One Minute Writer.2

Today, a letter.

Dear Frida,

I am moved by the power of your paintings. I am moved by the power of your life story. I am moved by the power of your love for Diego. And art. And Mexico.

I strive to have a small measure of your creativity. I hope to find my passion as you found yours. I hope to have your strength to get through my crisis. And your passion to make the great times sweeter.

Wanett

About yesterday’s entry

Beneath the Water

That story came POURING out of me so easily. Which is a testament to writing what you know, I guess. This happened to me on a family vacation to Florida when I was maybe eight or nine…I will be 32 in October and I still remember it like it was yesterday. I was, and am, terrified of water. I cannot swim. I’m so nervous in water that I can’t even float.

On that trip, I would edge over into the five foot section (I am 5’7″ now, but I did not grow that tall until high school, I was a very short and VERY thin kid) and hold onto the pool’s edge. My cousin’s cousin jumped in just behind me, afer giving a long speech on her swimming skills, and promptly starting flailing and gasping. My legs were stretched out behind me, so, obviously, I would make an excellent flotation device/rope/ladder for her to use to get out of the pool. After I got myself out, spitting chlorinated water and squeezing my burning eyes shut, I cried and draped a towel over my head and sat on the side of the pool for the rest of time we spent there.

I don’t think she even apologized. She got back in the 3 foot section and continued on like nothing ever happened.  It’s funny the things you remember as she you get older.

This memory is vivid. Live and in color.

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2 thoughts on “One Minute Writer.2

  1. oh, goodness. is it possible that we had the same childhood? same thing happened to me over and over again: dragged down under in pools without the skills to save myself. i am still afraid.

    {{hugs}}

  2. Pingback: Becoming a Hat Person | Sown Brooklyn

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