My summer vacation consisted of traveling for 10 days around Lake Michigan. Now that it’s over, all that remains from that trip are the photos I took, some sand in my shoes, and a mountain of laundry.
One afternoon spent at the lakeshore stands out the most in my mind, but I don’t have a photo to remember it — and frankly, since I only have my memory to rely on, it’s started to take on a life of its own.
It was a cloudless day at Sleeping Bear Dunes, and I had set up under a huge shade tree that overlooked the lakeshore from a swell in the dunes. I had my folding chair, a great book, and my wide-brimmed sun hat. It never occurred to me to wear a bathing suit that day, mostly because it was not an especially hot day, and I didn’t plan on going in the water.
Once I was settled in my chair, reading my book, a woman arrived and proceeded to set up a short distance away from me. She was older than I am, perhaps in her 70s, and wore a striking turquoise beach cover-up, over a tasteful one-piece suit. She set up her beach chair, then planted the pole of what I thought was a beach umbrella into the sand. Instead, it turned out to be a Shibumi shade, and a stunning swath of turquoise fabric unfurled from the pole. The fabric resembled the sail of a boat, and the way it stayed aloft in the beach breeze behind her made her look like a mythic figurehead carved in alabaster.
This tableau set before me really tickled my imagination. Who was this woman, spending a Tuesday afternoon alone on the beach, looking regal and completely content in her skin? I wanted so badly to pull up beside her and ask her about herself, but of course I didn’t. It would be a crime to insert myself into her portrait of solitude, me with my shorts and t-shirt, and legs dotted with mosquito bites. Instead, I looked up often from the pages of my book, imagining all the days that led up to her spending this almost perfect afternoon beside the lake.
She resembled the actress Gena Rowlands, who I came to know from movies like Hope Floats or The Notebook, as a wise older woman who had already gained great wisdom and perspective from a full life. The Lady by the Lake wore very little makeup, and her hair was gray, but almost appeared platinum.
What do I have to do to be this woman when I grow up? I imagine she sits in her elegant dining room, having an evening of laughter and clinking wine glasses with her lifelong friends. She reads books and goes to poetry readings. She drinks her morning coffee from a unique mug she got from a quaint little pottery studio in New England; in the afternoon, she has a cup of tea in a proper China cup.
She’s seen a lot of heartache, but she soldiers on, chin held high. She knows the exact moment when to send flowers, impeccably arranged, with a personal note attached, written with a fountain pen.
She has traveled the world and is greeted with a kiss on each cheek everywhere she goes. She loves good music, good art, and live theatre.
I wish I could go back and set my chair beside the Lady by the Lake. I have a feeling I could’ve asked her about her life and all the things she’s seen and done. I’m confident she doesn’t even know I exist, but weeks later, I’m still thinking about her effortless beauty, and the way I want to be her when I grow up.
