Blissful Mornings - Felice, the Fish Queen of the Gulf of the Abundant Seas

In the gentle hush of dawn, just before the gulls began their chorus, Felice wandered

barefoot to the edge of her small island cottage. In her hands, a worn plastic basket filled

with sandals—each pair arranged with care, their straps curled like fins. To the unknowing

eye, it may have seemed an odd ritual. But to those who loved her, this was the beginning of

the day’s silent auction.

“Ten shells for this fine catch!” she would declare, her voice once thunderous in youth, now

replaced by a whisper that danced only in her heart.

The sandals were no longer sandals in her world. They were swordfish, albacore, and

mackerel—glistening offerings from the deep Pacific, caught fresh in the imagination of a

woman who once ruled the Gulf of the Abundant Seas.

At sixteen, Felice had become the backbone of her family. One of twelve children, she had

traded dreams of ease for early mornings, sharp knives, and salt-crusted aprons. The

market became her domain. Her laughter echoed louder than the waves, her hands swift as

seagulls in flight. Buyers traveled from neighboring islands just to see her, not only for her

famed fish but for the joy she carried, sun-kissed and unstoppable.

They called her Reina del Pescado—the Queen of Fish.

She never married young. Love, she said, wasn’t something to chase. But one morning, as

she scaled tuna under the rising sun, a fisherman from a distant village laid eyes on her

strength, and it stirred something within him. He didn’t court her with poetry or pearls. He

showed up with silence, helping her unload baskets and stitch broken nets. In time, she gave

him her heart the same way she sold fish—without pretense, just presence.

Now, decades later, with memory folding into itself like tide and foam, Felice lived in a

beautiful in-between—half here, half there. Her husband never corrected her reenactments.

He simply joined her, slipping off his shoes, picking up the sandals she arranged, and

pretending to bid.

Their family gathered on those mornings. Grandchildren sat cross-legged on the floor,

watching their abuela breathe life into stories of her younger self. She would lift a sandal in

the air, eyes alight, and say, “Caught this one right near the drop-off. Swam like it knew I

was coming.”

They never interrupted. They knew they were witnessing the language of legacy.

The auction was never really about fish. It was about family, about how love shows up even

in forgetfulness. It was about a woman whose light shone so brightly, even time bowed in

reverence.

And in that quaint home near the sea, the Fish Queen reigned on—tending to her treasures,

retelling her glory, and loving, always loving, in the most remarkable of ways.

-Bliss Chains Authors