Sea for Two: A Journal

By Anne E. O'Neill

What! You want us to leave all this and go where? Gualala! Anne is aghast. She had left convent life not that many years ago and Josephs proposal sounded like they might be moving to a cloister in the wilderness. It took much weighing of the pros and cons before the two of them could share the same perspective: their world would change, but this time it would be for two two and the sea. In the end, she was the one to find the remote ocean bluff house, a fixer-upper they named THE SEA COTTAGE. Anne picks up her pen and records life as it happens in her journal - from the storms rumbling in from the Pacific to the perils of hanging wallpaper together. Always there are the TWO, dancing to the ebb and flow of the tides, tides that eventually would carry them elsewhere.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483671338

Anne E. O'Neill

Anne O’Neill, M. A., University of La Verne, is a native of Pasadena, California. She worked as a scriptwriter in Hollywood, is the author of 2 previous books and one to be released in 2015. In her teaching career, she always made the creation of poetry an important part of her curriculum. She now lives on the awe-inspiring coast of Oregon and the muse is still active. Benedictusnunstory.com

Book preview

Sea For Two

A Journal

Anne E. O’Neill

Copyright © 2013 by Anne E. O’Neill.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 07/27/2013

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Contents

Remembering

Crosscurrents

Walk On The Bluff

The Journal

The Ocean Bluff House

Flowing With The Tides

Carried By The Currents

Reeling With The Wind

Approaching Storms

The Pull Of The Sea

Where Spirit Dwells

Migratory Seabirds

Beware Of Swivel Chairs

Sold! Ocean Bluff House

The Mariner

Reflection

On The Horizon

Stand-By

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THE SEA COTTAGE

To

Anna

Mother

Mentor

Writer

REMEMBERING

O Great Water Coming Down Place where the river meets the sea! Place of power on the earth where the veil between worlds grows thin! Dear Gualala, we hardly knew you—a scant ten years. We knew you, though, in the best of times before the many discovered your beauty that inspires the spirit and your rhythm of life that flows with the tides. Sunrises of pastels gently wake your coastal world from sleep; sunsets of blazing hues signal time for rest. Never two the same, morning or close of day and at times obscured by shadows of fog. Your stately redwoods and staunch pines march fearlessly down to the sea, bending to the force of mighty winds. You draw the whales and the dolphins, the winged ones and the deer—and us. Dear Gualala, we remember the time before the ocean view was obscured from sight when walking through your town and the welcoming baa of sheep was forever silenced. We knew you then. Once upon a time…

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The Town on the Ocean Bluff

CROSSCURRENTS

1978

Our future was planned. Or so we thought. My husband Joseph and I were both secure in our professions. He was psychologist and Director of a Pain Management Program at a prominent rehabilitation hospital in Los Angeles. I was vice-principal of a lovely school bordering a golf course and, as the principal was retiring, on my way to becoming his successor in the fall. We had the luxury of escaping to our beach condo on weekends to relieve the tension of our demanding jobs. We had it made, as the saying goes.

Joseph and I had been married for the proverbial seven years so maybe it was just an itch but that itch was about to change our lives. It would not be the first time for either of us. When Joseph and I first met, he was coming out of a divorce and I was coming out of a convent. So here we were, at forty-something, considering pulling up our roots and starting over. It was one more leaving all things: extended family, aging parents, big city life, fine restaurants, many good friends, secure jobs—and home.

Our destination was to be the small town of Gualala on the remote North Coast of California, population five hundred and fifty-six hardy souls. We knew little of the area’s history but learned it originally had been inhabited by the Pomo Indians. With its long and colorful history, it finally made the travel section of the Los Angeles Times in the early 1970’s. Having magnificent redwoods as well as the mighty sea, it was featured as an ideal place to vacation and so we had—several times. Each time we felt an irresistible tug of Being. To actually move there had been Joseph’s idea. Why not? Well, I could think of a lot of reasons!

My state of indecision persisted and led to sleepless nights. What? Leave the world—again? The remote wildernesses sounded all too much like a cloister with no amenities! I summed up my feelings in three words and recorded them in a spiral notebook: I feel fear. This profound and accurate insight was followed by two columns of pros and cons and finally a fragile position statement.

Oh, to begin a beautiful new life with Joseph! He is so strong in his position, saying a little too often, I have to get out! This, I know, is due to his disillusionment with his work at the hospital. I am in such a different place, pulled in two directions. Still, something nags at me, insisting that this is the time for radical change. Now! I choose to plant this seed of change within myself. And I shall nurture it. Yes, I do feel fear. So what? When is dying to the old, the known, not fearful? All the doubts, conflicts and even the aches and pains of anxiety, I tell myself, are signs of living . . . of growth.

We subscribed to Gualala’s local newspaper, The ICO (Independent Coast Observer) which we received gleefully each week. I never failed to dutifully pour over the real estate ads, on the look-out for something affordable—and ocean front! Talk about dreams! Finally, I came upon one gem:

Ocean bluff house for sale…

That’s all I needed to read. Ocean bluff fed my agile imagination. I had to see that house! I felt it would put some spine into that fragile position statement I had recorded in my notebook. Gradually, I wore Joseph down with my pleading to go north. Why not? Suddenly, the shoe was on the other foot. Now I was taking the lead. We flew to San Francisco the next weekend. The drive to Gualala from the airport, of course, took longer than the plane flight. It was three plus harrowing hours around one blind bend in the road after another, a road that seemed to hang out in space over the blue Pacific, giving an ever-changing perspective of the sea. My eyes were shut for most of the trip.

We checked into the Gualala Hotel, vintage 1903, hung our clothes on the wall hooks and sought out the bathroom down the hall. I knew it! I said to myself. Before leaving home we had made an appointment with Dale, an agent with Pacific Real Estate. It was the time before the area had been discovered and the consequent real estate boom. He therefore had very little to show us—but what he had he insisted we see: a cold uninviting house on the meadows of nearby Sea Ranch, a rather modern house in the redwoods and an abandoned cabin on the Gualala River.