Victoria Reeves
INTREPID VOYAGER takes you by the hand, ushering you into unknown worlds. Wherever you travel, know that LOVE awaits, surrounds and guides you.
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Harmonic convergence. That rare afternoon when the temperature of the air and Lake Michigan are 5 degrees apart. A breezy, 75 degree July day. Swimming at Evanston’s Lee Street Beach, I see the Chicago skyline in the distance. The lake feels womb-like, healing.
Sun warms my hair/shoulders - silver rings glisten in the light green water.
Arms circle ‘round, legs bend, thrust forward.
Arms circle ‘round, legs bend, thrust forward.
I breaststroke (orange buoy to orange buoy). Back and forth. 12 times. Legs and arms ache with resistance. Intersecting the waves as they crash to the shore.
Then, ridges of sand under my feet as I walk, an occasional rock protrudes into the arch of my foot. Painful but overshadowed by warm moisture on my thighs and joyful cries of kids playing.
Athletic swimmer - my fluorescent yellow bike pannier is tied to the one vacant lifeguard stand. Inside? Water bottle, sundress, bike shorts, 2 tangerines. Throw it over my shoulder and walk down the blue Mobi mat towards the exit.
Carefully crossing the bike path, I walk towards a Muslim family picnicking on a Persian carpet. The father and 2 sons are wearing bathing suit trunks and t-shirts that say: I Love Chicago.
The mother is in black, with a full length hijab covering her face and mouth, robe down to the ground. Dark, friendly eyes smile through the slit in her face covering.
Mosaic tile plates, ceramic platters and glass tea cups sit atop a burgundy, black and teal rug. The scent of exotic foods wafts from their rug.
Curious and loving the mother’s vibe, I stand at the edge of their group - taking it all in. Dripping and feeling naked in my black TYR tank suit (and nothing else), I say, “Can I ask what you made for lunch? It smells delicious!”
“We're from Iran. These are traditional dishes. This is Zereshk polo: saffron rice and tart blueberries. This is Ash Reshteh: a delicious soup made from beans, noodles, fried onions, garlic and mint. Here. Try it,” she says, assembling me a plate.
Spicy. Sweet. Crunchy. Smooth. A cacophony of flavors transports me. Enlivens my senses. .
The father is pouring this aromatic tea into tiny glass cups with diamond cut designs. “Our family in Iran ships us this special tea once a month. It's delicious! If you have a cup, I'll pour you some.”
“Thanks, but I rode my bike here so I only have a change of clothes.”
He hands me the special cup full of hot tea and says, “Please, keep it as a memory of meeting us on this beautiful day. And thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me? You have shared your food, culture, and world with me!” I beam -sipping another new flavor.
“But you - you SAW us. Thank you. As-salamu alaykum, my sister. As-salamu alaykum.”