Titanic

It's the anniversary of the Titanic's sinking.

I think what fascinates me about it all is how you can one minute be happy and in the midst of luxury or comfort and the next clinging to life or sinking in the ocean. And the notion that something that large sank with all its objects makes it seem like a museum entombed in depths just out of reach, like death itself.

Imagine you were deep in the water there, able to see in the dark, and watch all of it sink; seeing a plate, for example, drifting slowly downward for a mile to the bottom. Seeing the massive vessel spill its contents slowly, or in a submerged cabin, seeing clothing and lamps and beds and chairs, a tray of glasses or sandwiches floating for a moment in the water before diving. The twisting thunderous sounds it would have made.


I always think of the poor dogs on board. It would have killed me to have had Miranda there for example, I would have blamed myself so much. I would have stayed with her no matter what. How horrible to be with loved ones and not be able to save them.

I fell through lake ice when I was a child. When you fall into water that cold it is like a million knives cutting into your flesh at first, then a burning numbness, and finally nothing.


Everything on board the Titanic was doomed. I think that fascinates somehow, you wish you could turn time backward, even just a few minutes. I am sure everyone has had the experience of wishing to go back a few moments in  time and feeling the anguish and futility of that wish.