From our perch beside the Ionian Sea,
We jousted over “sea” and “ocean.”
I called the expanse of water that glittered beyond us, “ocean.”
Jean said “sea.”
Which was the encompassing phenomenon, I asked.
Which the broader definition?
Couldn’t one be the other?
Poets employed them interchangeably, I said.
Turns out, once sailors traveled far enough to name the expanses of water over which they voyaged,
Once geographers parsed the information that sailors brought from a round and buxom globe,
The two became distinct.
A sea the smaller body of water, with land arms embracing it.
Not a lake held hostage to a shore,
Not the unbound infinity of an ocean either.
But a baby ocean wrapped in the earth’s hug.
Poets were, perhaps, lazy, or, as always, hunting for synonyms.
******
So, we were on holiday beside the Ionian Sea.
On holiday? Another mystery.
When I was a child, we took vacations—my dad escaping the confines and discomfitures of work.
Vacating his desk at the Farmer’s Alliance, our car pointed to Iowa and Indiana, to relatives and friends.
An escape, a recess, time “off.”
And holidays, in my youth, single days. National commemorations, food and family; no work or school; though chores figured prominently too: the garage swept, leaves raked, ledgers balanced.
But here, beside the Ionian Sea, I wasn’t on vacation or honoring a hero.
I was, with Bryan and Jean, on holiday.
Not just time away–but time for sand castles and deck chairs and umbrellas and tea, for cottages and collections of shells,
For lazing, letting go, carrying on—for leaving behind not just “home” but the cautions and constraints of daily life.
For celebrating sea sides, mountain streams, rugged hillsides pinned to the earth by gnarled olive trees;
Worlds in which to lounge and laugh, tan, trek, linger over a coffee, learn.
For abandoning news and regimented time.
For giggling.
For encouraging conversation to take scenic routes and obscure byways and come back to the respect and comfort of friendship.
For allowing the waves of our shared days to dazzle in sun. . .and sea. . .and memory.©
