Remembering Father on the Beach

My days of nothing have come to an end, and we are now in the middle of renovating a grand old Victorian House, so my blogging has slowed up somewhat.  But I love to reflect and now that my computer and scanner has been unearthed from my giant pile of stuff, I shall continue on for the sake of a story and for anyone who cares to read.  Luckily the front porch is a haven of peace, with comfy wicker chairs, so that I can muse and write anything down without interruption.

I'm not sure when I realized that my father was a person that you would call, accident prone but I think it was shortly after a few events in the British Virgin Islands.
As I described in my last blog, these accidents seem to take place on or near a beach.
A memorable day in particular was again on the island of Tortola at a glorious, deserted, white sand paradise called, Elizabeth Bay. Unfortunately, now there is a large resort, but when we used to visit, there was only two small cabins which always seemed deserted.  This story also occurs before my wee boy came into this world, his whereabouts evident by the enormous pink dress I had to wear (only piece of clothing that would house me). Ugh! not a fan of pink, but my daughter, Alana loved it.

Anyway, Alana and her friend, my visiting father, our dog, Una and I drove the zig zaggy road over the brow of the hill, down towards the perfect palm treed beach, a dreamy sanctuary of a place.  This is where we were to enjoy our picnic.  As I suspected, we were the only occupants.  The girls peeled off their dresses, and began to construct sand castles decorated with pastel coloured seashells found littered along the seashore.  All very idealistic, but that's the way it was.  I savour these delicious moments of my life.
The swells at Elizabeth beach should have been a surfer's dream but as far as I knew, the waves remained undiscovered. 

My father in his captain's hat, bright blue shorts, navy shirt and up market flip flops, decided to take a stroll; a natural desire in a perfect place on a perfect sunny day.  The surf was strong and my Dad assured me that he would not be swimming.  The girls and I stayed within the shade of the palms and they chatted happily inventing their make believe world.
What seemed like a short time, Alana stopped in her play and pointed down the beach, "Look Mummy, Grandaddy has just gone under."
"What?"  I turned in his direction but failed to see him. Waddling as fast as I could as the girls ran ahead with Una who bounded along happy to be on a walk, I found one of Dad's flip flops about to be carried away with the flow of a receding wave.  Alana then shouted, "There he is!"
All I saw was an outstretched arm rising above the crest of a wave, reaching towards the heavens.
Struggling with the idea of rescue, with my pregnant belly and leaving 2 four year olds on the beach to try and save a man over seventy, did not seem like a prospect with a positive outcome.  So I reluctantly decided to stay and watch.  Soon he breached like a whale spouting water and body surfed amateurishly into shore. He landed practically at my feet on his belly.  "Grandaddy, can you do that again?"
Stunned, I helped him up and he stumbled, but managed to reply, "No, I don't think so dear."  He removed his cap which miraculously was still on his head and we made our way back to the picnic site.

Peanut butter and banana as well as cheese and tomato sandwiches were consumed and I poured Dad his British tea from a flask.  "Dad what the hell happened?  I thought you were a goner."
He stood holding his one flip flop, gulped his tea, then said,  "Well the sea snatched one of my shoes and I decided to go after it, but I couldn't find it.  I think I'll walk down again and see if it's washed up."
"No Dad, we're going in a minute and the waves are getting rougher."
"But Lass, I bought them especially for this trip!"
"Crikey Dad, you nearly drowned.  We're going now."  I started to gather up all our stuff, I was afraid, he'd go off again, as he could be very stubborn.
He sat down on his folding deck chair, gazing out to the horizon, his gray hair stiff with saltwater, plastered to the side of his head.  The girls happily cooperated with the news we would go in the pool once we returned and we loaded up the jeep along with Una who jumped in and sat on the folded blanket.
"Come on Dad, we're going."  The children were strapped into their seats. 
I started up the engine and he slowly got up, folding his chair, stowing it, and climbed into the passenger seat and then he made one more long plea to go and look for his flip flop. 
"Dad, will you stop going on about your damned flip flop.  It's gone, just accept it!"
He sighed deeply as if he'd lost a good friend and reached for his breast pocket, took out his pack of cigarettes, retrieved one and placed it between his lips, as he fumbled to find his lighter.  The cigarette drooped to his chin in its sogginess and I suppressed my laughter as he looked even sadder.
Alana, who always knew what to say, (and still does)  said, "Poor Grandaddy, can't even smoke anymore."  Then she pulled off her one of her own flip flops and offered to him as a gift.  "Here you go Grandaddy, you can have my shoe."
I stared at him, worried as he could sometimes turn a small situation into a gloomy mood that could last for hours,  but he looked at his grand daughter and smiled then finally began to laugh.
She scolded, "You're good at surfing, but next time you shouldn't wear all your clothes."
"You're right darling!" and he laughed again, throwing his cigarette out the window.

Photo on the Day, before he went under.

And because this is the 10th Anniversary of my Father's Death, here's another one of him in Tortola, I miss you Dad.

A Survivor of WW II and the surf at Elizabeth Beach.

Feast of Musicians

Never before have I seen so many amazing musicians all in one small area.  It was a privilege to walk amongst so many performers, a real feast of sight and sound; such colour, texture and rich notes reverberating to the beach and ringing through the streetcar tracks.  I glided through lightheaded, a permanent smile stuck on my face. Thank-you JazzFest! 



And then walking home there was a wedding on the beach.

