JOY

As we walk down the path to Keller Beach, the birds all asong in the eucalyptus, the day with a hint of fall crispness, I see her. At the water’s edge. Bleached blond short-cropped hair. A black workout bra with matching black just above the knee length workout spandex pants. Her height is tall, maybe nearly six feet. The rolls of flesh hearty and robust between the bra and pants.

            And she is pure joy! Marching in the cold water, stretching toward the hazy mid-morning sun. Arms wide and open. Then closed and reaching for the water.

            There is no one else on the beach this morning. Just us and Joy.

            “Hola!” she calls out to us, her exuberance floating through the air.

            “Hola,” we call back.

            “You speak Spanish?”

            “Oh, no….” Ian and I have been taking Spanish lessons for the summer, but I’d hardly say we speak Spanish. Though I’ll always give it a try. I don’t care how bad I sound. I used to care about such things. I remember when Owen Hill and I visited Germany and yes, I’d been studying German for years, but when it came time to answer “Schauen Sie?” I was full of shyness and trepidation around making a mistake.

            Today, I dive in. “La Bahia es muy bonita!” I exclaim, plopping down on my towel and getting ready for the wetsuit pulling on process.

            “Si! Es el Mer!!!!”

            “Ah, yes, sea?”

            “Is it el mer?” Ian asks.

            “El, La, male female! It is MER!!!!” she proclaims, kicking at the water and grinning toward Mt. Tam.

            We all laugh. La Mer has this effect on us. (I’m gonna go with the female!)

Joy approaches us, but not too close. She has no mask on. She’s working out, obviously. And besides no one is here. Who could she infect if she did have the virus?

            Though she looks too robust to be sick. Yet….I’d just read in the morning’s SF Chron how there had been an outbreak at UCSF. Two patients and three staff. I can’t remember which way around it was, but I think it was the patients, had no symptoms. And so, they had infected the staff. Isolations and quarantines ensued.

            So, the Virus is out there. And you can’t see it. And it could be lurking in any of us. Even Joy.

            “I go in Cold Water!” she exclaims, then jumps toward us, pointing at a scar on the side of her knee. “I take no drugs. They are bad for liver.” She points at a fleshy round side of her midriff. “The cold water! It is muy Bueno!” She laughs and prances back into the water. Ian and I nod, both of us grinning at her. She’s a character as Ian would say. But he didn’t say this this morning. Maybe just thought it? Or he was gearing up for the swim. The cold water.

            I hate cold water. I honestly can’t believe that I’ve been swimming in it all summer. And, now with the approach of fall and winter, I don’t think I’ll be able to do it. Even with the wetsuit.

            Yet, as I watch her jogging through the water, the smile on her face contagious, I think, hell, cold water or not. It’s the water. La Mer!

            I have to be in it. Or else, what, Carol?

            It’s not a good scenario to be out of the water. When the pandemic first hit, before I started swimming in the bay, I was a wreck. Depressed and anxious. Sad and frustrated. Sure, I was walking and the walking was good. Grist for the mill and all with my walking journals, but still, it wasn’t the same as swimming.

            So, I will try to swim as long as I can in this muy bonita mer!

            Joy has finished her workout and is up on the sand now, wrapping a blue-flowered piece of cloth as a head turban. As she turns to head up the path, she calls out to us, “Have a good day!”

            “Hasta luego!” I call back, not really sure if this is the proper farewell in Spanish. But I think it means see you later or see you next time or see you again.

            And I hope I do. See her again. She is an inspiration. A woman of the cold sea. Who doesn’t take drugs. Who has no body image issues. Who believes in the healing powers of MER.

            So do I. So do I.

            I start to pull on the wetsuit, wriggling my feet into its too tight casing as a pair of cormorants swoop over the surface of the water and then come in for a smooth and graceful landing.

            La Mer! El Mer! Mer! Hola, buenos dias! Yo soy muy feliz!