pixabay – skeeze

I was 16 years old when Steven Spielberg released the movie Jaws. After watching that film, I didn’t go in the ocean for 15 years. I guess I’ve always had a vivid imagination and being featured on the seafood menu didn’t appeal to me.

When my first marriage fell apart I was 31 and suddenly alone. Our friends were his friends. My family lived thousands of miles away. I gave up the house for a small apartment, didn’t ask for alimony or child support – anything to break free of a relationship that had run its course.

I was adrift.

I needed to “get a life.”

With nothing to do besides climb the walls, I decided to try a “discover scuba” event. We blew bubbles at the bottom of a community swimming pool, and I won a door prize of a mask and pair of fins. Three years later, I had not only discovered a fun group of friends but had worked my way up to rescue diver and divemaster. I went on three shark dives in the Caymans.

Yep, I patted a shark.

Diving was my cure-all for divorce.

When I met my husband, Randy, we made a deal. I would become a Boston Celtics basketball fan and he would learn to dive. So began a successful decades-long marriage.

The last time we dove was in 2001, our last vacation. This trip is long overdue. To celebrate, this is what we did last night:

I once again apologize for closing comments. We have a couple days left in paradise before returning to the rain … and perhaps a glimpse of the coming spring. Hope your weekend is full of joy and peace 🙂