Pink Think: “I could announce one morning that the world was going to blow up in three hours and people would be calling in about my hair.” – Katie Couric
[This is Part 2 of a 7-part series on tent-camping at Lake Powell. Here’s my intro and part 1.]
Lake Powell – Day 2
7 a.m. on a weekday morning at Lake Powell and no distractions to writing. Just a pen and blank paper full of possibilities. The family is still asleep, the neighbors, too. No wave runners in nearby vicinity. Mild breeze, gentle waves, an occasional fish jumping in the water.
I have a room with a view.
Life is good.
***
The kids are up and they practically run to the water. So far, I sit back with my pen in hand, a few pages into my novel rewrite and have resisted the water because of two reasons:
1. It’s cloudy and there is a cool breeze.
2. Once my hair gets wet, that’s it. There’s no turning back.
Unlike my 12 year old daughter’s beautiful long hair, my hair is not wash and wear. My normal routine at home consists of blow drying it straight and curling the ends.
Sometimes it can be a royal pain.
***
There’s a huge tractor-type tire in our little cove. It looks like one of those tires from the marina used to protect the docked boats from waves. The kids love it. They are playing king of the hill.
They push and shove and someone falls in the water. Someone sputters, laughs. Then they do it all over again.
I have more scenes to write, and my children are happily occupied. I could write for another hour before I lose the shade of my tent.
My eyes keep grazing over to my three kids having fun in the water.
I clip my pen onto the spiral spine of my journal and stuff everything in my pink beach bag. I take off my coverup and the rubber bands that hold my hair in pig tails.
I wade into the cool water and my children notice that I am coming in to join them. They smile.
There is no gentle easing into the water for me. I dunk my head under water and my long hair floats and swirls all around me.
It is as I remember: the wonder and sheer joy of being in water, swimming and playing and laughing. I climb the tire and jump in. Over and over again.
Who cares if my hair is wet and wild?
Next: Pin-Ups and Pizza
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