Kaleidoscopic time

How strange to think that time can pass so slowly, yet at the same time, seem to flash past before the eye can blink.

Our trip was truncated, due to many reasons.

Sadly, I did not find myself able to relax and enjoy it all.
Much of the journey was tinged with sadness, as I recalled being in many of the locations with Gom.
We were rather impressed with much of the highway.
It has been extensively upgraded since I last travelled that way, with Gom.

We visited the "Hippy Village" of Nimbin.

It is a very interesting place, with obviously great significance to the local Aboriginal peoples.

My personal views were, perhaps, not flattering to the influence of other,  later,  peoples.

I felt it had a tired, sad, faded and jaded appearance, and time would not seem to have dealt kindly with much of the idyllic thoughts and plans from previous years.
It all seemed a little contrived now, to my eye. But who am I to judge, or even pass much comment.

We could only find 'Backpacker' accomodation in the area, and it was mostly of the rudimentary type.
As I said, I am too bl**dy old to be traipsing down some corridor, in my raggedy night attire,  in search of a toilet, in the middle of the night. Or even a shower, in the cold light of day.

We found a 'Bates Motel' some miles out of town. It was very isolated, and we were the only guests. Strange noises,  and leaking dripping taps,  did nothing to comfort us, and in the night it poured torrential rain with no letup. I kept telling myself the owners dog, Molly, looked very comforting, and well cared for, and thus reassured myself Molly's owner could not be a mass murderer, or even a ghoul!
It was ridiculously cheap, and having an ensuite was a highlight, in spite of the dripping waters.

 Byron Bay is ever an engaging destination, and the day we visited, it was almost sunny. We largely had wet, and somewhat cold, and miserable weather for much of our trip.
I must say, my son's driving skills leave nothing to be desired in the face of hideous wet roads, and almost monsoonal deluges.

I was delighted to see this Bag Limit for fishing at a Beach we visited. How lovely to think there were enough fish to require limits.
Of course the down side was the thought that man has been so greedy, as to require 'bag limits'. I think this beach was Flynn's Beach and close to Port Macquarie.

We did spend some strange nights in some 'interesting' accomodation. Not all to be recommended, but most to be discussed and (later), laughed about.

There were some sunny patches, and some beaches were sure to be delightful in the full heat and shine of Summer.

Hardy and enthusiastic surfers seemed to be out in most of the beaches we stopped off to visit.

This beach we loved, spent some time walking up the sand, which seemed to be almost pristine, and recenly washed. I never fail to enjoy the salt wash line of the surf, and the little kelp seeds, on the sand.

A small child had left these little footprints in the pristine sand. They somehow made me sad.

This is a carved statue of someone called Henry, who lived and loved on this beach. I have forgotten the name of the beach.

This is a Bush Turkey, which apparently Henry used to call his 'Chooks' and he fed them, when he was alive. It seemed he patrolled the beach, and kept it clean and tidy.


Upon my return home, I was greeted with a letter, advising me I had a re-call for my recent mammogram.
I was not worried, as I had had a biopsy and extensive investigation last year, for a minor condition.

When I attended the re-call Clinic, I  noticed a Jigsaw on the table in the waiting room. We were six women waiting for the tests, and the news, and some were more nervous than others.
I was struck how comforting women can be to each other, when a crisis demands.

We talked and laughed among ourselves and the Jigsaw remained untouched, but I kept remembering how Gom and I had loved to do Jigsaws together, when he could still see.

I was the second to be told all was well, and so I hope the other ladies all had positive outcomes, from the tests.
When I came home, I found a Jigsaw that Gom had never attempted, and I set about doing it by myself.

I found it engaging in a sort of numbing fashion, and I did enjoy the way it gobbled up my thoughts. A good friend came to visit and placed some pieces, and, inspired, went home to get a puzzle out to work on for herself.

I did finish the puzzle and here is the proof!
I did a further simple, smaller jigsaw, but feel I might take a break, as they say.

Dire Straits Private Investigations.

Grooves or Smooves..

I read a post this morning on smilnsigh, (& I am sorry I dont know how to add the link in my text, but she is in my Fav Blogs list) about wanting to change your image.

It made me laugh because GOM & I had watched a programme on TV about women wanting to get rid of the "batwings" they had developed under their upper arms.

One very plump looking woman had her arm 'flaps' filmed in slow motion, to demonstrate just what they looked like! It surely made us laugh, & we wondered how many times she walks about flinging her arms in the air like so!

