Sunrise at Sunrise

We are lucky enough to live right on the beach. That’s if you can keep your eyes high and not look down on the road that bisects Sunrise Beach into “the beach side” and “the other side”. One serpentine line of black, with white dashes like the ‘cut here’ line on a voucher, creating a distinction of around a million bucks

During the day there is a fairly constant stream of tin-machines being propelled along the bitumen, scurrying from one commitment to another, and from my eyrie I can close my eyes and imagine that the swoosh of rubber on road is just the sweet sound of swell picking up.

In the early hours as the sun lifts herself over the horizon, and then again at night when everyone retires under the blanket of evening, the cars stop their scurrying and flurrying, and all we can hear is the repetitive whoosh of the waves, and, if the wind is just right, the distant sound of some neighbour’s wind-chimes as they herald the arrival of the cool air, wet, with dissolved salt and smell of something elusive and free.

From my spot up here I can track the passing of time and seasons, not by the calendar or the clock, but by the way the ocean heaves, the intricate mix of sweet and sour in the air, and the look on the face of the sun as she gives me the first wink of the morning.

From my spot up here, I can watch the tide of people as they flow to all of their places, I can see how busy they all feel by the way their engines rev up the hill, and the blur of red brake-lights as they hit the suburban 60.

From my spot up here, I am detached from all of the concerns of time and endings, of forms to complete and places to be, and all that I know is the eternal rhythm of our place on this planet, a sphere who wakes before us each morning, and outlasts us every night.

…From The Ashers 

My beach has many faces. From the crisp moment of stillness as the sun first nudges over the horizon, to the very last seconds of cosy light, when the sun from sets behind, picking out the last of the whitecaps of the day, and turning them golden.

My favourite visage is the late afternoon.

Our shadows lengthen, stretching out from our feet and making us like Daddy Long Legs, all gangly and strange. The bite has gone out of the sun, as if she too is slowing down, getting ready to be tucked up into bed. Yet my back still glows with warmth as I watch the children play in the washing-machine swirling of the whitewater, bashing themselves in the rips and ebbs of the rushing tide.

The surfers all run to the beach in the afternoon, desperate to wash off their workday and grab themselves a piece of a wave, something all for themselves, riding along with grins like watermelon slices, punching the air and whooping like children as they cover their skin with salty renewal, rinsing clean the salt of toil. There is a fervent energy to the afternoon surf, as all of nature tries to cram just one more thing into the day, before feeding time

This time of day places me back in all of the summers of my childhood. The crackly feeling of the salty sand on my arms, and the delicious afterglow of sunburn on my back that will last all night, warm and scratchy on my sheets, refusing to be washed off. Back to a time when a smear of white zinc cream on the nose to prevent freckles was the height of sun safety. Those days were longer than our shadows, and we spent entire days on the beach, digging ourselves into coolwet holes and making castles for urchins to live in.

The skin on our noses resisted the meagre protection from the zinc and the hard peeling skin sloughed off in scabs, leaving brown dots below, but the rest of our bodes were tan with all of the rays they absorbed, as we grew strong and resistant to the baking heat.

As our muscles grew stronger and we learned to read the changeable churning of the waves, our parents allowed us the freedom to swim out beyond the break, away from the screeches of the little kids and the noises of civilisation. We paddled through the waves, to where the water was calm and we could sit on our boards, looking out to sea for the biggest waves (always the second of the set, we said) and casually scanning the horizon for dorsal fins. Every now and then some wag would hum the eerie “Da Dum” of the dreaded theme song, and we would laugh with bravado to hide the shifting shiver of slick grey fear.

When the shadows started to grow, our parents would hold up their towels like flags, the semaphore of: time to come in, we’ve had enough, we want a beer and a charred sausage to cheer the day off.

We would all catch the same waves in, no jostling for position this time, just riding the surge all the way into shore until our skegs caught the sand, mooring us back on the land. Back to our lives.

May your Summer afternoons be golden and your shadows be long.

…From The Ashers

Sunrise Beach today

After the eggs ‘eggsploded’ all over the microwave and I spilt the kids smoothie (thick with raw eggs and protein powder) all over the floor, I decided to have a do-over.

I went back to bed, got all cosy, and started again.

There have been a few balls in the air over here at The Asher’s this week, and frankly, I’m a bit a’scairt of dropping one some all of them.

So I did what I always do when the overwhelm threatens to whelm me all over the place: I consulted the Oracle (a Doreen Virtue Daily Guidance book).  I flicked and fiddled about with the pages, until my fingers decided on #197.  Amongst all the claptrap and hoohar, the affirmation was this: “I make time for activities that I find fulfilling and fun.  The energy I spend on myself is a wise investment in my happiness and health.  I am a perfect role model of self-care for my friends and family.”

Sweet.

