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 

I have a confession to make.

The kids and I started doing a hybrid-style yoga thingy that I made up a few weeks ago, in an effort to counteract all the forward head carriage that I am worrying and worrying about in children these days.  All the devices.  All the gaming.  And all of that four or five kilograms of cranium sitting forward of it’s optimal position.  Putting all that strain of the anterior structures.  Messing with optimal neural function.

It’s my latest thing, this anterior head thing, so I decided to start in my own home, and get the kids yoga-ed up.

The first thing I found out (after noticing that I am, in fact, quite shit at yoga) is that I can’t touch my toes.

I know.  The shame of it.  The smug little chiro doesn’t have normal range of motion of the lumbar spine.  Great.

Flash forward a few weeks and the Evil Geniuses have long since grown tired of this early morning yoga-ish idea of mine, but I can’t let it go.  So today I was out on my balcony in the drizzling Sunrise cool, when an extraordinary thing happened.  I was doing my modified Sun Salute, and by modified, I mean the only bit of it I can remember from ten and a half years ago when I did some pregnancy yoga classes.  Back when my mind was still intact, and I could in fact, touch my hands on the ground.

I was looking out towards the beach, observing the grey sky, and trying to be at one with nature.  To expand my mind, but not to engage in any thoughts.  To be at peace.

In reality I was making a list of the tasks of the day, wishing the clouds and the winter away, and thinking how, yes I was doing a kind of yoga thing, but that it wasn’t enough.  That ten minutes a day didn’t really cut it.  That these meagre stretches weren’t enough to reverse a decade of bodily neglect.  That I wasn’t stretching enough, meditating enough, doing enough, being enough.  That I had too much to do today and I wouldn’t get it all done because I didn’t have enough time, enough energy, enough ambition.

It didn’t matter that these ten minutes were ten more than I did a few weeks ago, I still judged myself unkindly and harshly, because I wasn’t enough.  I wondered if I would ever be enough.  Have enough.  Do enough.

And it got me to thinking and sifting through all of the internal dialogue to find all of the times in my life when I have said, “Good on you, you have done all that you could, and that is enough.”  There weren’t many times.

So as I stretched those contracted hamstrings, I started to stretch those neural pathways that keep me in stuck in place, the ones that belie that no matter how much I do, it just won’t be enough.  I breathed deeply into the tight muscles and the tight mind, and said out loud.  “I am enough.”

And as I did, my fingertips brushed the tiny, fine hairs on my toes.  Almost, almost, almost touching my toes for the first time in many years.

I looked up, just in time to see the sun break through the silver clouds.

Today is a new day.

A new reality.

And I am enough.

Are you enough?  What stops you from feeling enough?

…From The Ashers xx

It is “winter” here on the Sunshine Coast, and we are having an absolute ripper.  I may have mentioned whinged once or twice a billion times that the only thing I hate more than Winter is birds, but of course you can always shoot birds with a BB gun.  Winter just stays doesn’t it?  With the wind that stings, and cold that creeps into your marrow, so that you freeze from the inside out.  Well, right here, right now, none of those things are happening.  I am having my best winter ever.  Maybe it’s The Menopause, but I really don’t care.  I’m just so grateful.

Here are some of the reasons why:

The Maroochy River. What a spot to sit and, well, just sit.

A husband who will get me a cup-of-cino to sit with. Easily the best drink invented: a coffee and a dessert in one.

Looking at this river. Ahh, the beautiful Maroochy. I wish you could see the way the water was sparkling. All of those little ripples had shards of crystal bouncing and bopping on top of them.

Days long enough to make shadows with these gorgeous ones, who own my heart.

Coming up the stairs to our own afternoon view. The air gets crisp as the sun dips down, but the big blue makes it almost worth it.

A bottle of something fancy. I’ve decided that my life is better if I have a good drop in the fridge. I don’t have to drink it (yet), I just like knowing it’s there. It’s comforting.

This thing from Sol Republic. It might not be the prettiest speaker deck in the world, but it pumps out the sound, and lights up your own colour when you log your device in.. And so the DJ battle begins. I foresee silly times ahead.

A new record, of new music.
I just found my own nirvana at JB.
How good is a new album? Opening it up, reading the liner notes. It’s just so big and so real. Don’t get me wrong, I love iTunes, but this is something special.

The sunrise at Sunrise Beach this morning. It was cool out, and cool to see. I like a later start. Thanks Winter.

One of these to go with the sunrise. No art. No frills. Just a good old George Clooney to warm the cockles.  I said cockles.

Crazy times with the trees at Sunspace Cafe today: a Tropical with an Autumn one against the flawless Noosa Blue sky.

Summer in a tin.
I was gifted this today from a friend, and it is perfect for a sun worshipper like me. Smells like summers past. Makes my skin feel like it’s sixteen again (well, almost).

