Hello, first of all, before I go to the promised writing please allow me to share my lovely news. After having to put our former darling, "Ralph" down, we have waited almost a year or more to begin looking. We found our current furball this weekend and find him to be both a joy and a responsibility we had forgotten. At the moment we have yet to settle on a name and are having a quiet debate on kennel training or not...
It was five o'clock in the morning the darkness of night just beginning to loosen it's grip (no, for those of you who recall old movies and such: "the sun did (not) spit morning into the sky!!"
The touch of light, not in the sky, but a glowing transparency of the air could have come from the lights of the city coming closer.
It could just as easily have been the beginning strains of the light of the day about to dawn. For those of us on the deck in that early hour, it made no difference. The fog did as it always does, softening hard edges and swallowing all extremes of sound. It was as still as the snow.
There was a touch of magic about the luminescent stillness. For the first time in 10 days, the heartbeat of the ship, the constant thrumming of the engines had stopped as she slowly moved into New York harbor.
I have one picture of my two brothers and I standing on deck wearing the orange life jackets, which were a requirement. I hated them. As a small child, they were always too large for me, exagerating my natural clumsiness. They were predictably damp and musty smelling and, had obviously been worn by hundreds of other strangers before.
Discomfiting as it was, I was such an obedient child, it would never have dawned on me to complain, let alone refuse to put on the awful orange thing.
In any case, this particular morning, our ship, the Queen something, fell silent as she was gently pushed into the harbor. Knowing nothing of tugs then, and their normal sound dampened by the fog, it seemed the ship was being pushed by an invisible hand.
Hundreds of people were on deck, all on one side. I was fearful that the ship might tip over with everybody not evenly spread out. It was fine as a herd of people politely and gently crammed themselves against the railing to see the Statue of Liberty bathed in green light.
Our memories change according to our desires, needs and imaginations, but all I recall was a continuation of this great silence as we drifted by her that morning to come, finally, to the shores of America.
(want to hear more of this stuff or more from the other ladies? Do let me know, please.) Sanni / sopha chesterfield davenport