FLOPPING TIME

Rona

"There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort..." - Jane Austen

                 "Tis the season for flopping." R-Raphe

It all depends on how you flop..............

Or maybe you would like to perch.

"Sometimes taking a moment to do nothing, is the best 'something' we can do.." - Craig D. Lounsbrough

Stare into the abyss.

Smelling the roses takes on an entirely new meaning.

"Calm down to emptiness......" - Nishant Garg

Learn to hang out  with the sleeping bees.

Be like Sweet Simon. 

"You are a portal to the divine..." -Tehya Sky

Time to make  time.

"Life is a shipwreck but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats..." - Voltaire

It's flopping time. Go on. You can do it.......

"I'm in no hurry to do anything. I'll probably lie here for the rest of the day." -Fennel Hudson

Spencer

 

THE CABIN

"I was happy anywhere I could see the ocean..."

                           -Ai Yazawa

The cabin had stood for many years,like an old friend,  before  I  let it  go. Waiting  in the  seasons that pounded it with salt and spray. Scrub brush grew up between its toes, like seaweed snakes. The grass, never mowed, had seen many  footprints  wind their way to the grey , rocky shore.

Pebbly surf rattled and gurgled like  zombies trying to swim. Water was fresh and clear like some forgotten mountain pool. One fall the cabin  saw a grey whale  slide into the deep bays, searching for food, blowing spray.  Flapping and slapping the  still water. The cabin saw all of this and more. The whale, swam close to shore. Then swam away into the  deep.

 My father loved this cabin. He built it with  the help of friends, who drove down from way up island. They only asked for a place to pitch their tents. My mother fried up steaks on  the Coleman stoves with buttered potatoes and homemade bread  she had baked at home and brought with us. She  made walnut slice, chocolate cake and strawberries.

I liked to  stand on our favourite lookout, safe and strong, to watch  the skies change. 

Gordon beach was long and narrow. So many rocks and logs; places to  climb.   Hidden away alcoves. Only the sound of the water lap lapping.
At night, mist rolled in  as fog folded into the forest behind. It felt like I was in a fairy tale of seaweed creatures.

Each day, the hammers of the workmen  sounded long and loud, until light was gone. “Like being on Gilligan’s Island”, they would laugh,  stretching out to eat and listen for the night.  

My mother’s favourite thing was to climb up onto the hollow log which lived on the beach. It was a place for make believe. A place for  sea monsters to dwell. And those sea zombies I envisioned, had to have a place to live.

Many years later , the hollow log disappeared….. I missed it. That great beast  had reigned for years as king of the shore. The stuff of legends. 

I wondered how the sea zombies felt about that….

The cabin saw logs laid down for  its feet, and wood for its shoulders and head. I liked to  stand inside the hollow log, watching them build . I felt the shuffle of  rocks underneath, imagining  sea zombies were coming to get me. If  you sang inside the hollow log, you could summon the zombies with a special song.

When the tide was low, shallow wading pools appeared. My father could then  swing me over the shoreline. I’d scream. He’d catch me before I touched the water.

The end of day, everything turned to rose and gold. My mother and father sat on the half finished deck, as night fell and the ocean blazed pink. They were ever so quiet those times.

When  the cabin was almost finished,  the workmen decided to put in an extra large window in front.  Storms were  coming. Then  my father sat inside to see how big the ocean swelled. In a few weeks, the workmen packed up and went home. Leaving us, to the wind and tide.

Sometimes,  on those  last few years, my father would tell me ghostly sea stories, with zombies and kings and brave knights. My mother  would say she could feel the cabin floating.

We were safe inside with the fire burning in the old wood stove; hot tea in mismatched mugs, on the table. 

In the few years that were left, the cabin was glad to see us. There were stories, and walks on the beach. Special secret missions , looking for those zombies who had  kidnapped seaweed mermaids.The cabin watched over us. Until one day, my father could not go  any longer. When my mother and I would go those years after, I would play in the hollow log and see the cabin, with its big  eyes.

It spoke silently to me. And in the hush, I always felt my father there, and in years to come,  my mother, drifting along the shore. Together, hand in hand, in a place they loved so much……

 "Ocean separates lands, not souls..." -Munia Khan

Photographs 2022

THE ENTREPRENEURS

 "A bad day eating candy is better than a good day eating salad..." -unknown

Way back when,  when we were ten, my friend, Dora and I,  decided we  needed to make some money. In which to buy candy. In particular, Ring Pops. The kind you stuck on your finger. The allowance we both had was not enough. A quarter a week did nothing to assuage our  habit.  

So we became entrepreneurs…….

First we made Macaroni  Toilet Roll dinner napkin holders.  We glued elbow macaroni onto as many toilet tolls as we could fine, painted them  wild colours, then sprinkled  with gold glitter . Luckily Dora’s older sister had a stash of glitter tubes she wouldn’t miss. 

We made about 20 and sold them, for 15 cents each,  to other ten year olds  at school. Unfortunately, within a day, the macaroni had fallen off and there were some returns. We promptly reglued the pieces and passed them back.

We made enough to go to  the corner store during lunch time. The lady who owned it, a Mrs. Bunson, himmed and hawed at our extravagant purchase of 4 Ring Pops, and 12 candy straws ( they were cheaper). Mrs. Bunson accepted our coinage, dropping it into the cash register with gusto. 

As we  got back to school, some of our customers were waiting with cranky looks. To appease them crowd we shared our sweet loot  and were left with one half of a candy straw. Back in the classroom,  the teacher took all of the candy away. Even the broken candy straw.  She  locked it all in her desk. 

The week after we came up with an enlightening idea. Why not sell raisins? My mother had a bucket of them.  Everyone seemed to like the raisin idea.  We made enough for Candy Cigarettes.  

Next day we bought the Candy Cigarettes  and ended up passing them out. Guess we had to share.  We all got detention when our teacher  noticed  us were “smoking” candy cigarettes while swinging on the swings.

Not to be deterred, I think our best  product was the  Polished Rock we peddled. Didn’t cost a thing . Just some clear nail polish that Dora got from her mother’s dressing table. She  brought three bottles.

We shellacked those babies with a tiny leaf under all the polish. We lugged them to school on the back of Dora’s bike, and charged 30 cents  for the large ones, 20 cents for the small ones. 

They were our BEST items ever. We made enough to get Fun Dip packets, Kool Aid drink Mix packets (it was all the rage to stick  your fingers in the drink mix ) and ( my fav) Sweet tarts. When we got back to school, our teacher was waiting. She made us turn over the candy to her. Then she locked it in her desk. We never saw that candy again. Mrs. Bunson had called the school. Ratted us out at last.

Our mothers got involved. We had to take back ALL of the rocks.  And give them to Mrs. Bunson at the Candy Store.

She had us put them in a row up and down the path. They looked nice, shining away in the sunlight, with their polished tops. A permanent reminder. For years to come.

I always wondered what happened to that candy that was squirreled away in our teacher’s desk. I swore I saw her passing out Candy Cigarettes to the others in the staff room.  I was sure I saw her wearing a Ring Pop. 

But I could be wrong…………

Photographs 2022