So there you have it.  All the reasons why, for once, I’m great.  And full.

Don’t tell Summer.

How is your Winter going?  What is great about your place right now?

And yes, Yanks and Canadians, I know you’re in Summer already.  No need to gloat.

…From The Ashers xx

Today we celebrated the Winter Solstice.  Yes, yes, I know that technically it was on Saturday, but I was working, so shhh, the kids don’t know that.  It was TODAY, okay?

As you may have guessed, we have a programme, and here it is:

1. Watch the sun rise at Sunrise Beach.  Yes, this was early.  And cloudy.  So we climbed on the seats instead, and yelled a bit, because there was a campervan that looked all tucked up right near us.  I suspect free campers at MY beach access.  Hippies.

2.  Go out for breakfast at Bistro C (which looks onto Noosa Main Beach).  This was much more my style.

3.  Wear something yellow.  I wore a hair clip of Coco’s as a brooch.  And I forced certain family members to wear fake sunflowers in their hair for a few minutes. That counts.  Never let it be said I don’t go all out for this stuff.

4.  Listen to our Solstice CD, which has contains classic songs like “You Are My Sunshine”.  We all sighed with relief when it was finished.  All thirteen tracks.  Who thought of this tradition?

5.  Bake sunflower seed biccies and decorate the house with plastic sunflowers.  Box up said biccies and give them out to unsuspecting others, because frankly, they are a bit shit.

6.  Watch the sun set.  The highlight.  Hands down.

This year we had an added bonus of sharing a lovely lunch cooked by one of my gorgeous friends who reports that she “loves cooking and entertaining”.  So clearly, she is a complete idiot, but man she can cook.  We had delish food, wine, more than a few laughs and two beautiful surprise guests.

The winter solstice has well and truly ended here.  Everyone is abed- the kids exhausted, and Nath with what could quite possibly be a terminal case of Man-flu, leaving me with some repeats of Black Adder and a Hot Toddy.  Winter, generally you suck, but today, you weren’t all bad.  The 23degrees didn’t

Roll on Summer, roll on.

Do you celebrate the solstice (because it means Summer is on its way)?

…From The Ashers xx

Then

The thrill of Saturday night, with all the promise of giddy lust and parading.  Planning outfits in my head for days.  Saving enough cash for drinks, and a secret taxi stash.  Phone calls to and fro to set times and places and double checking of outfits and who would get ready where, who would sleep where, who would do what with whom.  No thought of Sunday, other than to see her peek over the horizon if the night was a good one.

Now

Saturday night?  A night to be endured before the relief of Sunday- a whole day of our little family with beach and fresh juices and languid lunches.  Preferrably beers and footy on the couch, a few tunes, savour some air up on the top deck and then sweet blessed bed.  If we have to, we go out, but hopefully early.  So we can get home early.

Then

Hey, Hey It’s Saturday on your Mum’s donated telly and Barbie Doll shots of vodka & raspberry.  Three or four girls getting ready in one place, the bathroom humid with hairdryers and hairspray and perfumes intermingled.  Primping and parading and do I look fat in this?  Ice T or Frenzel Rhomb cranked up as loud as can be endured.  Salacious thoughts of what you might do to that guy from Chem Prac with the Rollins Band t-shirt and the celtic tatt, if he shows up.

Now

Funniest Home Videos on the flatscreen to keep the kids quiet whilst you squint to see if your bum looks too big, the clothes too ‘young’.  A shot of ristretto to keep you awake past 9pm and a fleeting thought of George Clooney in a suit, or even better, your own husband with his greying temples, that dips as soon as you see the dishes in the sink, your libido down the drain with the suds.  Michael Franti turned down low enough to give instructions to the babysitter.

Then

You head out as late as possible so you can hit the ground running.  A few quick pots of tap beer and then it’s onto the dance floor or the pool table, teetering on your heels, a sashaying walk.  Dancing and singing and dancing, pupils so big as to take up your whole eye, drinking in the lights, the boys, the night.  The night that blends seamlessly into tomorrow and you watch the sunrise, foggy brain registering the beauty.

Now

Meet at a friend’s place as early as possible to drink fancy champagne and craft beers, before you head out to a restaurant where a meal costs your (then) entire pay packet.  You comment on the quantity of the food and the quality of the service and whether or not the staff dote on you enough.  If you can convince the others you might be able to squeeze in a dance or two before it is curfew time, with the babysitter on an hourly rate.  Home for a few hours sleep before the kids wake up, and you watch the sunrise, foggy brain registering the beauty.

…From The Ashers xx

I went away for a bit, and now I’m back.

Altered in ways I don’t even want to think about, but back.

This morning this happened:

At least that’s something.

I’ll tell you about it sometime, but not right now.

The air is too thin.

Oh Hayls