Niamh-McAnally

The Seal

Mon, 14 Nov 2022 13:13:50 -0800

"We were suspended in a rock canyon. The pale blue water which clothed us was broken only by the rhythmic release of bubbles which rose to the surface and exploded as sunshine droplets. Time once again was motionless.

We saw him first over our shoulders. Poised on a rock cliff simply being. He turned and looked and turned away. Stealing onward, downward, with unison of movement, he left our vision. Did we imagine it?

Moments later I was gliding between the cliffs and from a boulder beneath, our seal emerged belly up. On his back, he swam parallel and we watched each other. He rolled and rose up towards me in a movement I have yet to understand. His eyes were like dark rock pools of questioning vulnerability and I was filled with an awesome sensation of friendly warmth mixed with a hint of fear.

We were in his world — an environment where there are no words to confuse the raw emotion of wonder. He swam with us, between us, below us and in front. We were no longer two and one, we were three. I felt a rare tranquility and here at last I knew a sense of belonging to this borrowed world.

Slowly, he brought us to the surface, turned, and disappeared into the blue vastness of his home."

©Niamh McAnally 1987 Subsea Magazine.

After unpacking from a recent trip, I found the above piece of flash fiction tucked into the liner of my case. Hope you enjoyed this dive with the wild seal.

Cheers

Niamh

Dream Big

Sun, 07 Aug 2022 15:23:35 -0700

For years my dream had been to go to Bora Bora in French Polynesia. I had photos of that iconic mountain in the turquoise lagoon stuck on a noticeboard on my "someday" office wall. And over those years I ventured to many remote islands in the South Pacific, often working as a volunteer, some only a short plane ride away. Yet, I continued to put Bora Bora off. Why? I was waiting until things were perfect. It is the Capital of Honeymoon: a paradise for lovers young and old. Travelling solo can be exhilarating but lonely at times. Nothing used to accentuate my loneliness more than hanging out on a beach surrounded by couples holding hands. So I had kept putting it off, waiting for some fantasy lover to accompany me on a fantasy trip on some fantasy date in the future. I was also waiting for a pot of gold to show up because as you can probably guess the overwater bungalows swallow cash, cheques, credit cards, and generally have a voracious appetite for any type of wallet or purse.

But in 2015, I came to my senses, and decided to throw out my preconceived notions of how I thought my trip there should be. Wasn’t I attracted to the incredible topography, the alluring waters, and stunning scenery? Surely I could forgo the sex and just enjoy the romance of it all?

The plane, carrying the expensive matching suitcases of others and my well worn backpack touched down on Motu Mute, one of the many islets that ring the lagoon. I walked across the tarmac to the tiny open-air lounge. Ground staff directed us to the awaiting boats....Read More

Flares Up

Wed, 20 Jul 2022 15:35:34 -0700

National Limerick Day

Thu, 12 May 2022 05:00:26 -0700

National Limerick Day

Many of you know a Limerick is a five-line poem, usually whimsical, with a rhyming scheme which goes AABBA — the first, second and fifth lines all rhyme together. The shorter, third and fourth lines rhyme with each other. Allegedly named after the town of Limerick in Ireland, they were made popular by the English 19^th century poet, Edward Lear, but no one seems to know who first invented the style.

As a kid, I remember hearing my dad spouting Limericks, some well-known, some he’d made up. I’d never written one before but when I saw National Limerick Day was coming up, I started musing. Surprisingly, the first two lines just popped in my head, then the next two came quickly, and when I saw where it was going the fifth line was obvious.

The poem tickled me, but the really funny part was when Gary said “Who’s Larry?”

“You know,” I said, “Larry…as happy as Larry.”

“But who’s Larry?”

I was sure he was winding me up. But when he kept asking, I realized he was being serious. Sure enough, his phone came out of his pocket and off he and his index finger went in search of Larry. He scrolled with such determination I wondered if he thought it was an ex-boyfriend of mine.

