Here is the latest addition to the deck glamper (where I like to sit and write in the summer months)—my big brother Cedric’s canoe paddle.
I should explain to those of you who are new to my universe that Cedric died in 1987 when I was just 15 years old. I will write more about him as I go along, but what you need to know now is that he was like a father to me. He was also the kind of guy who strolled to the beat of a different drum.
My sister-niece Amy, who was the guardian of Cedric’s big, silver behemoth for a few years before it settled in at the lake, brought his paddles to my sister and me as a surprise last weekend.
They are old now—cracked and dry and worn. It was time to retire them, and she thought we might like to have them.
I was having an “off” day—I was getting a migraine, and my emotions were all over the place. I was feeling awkward and disconnected. I even wrote a poem on the beach about how I was my father’s daughter—I talk too much, and it’s all just nonsensical babble (sorry, Dad).
I typically don’t write poetry unless I’m really in a funk, so that should tell you something.
And then I got this.
I’ve driven around with it in my back seat for a week. I don’t know why I did that—maybe because it’s been a bit of a funky week, and I didn’t really pay attention to it until today—after an afternoon on the lake with some good friends.
Being on that boat helped me remember the healing power of the water, what it feels like to be in the present moment, and that I get to choose to be happy every day. It has to come from inside me. No one else gets a say.
This paddle powered Cedric all over Lake Vermilion. I know there were times when he felt awkward and disconnected, too. But he always centered himself by going on the water. And you know what? He talked a lot, too.
Thank you, Amy. I see now the tremendous gift you gave to us. I love you. ❤️