I had a shitload of stuff to get done today.  All of it boring and uninspiring.  So instead of racing about like a headless chick, and causing the cortisol to course through my vessels, I chose a different course.  I slipped on my comfy Saucony slippers (some people know them as ‘runners’ or ‘joggers’, but mine aint seen any of that action.) and headed off for a walk.

Now usually, a walk means a WALK.  I’m fast.  Maybe as fast as your light jog.  And I’m focussed.  Maybe as much as your ten year-old kid playing Minecraft.  And I’m sweating.  Maybe as much as a Sumo in a sauna.  Because I am WALKING for EXERCISE.  And that means my teeth may be gritted, my fists might be clenched, and my eyes will be looking at some spot in the distance.  Somewhere that I will be going TO.  I won’t be where I am, that’s for sure.  At no point will it be fun.  The fun will come later when the endorphins kick in.

I set out on my walk, but as it was a walk under the heading “Make Time for Yourself”, I decided to let my slippers choose the path and the pace.  I allowed my eyes to look in directions other than straight ahead.

I noticed things.  Like the feeling of the sun on the back of my neck, just beneath my hairline.  And the sensation of the wind playing with the tiny hairs on my arms.  I heard the squeaky-crunch of the sand under my slippers.  I listened to the sea call me, daring me to take off those slippers, and allow my winter-feet taste the cool salt of the sea.  I noticed the little pods on the path down to the beach that were usually just an intrusive burr to the soft arches of my feet, and saw that they are really quite intricate and interesting in their construction.  I saw the ripples in the sand, created by the wind I usually despised, and saw how something annoying could create something pretty.

Pesky pod

Pretty patterns

After a time, I sat on the seat that the para-gliders use to check that pesky wind, and listened to some music.  They weren’t cool songs or new songs or even my favourite songs, just songs that give me feels.  Beth, The First Cut Is The Deepest, The Sweetest Thing, Loving Cup.

By and by, some people came past me: some were hurrying with their dogs, others were rushing off to work or some important place, patting their hair into place and squinting against the sun.  Most of them were on a mission of some sort.  On purpose.  And purposeful.  But my purpose was to be still.  I don’t think any of them even noticed me.  I usually like to think of myself as an intrepid adventurer, treading the road less travelled, but today I was like a Hobbit.

The road goes ever on and on,  Down from the door where it began.  Now far ahead the Road has gone,  And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet,  Until it joins some larger way,  Where many paths and errands meet.  And whither then? I cannot say.

I liked the not knowing.

It may have taken off some years.

No makeup, bad hair, a photo not fit for sharing… Ahh, screw it.

Will you do something just for you today?  Just because?  What will it be?

…From The Ashers xx

Last night was the coldest night ever invented.  Or something.  Which meant there must have been no clouds.  And around these parts that means one thing: beach day.  So we let these two Evil Geniuses prolong our mini-break (more about that later this week), and have a wellness day.  Some people just call it wagging of course.

We went to Asher Cove.  It is called Asher Cove because I named it, and then wrote this sign, so yeah.  Naming rights.

Asher Cove is “quite pretty”, so I took a pic to show you:

One day when I can be bothered I’m going to do that thing where you buy land in Scotland, and then you can call yourself Lady or Lord, by legally changing your name.  When I do, this cove will be my Kingdom (Ladydom?  Clearly there will be some brushing up on my lax terminology prior to this).

But I digress.

The Geniuses found a long flat rock that they decided was their investigation bench, and went about finding “interesting and investigatable things to investigate”.  So, as we are being a little loose with our terminology here, I suppose that is just what they did.  The “interesting things” were mainly shells, a feather or two and a tiny polystyrene ball.  The “investigating” involved them lining them up on the rock bench.  Best of all was when they found this “fossil”.  Liam was quite excited, and thought he might sell it to a museum for “heaps of money, maybe millions, enough to get a GoPro anyway.”

Check it out here, for free, while you still can:

The Fossil

So, yeah, clearly a fossil.  It became something quite precious to these intrepid investigators.  Coco did this “diagram” of what the organism would have looked like prior to it being fossilised:

Scientific fossil diagram

Clearly we have two future palaeontologists or scientists growing up in our home, such is their discerning and superior skill in rigorous methodology.  Especially useful is their ability to extrapolate simple findings to create complex ideas.  I’m sure you can tell by now I didn’t use the word “genius” flippantly before.  (I began to doubt the wisdom of us letting them have a day off from actual learning, as clearly they need every bit they can get.)

By and by, they had enough of their endeavours, had a fight over the fossil, lost it in the sand, and had to be separated before anyone got punched in the guts or nuts.  I know what you’re thinking: Parenting Geniuses.  And yes, I use the term loosely.

Don’t worry, it’s school tomorrow.

How was your day?  Cold?

Are you too raising Geniuses?

…From The Ashers xx