When Authors Inspire...

Wed, 24 Nov 2021 05:00:00 -0800

I recently met author and publisher, Roda Ahmed, who was co-hosting a writers workshop with Cheryl Strayed at The Art of Living Retreat Center in the beautiful mountains of North Carolina. Roda is one of those people whose delightful energy “lights up a room”. Her joy is contagious and her mission to tell the stories of unsung heroes is inspiring.

Her children’s book “Mae Among The Stars” tells the story of Mae Jemson who was the first African American to go into space. As a child, Mae had been encouraged by her parents that (in Roda’s words) "if she could dream it, believe in it, and work hard for it, anything is possible”. Roda has not only shone a light on Mae’s previously unrecognized accomplishment but inspired children the world over to think about what they could possibly achieve.

When Gary and I returned to Free’d Spirit in Antigua in October 2021 we brought Roda’s book with us. Our intended recipient was a young girl named Eden. Her father, Bernard, picked us up at the airport. He runs a taxi service and we’d become good friends over the months we’d been anchored in Antigua. We loved hearing this 8 year-old read aloud about Mae Jemson. I wonder what possibilities Eden will "dream, believe and work hard for" now.

Thank you Roda Ahmed for who you are and what you do!

https://www.rodaworld.com

Photo published by kind...Read More

Low Noon

Thu, 07 Oct 2021 09:57:38 -0700

After my eyebrow hit the cement, hard, my right arm landed, then my ribs, and then, weirdly, my left knee. Or was that in reverse? I don’t know. I remember the yellow concrete and using the breath that had been expelled from my lungs to shout: “I’m OK, I’m OK”. I’m not sure who I was trying to assure, myself or Gary. I didn’t know I was bleeding above my eye but after I rolled over, I could see it in his eyes. They weren’t on mine, but sweeping across my body with that concerned look of a trained medic trying to triage. I lay there doing the same.

“I’ll tell you what hurts,” I said. Almost everything. We raised me off the ground, content that my back was unbroken. He brought his phone to my face and the white light of Apple’s torch scanned my pupils.

“P.E.A.R.L.,” he said.

Pupils are equal, round and reactive to light and accommodation. No Concussion.

“But,” he said, “I need to go to the pharmacy, so I can steri-strip your brow to prevent a scar.”

I didn’t want him to leave, but begged him to go — just so he could be back soon. He left, but only to the freezer to bring me ice. Ice for my knee, ice for my ribs, my arm. He placed frozen blueberries over my eye.

As someone who grew up by the sea in Ireland, I was fortunate that I had the opportunity to learn how to swim as a child. I would put on my yellow swimsuit that had a white pleated skirt attached, run down the garden, cross the road, clamber over the rock wall, and wade right into Dublin Bay. I still remember how my dad would stand right next to me and tell me to lie flat and put my face in the water. “Trust me,” he’d say, putting his arm underneath my tummy, promising to hold me up. I would scrunch up my eyes, hold my breath, and put my head down in the briny green. Then he would roll me over and I would lie back and look at the sky. “Kick your feet” he’d say and my plastic red shoes would break the surface in chaos. There we would stay, him patiently holding me, me blindly trusting him until we’d both got cold. He said he would never let me go. And the day he did, the day he knew I was ready, magically, I could float.

Since then, my life has been about being on, in, or under the sea. During my school years, I trained as a lifeguard; as an adult I had a career as a scuba instructor, and more recently, I’ve been privileged to live full-time on top of the waves.

And so it was, in 2019, while we were anchored for several months in the beautiful country of Grenada, I was honoured to be invited by Deb Eastwood to volunteer for Get Grenada Swimming Week. Here was my chance to pay it forward. Deb had come to the Caribbean back in 2007 and was astounded to discover that although the 20-mile-long island was surrounded by water, 90% of the population did not know how to swim. They would visit...Read More