My Children on the Beach

What a glorious childhood my children had growing up in the tropics, raised in a small hotel where their parents both worked.  Swimming in the pool, dancing with customers and receiving toys and tips for being so darned adorable, and when I wasn’t working (slogging away serving and fetching for  umpteen tourists) we would set off for the palm fringed, almost idealic white sand beach, of Josiah’s Bay, just down the road.  They strolled naked down the peaceful arc of the bay and built sand castles while I clicked away and shot endless photographs. 

My daughter, Alana was fearless in the water, body surfing at a young age and nimbly jumping from rock to rock at the bay’s edge.  At only 10 months old, she was swimming under water in the deep end of the pool; she had her own style of swimming, totally submerged at the bottom, only to surface occasionally, spurting water like a counterfeit mermaid, golden hair trailing down to her bottom.  My son, Tye however, was not so brave, he had to be coaxed and sweet talked into the water and even then he would cling fast to me.  Gradually though with time, he began to feel more comfortable and to enjoy himself, but he was never entirely trusting of the water and didn’t like to go under.

 There was a day when my visiting father took him into the water, whilst I swam further out into the waves with Alana.  And, my Dad went a little deeper than his grandson was used to (he was only 2 years old).  Luckily I looked over to see how they were faring and my father was topping a small boy on his head, Tye’s little arms and legs were wrapped round his Granddad’s neck, looks of terror on both their faces, the older not being able to breathe and the younger clutching on for dear life, convinced he was going to go under.  By the time I reached them, Tye looked like a wee frog sitting on a lily pad.  Alana took her brother ashore to play in the sand while I led my choking father over to Rufus’s beach hut where Cane Garden Bay Rum Punches were served.  He downed his Rum Punch and laughed exclaiming how he had survived WW11 but had nearly drowned with a 2 yr old boy on his head.  Crikey!

Beaches

Surfing inevitably makes me think on beaches.  I have been extremely fortunate to have lived near a beach in almost every place I've resided. Every day the mood of a beach changes and if you are lucky enough to live near one, walking the beach daily will comfort a stressed mind as well as give a rare joy of relishing in the act of doing nothing.  Gazing to where water meets sky, stimulates positive thoughts, reflections and puts aside trivial worries.  When I say stimulates thoughts, this can also mean again, stimulate thoughts of nothing and since I’m basically a lazy person, doing and thinking of nothing suits me enormously, especially after a huge move and leaving behind a tormenting job. (Hurray!)

The beach I now stroll aimlessly each morning is one that I had not forgotten, but think I failed to appreciate when I lived here years ago, this is Lake Ontario in Toronto.  It certainly helps that the days have been sunny and hot, the azure waters sparkle like the Caribbean Sea and sailing ships bob dreamily on the horizon.  Can this really be a lake?  An elderly gentleman with tweed cap, cane and brilliant red shorts sat next to me on a bench, (dedicated to a man called “Hot Tubs”) at Kew beach yesterday, and explained proudly that the whole of the British Isles could fit into Lake Ontario.  “How mind-boggling!”  I responded.  But then as I strolled down the board walk, I thought, (Oh, but I’m thinking too much) as I’m starting to imagine it all, this mess, looking down from outer space. How could all those people fit into Lake Ontario, along with all their houses, planes, trains, Double Decker buses, taxis, roads, farms with sheep and highland cows?  Not to mention all the fish and chips, teacups & saucers, bacon and eggs, the Royal Family and all their palaces.  I’ve spent a lot of time in Britain and so, I think this dear old bloke must have got this wrong; the population of Britain is over 60 million, while the whole of Canada is just over 34 million. I’ll have to do some research.

Anyway Kew Beach on Lake Ontario and eastward to the water treatment plant is an ideal place to wander and wade in the now clear waters for a delicious break.  Photo below taken with my mother's pocket Sony as I was too lazy to carry my big Canon. 

And who would have thought to find a Pirate ship on Lake Ontario on the way to Niagara Falls.  Amazing!

Surfing

While I am on the subject of surfing, I must say, I have always been fascinated by the sport and I have tried it myself many times while in the Caribbean.  After multiple mouthfulls of sand, rolling ashore without my bathing suit bottoms, and crashing my head a few times, I decided I wasn't very good at it and so, settled for body surfing and even then I found the waves humbling, I learnt to read the undertow, the moods of the tide and determine my own short comings in the depths of the invigorating waters. I can watch surfers for hours and the sea is definitely my favourite swimming pool.

Moving

It's amazing to me that I am back in Ontario.  Twenty-eight years ago I left for the beautiful Caribbean island of Tortola in the British Virgin Islands to work at a small hotel.  I intended to stay for a year or two and yet it turned out to be twelve amazing years.  I have been extraordinarily blessed to have a wonderful partner and two fabulous kids, daughter born in Cornwall, England and son in Tortola.  Now once more, after spending fifteen years on another lovely island, Vancouver Island, at a variety of locales and diverse jobs, we decided to make another change.
I have never blogged in my life before, (thought it was a dirty word actually)  so, I thought it might be a new beginning to post photos of where I've been and the wonderful people I've met.  I'm obsessed with taking photos (drove my kids bonkers) and I have thousands that I've never shared.
Anyway, I thought this would be a suitable outlet for sharing, with family and friends, (if you're interested) so bear with me please, as I'm not very organized, so photos and thoughts will probably bounce all over the place.

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Right now, my partner and son are in Cornwall England, beautiful place where surfing is huge!  Many people who've never been to the South West of England are surprized by this. 

My old, loveable dog, Jango, resting on my brother's lawn in Victoria, before his big drive across Canada