Dean is not much of a sleeper, so on the first morning of our beach holiday, he was up at sunrise. I decided to leave Feebs curled up in bed and walk down to the sea with the kids.
The air was crisp and salty with the rumbling undulations of the waves. With Dean on my shoulders and holding Bella’s hand, we walked barefoot across the road, through a leafy thicket and onto the sand. The beach was still cold between my toes from the night before, and we squinted into the shimmering light as we walked towards the breakers. I put Dean down and he dashed towards the waves. This was his first time at the sea. Dean ran with the urgent plod of a toddler, his arms swinging around for balance. He reminder me a bit of Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean: half stumbling half running as fast as his little legs could muster. Bella caught up to him, and took his little hand in hers, just as the two of them reached the water. Dean let out a yelp, and then a bubbling giggle. There is something about Dean’s laugh. It seems to burst from his lungs brimming with joy, so much so that he has to fight for breath to try and contain it all. Dean spent the morning with his sister chasing the tide, somehow overcome with happy surprize when the water caught up to his feet. My kids’ laughter mingled with the sound of the waves, their footprints sodden with each new breaker. I watched my children playing like this in the bright Southern Coast morning feeling warm and content. Its these moments that make living worthwhile and they glisten in my memory. I am so lucky.
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We had the most wonderful holiday: time spent with family and enjoying experiences with my kids is such an essential part of life. I meant to write something daily, but didn’t get that far, so here are the highlights for me:
Swinging Dean over the waves and watching him giggle as the surf touched his feet; Cycling along the canyon of Oribi Gorge; Sitting on Leopard Rock, enrapt by the valley below; Building sandcastles on Ramsgate Blue Flag Beach; Eating waffles at the Teahouse of the Blue Lagoon; Falling asleep (sometimes, depending on Dean) to the sound of the sea; Finishing the Park Run from St Michaels to Uvongo and back; Exploring rock pools and refreshing Bella’s fish tank each day; Snorkeling in the tropical fish exhibit with Bella at uShaka; Watching the dolphin show; Enjoying a fancy meal in front of an expansive shark tank; Long walks along the beach at the end of the day. Holidays are so special, and sharing them with family make them resonate through memories, like a lighthouse through the fog. I hope to live more of these adventures, and hopefully we could do the next one at Whale Cottage with a few more of us! When we went to the aquarium, Bella was full of wonder and excitement. She was learning so much about the sea and loving every minute of it. There is a TED Talk buy a classical musician called Benjamin Zander and in it he speaks about shining eyes. That is exactly what Bella had. Somehow between childhood and adult cynicism we manage to lose that sense of wonder, and I think that part of understanding our own lives is by trying to recapture it.
No animal is half as vile
As Crocky–Wock, the crocodile. On Saturdays he likes to crunch Six juicy children for his lunch And he especially enjoys Just three of each, three girls, three boys. He smears the boys (to make them hot) With mustard from the mustard pot. But mustard doesn't go with girls, It tastes all wrong with plaits and curls. With them, what goes extremely well Is butterscotch and caramel. It's such a super marvelous treat When boys are hot and girls are sweet. At least that's Crocky's point of view He ought to know. He's had a few. That's all for now. It's time for bed. Lie down and rest your sleepy head. Ssh. Listen. What is that I hear, Galumphing softly up the stair? Go lock the door and fetch my gun! Go on child, hurry! Quickly run! No stop! Stand back! He's coming in! Oh, look, that greasy greenish skin! The shining teeth, the greedy smile! It's Crocky–Wock, the Crocodile!" Roald Dahl © by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes With tuppence for paper and strings
You can have your own set of wings With your feet on the ground You're a bird in a flight With your fist holding tight To the string of your kite Oh, oh, oh! Let's go fly a kite Up to the highest height! Let's go fly a kite and send it soaring Up through the atmosphere Up where the air is clear Oh, let's go fly a kite! When you send it flyin' up there All at once you're lighter than air You can dance on the breeze Over 'ouses and trees With your first 'olding tight To the string of your kite Oh, oh, oh! Let's go fly a kite Up to the highest height! Let's go fly a kite and send it soaring Up through the atmosphere Up where the air is clear Let's go fly a kite! We always went to Ramsgate on holiday. It ended up being a full-family affair with aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents. We got together on the deck of the house that we rented, Sietta, and had breakfast together before going off down to the beach. In the 1980s the area was not as built-up as it is today to the extent that the locals would often knock on our door in the morning looking to sell some fresh crayfish, and we often enjoyed this delicacy with our breakfast.
