November 8, 2007, Word Count 12,729

Back to the present again. Catching up from yesterday. What do you think of the title, "Redeeming October"

October 12, 2007

When the shrimp were gone, I washed up my dish and checked the floor to see if it was sticky from the cocktail sauce. “What a mess,” I said to Pippi. I walked back over to the drafting table to check on the sea turtle illustration. It was dry and I started looking at the blooms and back runs in the background. It was a habit of mine to stare at the shapes that the ink made and see if there were any pictures in them. My version of cloud figures, I guessed. I smiled as I noted some blooms that looked like floating seaweed on the upper left, a few back runs had taken on some characteristics of coral rising up from the seawater. In the upper right, though, was a shape that I was not expecting. I got out a magnifying glass to look at it more closely. It looked just like the silhouette of a person swimming way off in the distance – someone diving down with the sea turtle.

“How strange,” I thought. This sea turtle obsession of mine was turning into something a little creepy. Now I was subconsciously painting a figure in the ocean with the sea turtle. Next thing you knew, I’d be strapping on scuba gear and searching for some mythical giant sea turtle that Stevey might write about. An idea had been born, though, in that strange little ink anomaly. I hauled out the box with all my paints and brushes in it and found a canvas. I placed it on my easel and set everything up just the way I like it. Paints on the left, water bucket perched on the easel shelf, paper towels and brushes on my right. I picked up a watercolor pencil and started sketching right on the canvas.

As I drew, I escaped into that part of my brain I always went to for healing. I drew the turtle again, this time rising up toward the surface of the waters. On his back was a young girl, maybe 7 years old, hair streaming out behind her. She straddled the shell of the turtle and held on with one hand to the lip at the front of the shell, just behind his head. Her arms were slight, yet powerful. Her legs were long and lean and full of strength as she held on to the powerful beast. Her face was turned up toward the surface in anticipation of breaking through and sailing up into the air. In her other hand she carried a scepter of coral and seaweed. She was the turtle princess. Her crown was one of oyster shells and pearls. This girl could face anything.

I began painting, my brushes flying across the canvas. Dappled sunlight was breaking through the depths of the water and casting a radiant light on this turtle girl. The turtle itself was bathed in the light of the sun and in the power of the girl. His strong flippers had just thrust backward, propelling himself and his passenger closer to the surface. Streams of water trailed back from his fins and the girls blond hair left contrails in the wake. Her face was jubilant and triumphant – she had been to the depths of the sea on her fine turtle and she was going to make it to the surface – just one more push and they would be leaping out.

I heard the grumble of my stomach before I felt it. I looked at the clock on the stove, which read 8:00 and thought it must be a mistake. I glanced at the clock on the wall. 8:01. I had been painting for 7 hours or so without a break. I put my brush down and stepped back from the easel. The painting was finished, except for a signature. My turtle girl had been born. She was marvelous and otherworldly. She was triumphant and pure and whole.

I wanted to be just like her.