The 'treatments' on offer seemed totally ludicrous to us, & highly over priced- especially in view of the fact that they wouldnt last very long! The surgery option was totally hideous, - much more ugly than the slight puffed look.

It made me think of some of the dreadful plastic proceedures women -& increasingly, men- have done to their faces. And the awful tight faces which can barely move, let alone smile or -perish the thought- laugh uproariously!

And those awful injections, that 'bloat' the lips or forehead... how can anyone admire them? It seems sad that people of 'advancing years' shall we say, feel so insecure in themselves.

I could not be bothered, even could I afford such a waste of money. I am too much of a coward, plus I have 'earned my stripes' on my face. My grandchildren rather like my warm soft arms, my Granddaughter christened them 'Nanna's Puffies" when she was quite young.

I can still remember the lovely soft sensation of being enfolded in my grandmother's soft puffy arms, & bossom. How comforting!

What ever happened to encouraging people to be comfortable with who & how they are? I despise the media attention to appearance as being the measure of a man/woman. I know the 'beautiful people' will always be attractive to the majority, but what about character, & warmth & kindness?

The inner being is so much more important than the outer shell we were given. I am not critisizing people who have glaring defects, or oddities if they 'blight' their life, but I object to the 'idle rich' just having vanity proceedures to make themselves look 'younger' or more 'beautiful' ... which can be very debatable, in a lot of cases. The character & personality lines are what helps to soften a face, imho. But I suppose it takes all kinds, & beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

I find I am drawn to the 'characters' of this world, I love eccentric people who boldly 'be themselves' no matter what. I am not quite so brave, & suppose I am fairly conventional in the way I dress & look, but it is not nearly as important as it used to be when I was young, & it is so liberating to just let age happen.


We had a lovely day with our Grandson. We took him, & the dogs to the beach, in the morning, & spent a wonderful couple of hours walking, looking at the little shells, seaweed, paddling, & the dogs had several swims. It was lovely & shady in the area we went to, & so quiet & peaceful. SG had a great time, & he found a large painter's brush, so he used to it scrub shells, & was just so happy pottering about in the water. He stood on clumps of shells & rocks, & told me he was on his private Island, & I couldn't come onto it, because he had locked it. He used the paintbrush as a cutlass when he was a 'pirate'. He is full of ideas about role playing, which I suppose is part of his age.

On the way home he told me he thought there was a monster under our car, and was I going to 'Fuckem up the monster?" I said "Pardon?" So he said it again, & I finally realised he was asking me if I was going to "VACCUUM up the monster" Whew, luckily I didnt lecture him!

When we came home, he made the whole lounge a cubby house with all the quilts, & he used all the pegs to hold the quilts down- "For when the wind blows, Nan".

When his tired Mum came to collect him, late this afternoon, he was reluctant to go, he had had such a fun day. There are days when he can be 'difficult' but today was just a lovely day.

The dogs enjoyed their day too, & were all tired out from all their beach side adventures too. Oh the thrill of sniffing a thousand other doggy smells, & the thrill of widdling as many times as possible to leave their little messages behind, for others to 'read'.

My biggest regret of the day is, that I forgot to take my camera! Next time!

Beaches

When we were kids, our mother didnt get very many chances to take us for holidays.

She usually had to work, so sometimes we went to stay on our Uncle & Aunt's farm, which was always lovely & we have many memories of the lovely- & loving- times we spent there.

One lovely holiday was spent with our Grandmother, in some Flats (units) at Mt Maunganui, which was a beachside Resort, with both an Harbour Side & an Ocean Side, very close together.

It was a lovely holiday, filled with wonderful swimming, every day, in the lovely Harbour side sea water, Which was gentle with no waves, & when it was low tide, we could walk out, across the sand, & see all the little crabs & sea critters dashing about. And we would have little walks over to the Ocean side, which was the surf side of the beach resort, & we could hire 'Lilo's' which were inflatable rubber 'surfboards' for want of a better description, & we would paddle out into the surf, & float back to shore on the Lilos. Pre-'surf-board' surfing, I guess you could call it.

We would have long walks along the sandy shore, & collect shells, & examine the wonderful seaweed that washed ashore, & wonder where it had come from. Sometimes it still had it's 'roots' attached, & we would wonder what storm or upheaval had caused it to be ripped from it's 'bed'.


And when it rained, because it did now & then, we would spend the day playing Snakes & Ladders or Ludo with our Grandmother in the cosy little cabin-like flat. And occasionally it would be so cold, we would need to have the little heater on, & it would seem like a really cosy little world, where no harm could befall us.


