Welcome to my first ever post on my first ever blog, “Swimming for the Lighthouse”.
Many of you reading this probably recognize the lighthouse in the picture above. For those that don’t, it’s Stepping Stones Lighthouse in the middle of the Long Island Sound here in the Bronx, NY. (Technically, the lighthouse belongs to Nassau County, Long Island ) It was built way back in 1875 and is still in use today guiding ships safely through.
Growing up, the shining green light of Steeping Stones was a constant in my life. From my parents’ home, and the home of my bestest friend and Phat Girl Melissa, Stepping Stones is always clearly in view. Through rain, snow, fog, and clear evenings the green light shines. As a little girl the milky green light on a foggy night always brought to mind haunted houses, witches, deranged madmen and the like. I’d race through the alleys of Pennyfield Camp, from Melissa or Marlena’s houses, swearing some crazed murder was *right* behind me. Closer and closer the streetlights on Miles would appear and finally I'm free and ALIVE!
I’ve always been a water baby; my mom always says I swam before I walked. Melissa and I would spend endless summer days floating around her “backyard” of the LI sound, and out there directly in front of us was Stepping Stones. Sometimes, Marlena (my other bestest friend and Phat Girl) would join us off her sea wall, two houses down from Melissa. Randomly, we would decide to “swim to the lighthouse”. Stepping Stones appears deceivingly close, and so we’d begin. Stroke by stroke, and laugh by laugh we’d go, stopping so Lass could rub out my toe cramps. Toe cramps are my genetic destiny apparently, thanks mom for my weird ass toes.
We’d get out past the buoys, the houses behind us shrinking, shrinking until Melissa’s dad Eddie was a speck on the deck watching us go. We never once reached that damn light house.
Surgery is exactly 19 days away…