Sense of Wonder

I was talking with a pollock boat crew member today who reads my blog regularly and he mentioned - somewhat reprovingly - that I didn't post as often as I used to in the beginning. I emailed my brother this morning, asking how he was, and he said he wondered if I was okay, he hadn't seen me post in a couple days.

I feel bad when I don't blog, like I've let my family down, but as this little spot on the internet evolves I find myself more likely to reflect on how this place makes me feel than what I have seen or done that day. The raw data for today: I worked 11 hours, I walked with Chico along the beach for 45 minutes after work, we saw 3 sea otters 50 feet away, 10 sea lions 40 feet away, a few bald eagles, some ravens, a few other species of birds. I didn't bring my camera because it was raining. Goldfish and I talked about our days while she cooked, we ate then watched the news from the local television station. I tore apart our recumbent bike to check the hub, blogged, worked out, read some, walked the dog along the river.

A normal sounding day but the sense of wonder for me is in the details - the sea otters were eating sea urchins, cracking them open on their bellies; the sea lions periscope out of the water to get a better look at Chico while I stand on the shore and talk to them and they talk back. A pair of ravens are either trying to kill each other or very much in love - like any species, it is hard to tell the difference - as they put on an unrivaled show of fancy flying over head. Goldfish's face lights up when Chico and I walk in the door, we know we are home and loved, the air is heavy with the scent of cooking, she is preparing Bon Appetit magazine's Recipe of the Year for 2008. The meal is excellent, and she knows it, and I glance out the window at a passing crab boat in the East Channel and back at my beautiful wife, lit from within, and I forget to breathe, for far away the markets crash and the jobless march and a new President sitting on the edge of his bed puts his face in his hands and weeps for the job at hand . . . . but on this day, on this island, I take a breath and a bite of pasta, my eyes soften and I smile.