And we went fishing with an Uncle who would come down to meet us, & take us to fish off a little wharf on the Harbour side, under the shadow of the 'Mount'. Sometimes we caught little fish, & we would take them 'home', after our Uncle, who was really a 'Great Uncle' had cleaned & scaled them, & our Grandmother would cook them for us for our tea.

My brother never liked fish, having had a very nasty experience with a fish bone once, so, I am ashamed to say, I was pleased, if the fish were very small, because it meant I only had to share with my Grandmother! I think my brother would have Baked Beans on toast, or scrambled eggs for tea, instead.


But some of my most memorable Beachside holidays, were to a Private Beach, which belonged to my mother's Best Friend's family. It was in the North of the North Island of New Zealand, & we had to travel a very long journey by bus to reach the nearest town, & then proceed to catch another bus out to the little beach settlement.


The first time we went, I remember the huge bus, & little me, standing behind it, as we said our goodbyes. My mother had made me a new blue dress, & I loved the colour & the fabric. Imagine my horror, when the bus driver got into the bus & started the bus motor, revving it madly, presumably to 'warm it up'.
The filthy exhaust blurted out a stinking black blast- right onto my new dress skirt! I was devastated, & of course my mother was pretty peeved! I got the blame! The stain never came out, so the dress was effectively ruined, before I had a chance to enjoy it. And I had the added embarrassment of having to wear it for the duration or our trip.


We eventually arrived at the little beach, tired & a little sick. I was a bad traveller as a child, & was often car-sick, & I had fought bravely with my sickness. On top of the ruined dress, I think it would have proved too much for my mother to bear!


But oh that Beach! It was glorious, & when the tide went out, it went out for seemingly miles, & we would walk out to dig for cockles to bring home to "Nanna". "Nanna" was the Matriarch of the Family who owned the beach, & she lived in a cottage close to the shore. We would go over to "Nanna"'s at command, & she would direct us kids to clean out her water tank, with Condes Crystals, that turned us all purple!! We had to really scrub that tank! And for our reward, she would cook us Cockle Fritters, which she fried up in butter.


I confess to not actually liking the Cockle Fritters that much- they always seemed tough, though Nanna had minced them, on her old metal mincer, which was screwed to the kitchen bench.
And they were nearly always gritty with sand. I didnt fancy eating the sand from the beach.... after all we all piddled in that water, when the tide was in!!


Our accommodation consisted of several 'Army Huts' which were joined together to form a sort of house. The sleeping huts had bunks, & to me, they smelled musty, & felt slightly damp. We all slept in a series of these huts which were joined together, & it was a fraught experience the first couple of nights. I would lie, smelling the horrible musty/damp smell, hoping desperately, that I wouldnt have to get up to pee. The toilet was an old outside 'longdrop' on the hill side. It was under trees, & was very very dark, & very spooky!!


After that we would be so tired from our days swimming in the sea & also the creek which was tidal, & therefore filled, & ideal for swimming in the evening when the tide was high.


The 'kitchen/dining room' was another Army hut, which had a stove & some tables & seats. It was mostly casual food, such as salads, & lots of fish & little meat- which suited me fine. I think, from memory, we got fresh bread delivered daily.


One of the 'Uncles' was a swimming trainer down in Auckland, & when he came up for the weekends, he would give us all tutoring in swimming, using the creek at high tide. He told my mother I had talent... I think I lacked enthusiasm, not being born with the 'sporting gene'! Plus I couldnt be bothered with 'training'.


There was a type of Sandstone substance which we could find on the banks of the 'toilet hill', & we used to dig it out, & carve it, into what we imagined were very artistic shapes & things. I wish I had kept some of it. It was quite pretty, & seemed to have veins of colours running through it, which made it interesting to work, carving & shaping. It was almost a soap like substance, but would not crumble or break, if you were careful when working with it.


We spent many sun filled days on that lovely beach, & collected the soapstone substance, shells, driftwood, & happy memories of times shared in golden innocence.


We would go 'floundering' in the evenings if the tide was right. I remember wading carefully through the water, peering to try to see the flounder, which we were supposed to spear, to catch. I dont think I ever caught any, but I remember seeing them. I also remember eating them, cooked on tin, on a fire on the beach.


My mother's Best Friend, is now dead, as are her husband, daughter & son. It all seems so long ago, & far away.

I understand the Private Beach has been sold. It was a golden place, with lovely memories for us all.

I think I had a wonderful childhood, filled with magic things.