I remember the fun we had on the beach, with my grandparents perched up on the grassy embankments above the sand, in their full costumes, taking a dip in the tidal pool if they were feeling particularly adventurous. We would build huge sandcastles with my cousins and spent hours running into the sea and then trying to escape from the tide. Somehow we always managed to find stalks of sugar cane that were possibly dislodged during their transport to the refineries, and I remember chewing their fibrey core to release the sweet juices they stored. If we were lucky, we were treated to the lunch at the famous Waffle House. Sticky fingers and sandy feet will always remind me of that place. They are very happy memories. Some time later, Gramps decided to buy one of the flats that looked over the car park and then beach. It was called the Green Dolphin. Somehow our family holidays got a little bit smaller, and we started to spend more intimate retreats with Mum, Dad and Gramps. It was a short walk down to the ocean, and I would wake up early before anyone else to explore the rock pools and bring back any treasures that I found on my quests. I think that these adventures are my favourite parts of being at the seaside. I never knew exactly what I would find as I jumped from rock to rock with a net and bucket in one hand, steadying myself with the other. There were always hermit crabs, starfish, snails and crabs, but sometimes I would get lucky. Catching the tantalisingly colourful fish was always difficult, but I became quite adept at catching the tiny dogfish with my hands. Sometimes, I would collect sea anemones that were still attached to rocks that had been dislodged by the waves and at other times I would retrieve vibrant sea slugs that move with the frilly ripples of silk. I remember finding a small octopus at once and marveled at the way it left soft puck-marks on my arm as it clambered about. I always took these creatures back to the flat to display in the Perspex tank that I kept on the dining room table and I would spend hours watching the little aquarium before returning them to the ocean when we went back down to the beach. I think back on all of this and I can see similar memories forming behind Bella’s eyes...her shining eyes. She has learnt so much on this trip and I hope that this place becomes something that is as special for her as it was for me. Hopefully she will be able to return for regular holidays and continue to build on the memories that she has created so far... When I was about ten, we picked up a white-hulled sailing boat that was lying derelict in a rubbish container at the dump. At this point I need to mention that being a Watson meant returning from the dump with some treasure, no matter how battered, and this boat was one such treasure. It had a broken mast and some holes in the hull but nothing that could not be repaired. So, Dad and I took to getting her sea-worthy, and credit to Dad in letting me do most of the work. The result was a re-painted hull in a dribbly bright white that the dexterity of a ten-year-old with a paintbrush can produce. I got Mum to sew up some blue sails out of waterproof material and managed to rig them up to the masts. During our family holiday to Ramsgate, where my Grandfather owned a flat called 'The Blue Dolphin', I spent many hours sailing my yacht in the Noel Quarry Swimming Pool at the main beach. That was in the late-80s, and I had forgotten about that sailing boat until two weeks before we left for our Ramsgate holiday this year. The boat had been packed away for more than twenty years, and I don't know why I suddenly thought about it now after all of these years. In any case, I fished the boat out of its hiding place at my parents' house and decided to give her a refurbishment. Off came the white paint to reveal some beautiful old wood that I decided to varnish up to a glossy sheen. The sails were just as good as when they were made all those years ago and I decided to paint the keel a bright red. With some TLC and new thread for the rigging, she was eventually sea-worthy once again. And I handed her over to Bella, who took the yacht into the same Noel Quarry Pool, and gently placed her hull into the water. She floated! Soon the wind bellowed into her sails and she began easing through the water, a small bow wave coming off the hull. Bella made little movements with the rudder and the boom swung easily with the wind to gain more speed in her voyage. She splashed to keep up and her little fingers pushed the hull in a new direction, the boat responding with even more speed and a marginal angle, but still under control. Bella's eager giggle resonated with my own joy as a youngster. It is amazing how things turn full-circle. I should come up with a name for her, something that maybe reflects her new lease on life. Would Phoenix be a bit cliched? Maybe. I'll have to keep thinking. I stand on the edge of a turret of rocks that looks out over the beach. Above me, the sky are bluish hues of grey, clouds overcasting the sea. Beneath me the waves ebb and flow with a therapeutic rhythm, its tumbling roar works like a sedative kneading my shoulders. Steam whips from a hot cup of coffee, and I look out onto the bay. In the distance, I see dark shapes begin to materialize in the breakers. They come closer, just behind the white water and I can make out that they are dolphins. They play in the surf, their dorsal fins cutting the water and their tails splashing as they dive down. I think that they are feeding, as I take a sip of my heart-warming coffee. Occasionally, one dolphin jumps clear of the water, its body bending like a banana as it makes an arc in mid-air before returning to the ocean. They are graceful in their frolicking and I sit mesmerized, the sounds and sights as assault on my senses. Some light breaks through the clouds and the smell of salt mingles with the rich aroma of my coffee, and I think that there are few better ways to begin a day
An escape. An escape to an underwater world where sounds are surreal and breath is precious. Colours are vivid in the fluttering shapes of fish. It is as if God was showing off when he painted this underwater retreat. There is beauty and grace in their movement as well, efficiency at work. My earns are numbed to the terrestrial and replaced with a candy-popping of continual activity. Shoals of silver, spots and stripes have synchronized movements, mind-reading a change in direction like a flock of closely-knit birds. The current is whimsical as it gently nudges me around the expanse of water, and my own breathing is a loud contrast to the subtle gilled respiration of my underwater friends. As I dive further beneath the surface, I find orange and white clown fish hiding amongst the coral and hands of blue angelfish darting between the rocks. Nurseries of fingerlings huddle close together in the inaccessible places and in the sand floor, hermit crabs make laborious progress. I feel free to float and fly in this oceanic paradise, the outside world forgotten.
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ContentSome thoughts about things, sometimes philosophical, sometimes just musings. The world through my eyes... Archives
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