Everlasting

I'm from old newspaper clippings
Sandy beaches, big thunderstorms, and sea glass
And I'm from dusty photographs and stacks of records
I'm from scarecrows on Halloween, carved wooden tiki men
Steel drums, caribbean food, conch shells
And I'm from the life of the pink panthers and orange flamingos
And from jolly ranchers and peanut butter cups
Where there's no t.v. on school nights
And orange juice is a requirement at breakfast

I'm from the creatures of the sea
And from the ocean and gusty winds
I'm from the family where picking weeds is a punishment
And where Nonna's house always smells of fresh Italian bread
With a hint of vinegar and pasta sauce in the air
I'm from the family that believes we are all brothers and sisters
And where pickles and cheese is a good snack
Where laughter is one step above crying
And mint chocolate chip ice cream is adored

I'm from the moon, the stars, and the sun too
And I'm from the "shoulda-woulda-couldas" and the "no-ways"
Where you have to look nice for church and you must pray to God
And where snappers, jacks, groupers, and the pelagic fish are my friends
Where snorkeling is a way of living in another world
And I'm from the soft multi-colored quilts and the warm cotton towels
I'm from toasty fireplaces on cold winter nights
Where planting gardens of flowers or vegetables is a way of life
And I'm from the little Italian island girl that lives inside of me

I'm from the pink and red balloons and the long-lasting candles
And from antique books stacked on top of each other on chairs
Where reggae tunes beat inside my head and come out my ears
I'm from musical instruments like the cello and violin
And I'm from my sailboat and what lies within
I'm from the land, yes, but mostly from the sea
Because no matter what, it is always a home to me
I'm from wooden boats that have been painted several times
Where barnacle cuts are nothing but a little scratch

I'm from harbors and docks where intimidated fish conceal themselves
Where every underwater creature is invited
And every sailor's hands are swollen and feel like leather
I'm from the art of Picasso, Van Gogh and Monet
And classic European automobiles with true Italian leather interior
Where salad is made at almost every meal
And every Sunday is celebrated with pancakes in the morning
I'm from all over the world, from Italy to Australia, from Scotland to Florida
And I come from the poetry of Shakespeare and the gentle words of my parents

I come from a seemingly everlasting and beautiful life...

 





   
                                              ~My Second Home~             

Sometimes my mind wanders
Back where the gulf roars
And pounds the seawalls
Where seagulls serenade
And soar below fluffy clouds
Back where everything seems true
And orange rays of sunlight glare
Illuminating a hazy pink sky
Where tourists point at every scene
The sandy white beaches, never bare
Back where I can taste salt in a tear
And I can smell rain in a storm
Where the water forms swells
And creates underwater masterpieces
Back where fish dance during storms
Where sailboats always reign
And some powerboats too
Where food taste delicious
And one can walk around in a swimsuit
With no one having a problem with it
Back where the water glistens with sparkle
And beach-dwellers view gorgeous sunsets
Painted lively with pinks and oranges
And spiced with reds and purples
With a hint of baby blue
All intertwined with one another
Where everything, crazy or calm
Is set alight and should be one to note
Back where our boats and sails sleep
And back where pelicans whisper to trees
Where a tear can be turned to a laugh in no time
And smiles bring second and third looks
Back where part of my spirit will always lie
Hiding in and out of old wooden docks, big waves,
Tall palm trees, outside tiki bars, leather flip flops,
Scribbled notes, burning asphalt, reggae tunes,
Figure eight knots, barbecues, sea urchins, coquinas
The humming of jet skis and the wise words of my coaches
Back where the wind always seems to blow
And summer afternoon storms are expected
Where chewy bars, subs and water are typical in a sailor's diet
Back in my opti filled with my sweat, blood and tears
And my teammates are like my brothers and sisters
Where many good memories are formed
And several good friends are made
Back where big secrets and wonderful stories are shared
Where bits and pieces of my life are
Back to the place I will always love
Where I am treated with kindness
And where I am welcomed with open arms
Back to Clearwater Yacht Club




                                         A DAY LIKE THIS

     Whoosh!  Her sail flipped overhead, I switched sides simultaneously, then caught a new breath of the clean, salty air. Blue-green hills of liquid formed around us, smashing against her fiberglas hull.  Somehow though, we sliced through together, not stopping, moving swifter and quicker than ever.  We seem to talk to each other without speaking, as I maneuver her through the warm water, the sheet in one hand, tiller in the other, we are one.

     The only sound that filled the air was the lapping of the swells hitting her sides and the wind whistling through my ears.  Thousands of tiny crystal droplets splashed up at my beaming face. I trimmed her sail and listened to the clickety clicks of the mainsheet block singing away at my heels.  Sunblock-filled sweat dripped down my face and I smiled looking up at her sail for any signs of shifts, trying to keep the tell-tales flying straight back.  "Perfect", I would remark, every once in awhile.

     Suddenly she healed over wildly; I leaned out, fighting for her to back down. Abruptly, the wind surrenders, and she seems to sigh at the thought. Just another one of our thrilling battles at sea.

     The sun soon became low in the sky, and shades of yellows and pinks interweaved with the reds and purples.  The breeze was soothing now; it tickled the back of my neck and played with my hair.  The water was calm and it gave me time to think about my exciting day out on the water.  I closed my eyes, and sat low in my opti, sailing along back to shore.

     A day like this is an experience I just can't forget, an experience I want to hold onto forever and be able to do forever.  A day like this makes me want to sail forever.

                                   Trading Places