I'd rather add another potted plant (or 10 . . .) to my collection than flowers that will expire after a week or two. Although it's hard to get plants that have bright and vibrant blooms to live inside my apartment for very long, I have been trying my hand at orchids and every now and then get inspired to plant from seed to flower. In fact, I might try to grow some herbs out on my fire escape this spring. Whoever the last tenant was left a bunch of pots out on the fire escape and have just been growing weeds for the past two years. This apartment does have ample light, thank God, so I am able to keep some vegetation alive and well. This winter made my windowsills much colder than the past few years, so I've had to replace some of my plants now that it's warmer weather--and I hope to keep my new beauties lush and green! I don't know if it's some sort of OCD, but I found myself rearranging the plants I have this morning. It's amazing how moving a plant from one window to another can completely revive or completely kill it. They are so fickle sometimes!

A little red wagon, thread-bare wheels, rust rimmed, white lettered and very treasured was home to one of my first plant-ventures. This wagon became my tree-to-tree vehicle of choice. Being all of six or seven years old, I used to fill up sand buckets with water and mud and mix in all matter of flora and fauna (worms, beetles, spiders, etc.). I'd carefully collect very large leaves and drop in tiny buds from my Mother's garden beds before closing the leaf and tying it shut with blades of grass. I read every book I could get my hands on and became inspired by faeries and ancient mystics who would carry medicine bags and herbal remedies. I used twigs as my medical instruments and crushed the colors out of wild berries and brightly hued flowers. I moved that wagon around with me as I collected, sorted, pulverized, tore apart, bundled, and explored nature in fine detail. I lifted large rocks and captured the insects underneath. The larger beetles moved just a fraction, balking at the sudden burst of sun light into their dark earthy slumber. The tiny ants scattered in a million directions--going everywhere but back down into their ant hills. Sticky, slimy slugs continued their undulating path, leaving their translucent ooze behind them. In this manner, I got to know so much about what goes on not only above the ground with leaves and stems and flowers, but who the flowers share the ground with. They have to contend with all of these mini beasts, with whatever the weather throws at them, and with the curious fingers of a child trying to better grasp how the world works.

I got to explore many gardens in my childhood. My grandmother was another avid gardener, and once she took residence at Creek House (remember, the place I learned to love the ocean at?) I could come and help with her botanic endeavors. Even in the depths of winter, when I close my eyes I can still remember the colors and the warmth of freshly grown blackberries on my tongue--not to mention the juicy pops of flavor. We used to collect bowls of berries and scoop a spoon of sugar onto them. We'd place them in the fridge to consummate the heavenly marriage of fresh fruit and sweetness, and then eat the whole bowl in the glow of early evening at the picnic table overlooking the creek. From the table you could count all the crab apples dangling from the tree and falling down the hill toward the water. And if you ran around the house, past the outdoor oven and the rocky driveway, the glow of tomatoes shifting from green to red as they ripen on the vine would greet your eye. Every kitchen window sill in my home and my grandmother's was lined with tomatoes as they made their transition from good to great. When you buy jars of pickles in the store, or select a cucumber from a bin you completely miss out on the fact that these veggies come into the world covered in little bumps and prickles that scrape against your tongue if you eat them too early.

My memories of these spring and summer discoveries make my heart sick for the country-side, sometimes.

A couple of weeks ago, I traveled to the New York Botanical Garden with my Mom and my friend, Guadalupe. I've been to the garden twice before, and fall in love all over again as soon as I step foot inside. I take such pleasure in the simple things--grass, trees, squirrels-- I even saw a snake there on my first trip, and a rabbit happily hopping from clover patch to lush grass. Plus, there are the orchids. My God. I don't know how or why orchids are so beautiful. They are captivating. When you start to look deeply into the flower of an orchid, they start to look like little faeries popping off stems coming to greet you with their lovely scents and colors. Every color of the rainbow is represented in the orchid world. I was surprised to see a brown-colored orchid that reminded me of toasted honey and sesame seeds. Beauty all around, and the heady scent of the pansy orchids--truly, the orchid show is one of my heavens on earth.

I will be a lover of gardens, plants, and nature for as long as I live. Being immersed in the splendor that is readily available out of the confines of the city is not something that I take lightly; I respect the delicate sensibilities of buds about to open, insects burrowing under rocks, and vegetables that need another week in the sun to be delicious. I'm ready to learn more about how plants work, what makes them happy, and how I can live harmoniously with them all around my apartment.

Missing the Ocean

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to live near the Ocean. My love affair with the Atlantic Ocean began at a very young age. I was constantly and consistently brought to the beach, and even had the opportunity to spend a great deal of time at a family home (Creek House) that was just minutes from the open waves of the Long Island Sound. We'd go down the channel of the creek in canoes, and take the motorboat out into a sandbar dotted with small islands. Those islands were like little utopias in my imagination. We'd bring a delicious cooler filled with fresh made donuts and other goodies that my grandmother would prepare for us. My uncles, the captains of the boat, would let all of us roam the islands doing our own thing; I'd always bring a baggy to fill up with unique ocean specimens: sea glass, shells, crab legs and shells, dried bits of seaweed . . . anything I could get my hands on. Of course my mother would have to dump most of it out due to the stink of the sea, but I felt like such a pioneer rescuing all of these mementos from the Ocean. My childhood had many moments of feet crusted over with sand, curls sticky with salt, and sunburns that lead to tears and spray on solarcaine. The nights that I got the best sleep started with the slow rocking motion of the sea sweeping my body from wakefulness to dreams. How does the body remember the rock of the waves when you close your eyes? I still put my mind near the Ocean when I need to sleep. I count waves instead of sheep. Honestly, I think my innocent and youthful prayers all, in one way or another, involved my becoming a Mermaid. 

Even now I long for the sea. The endless gray and brown of the city really starts to drag me down, especially at this time of year when we haven't had sunshine and warmth and vegetation in so long. I need yellow, blue, and green! For those of you who don't know me, I live in Brooklyn, New York and I am from South Eastern Connecticut. When it's been too long since I've heard the soothing lap of water as it meets the shore, I start to feel antsy. I feel it in my bones. I feel it as I close my eyes on my subway commute. I feel it while I look out the window and see more white, gray, and blah. I feel uncomfortable and as if something were terrible amiss in my life. What I wouldn't give to push my toes into the cool of sand and water. That lovely strip of sand that has recently been coated in sea water and soaks up an imprint of your toes as you pick them up and take another step. Something about the Ocean restores my soul when it's weary. 

For my birthday, my husband and I made a trip down to Bermuda. The color of the water there inspires me. The smell of the hotel room, being so close to the sea, makes my heart smile just to think of it! It's musty and salty and might be mistaken for something old and dank, but I know better. When we got there, got checked in and dropped all of our luggage into the room, I bolted straight down to the water. It was cold, but that didn't matter. I was overcome with so many emotions, so much release to let go into the dip and tug of the waves. I am trying so hard to pull that feeling into myself now, to reconnect with the Ocean thru memory--it's just not the same, I need to be there, toes in, shivering and letting go.

I'm not really sure how I became so close with the sea. I get the sense that a lot of people crave the relaxation and comfort that comes from a trip to the beach. For me it almost feels essential sometimes. Maybe someday I'll be able to pack up my city apartment and head for the coast-line. I know the hardest part will be convincing my sun-hating husband that it's a great, nay necessary move. He'd stay locked up in a cloudy day every day if he could. At any rate, I think a trip to the Ocean is in my cards for this weekend and I hope it is every bit as cathartic and cleansing as I remember it to be.