Children Of The Water
Sitting on a dock, dangling my feet in the water, relaxes me like few other pursuits. The ones that sit high so my feet don’t reach the water are ideal for fishing, but aren’t as enjoyable for unwinding and splashing my toes. If I must make do, I spread out a towel and my legs, lean back on my palms, and let the light, the wind, and the sounds of the water bumping into the supporting piers suffice. While sitting on the outer wall between the moat and the open water of the Dry Tortugas (see Changes in Rank from January 2013) in contrast, my feet likewise didn’t reach the water, but the view of the colorful fish beneath the water line compensated for the inability of my feet to dip into the sunlit aquatic scene. Perhaps I didn’t mind due to other benefits of this remote location, because as I sat similarly on the dock on the north side of the Lake of the Ozarks, it felt less rewarding and far noisier.
I spent the afternoon lakeside, making the most of the time near the water. Even if less appealing than other days spent above the surface (see Life Vests Optional from April 2021), I benefitted from the company of my offspring likewise basking in the summer warmth. Occasionally they would venture onto the boat, but in turn along with the other youngsters in attendance, or wandering into the house for whatever available snacks would entice them. Aside from these options, they enjoyed the gentle sway of the modest waves while sitting on the dock of the lake, because we are, after all, children born near and drawn towards the water.
Motionful Or Motionless
It’s time to drive home. Our weekend on the water has drifted downstream and the tranquility, such as it was, must be replaced by the everyday requirements of work and routine. Only Son #2 travels home with me as the grandparents continue to spoil Son #1. The two of us weave and curl our way through the twists and curves of the Ozark roads, spending more than half our drive just getting to an interstate. Our journey resembles the Lewis and Clark Expedition – it takes us just as long to get out of the Show-Me State as it does to travel beyond it.
We make it only a short distance when he tells me his stomach is not enjoying the circuitous route as much as the car might be cruising contentedly along. We stop to check his head, but no fever. Upon our second stop, we get a drink of bubbly soda to calm his system. With the air conditioning blasting and the complaints continuing, we stop a third time and move him to the front seat, thinking the roads themselves are the cause of his discomfort. Sometimes car sickness arises from a lack of a clear view ahead, but even this only slightly helps, but fails to heal. We realize, quite possibly, after several days swaying to the motion of the lake, he might be suffering from sea sickness here in the center of the country – a curse for our hours enjoying the gentle sway.