Pay me in shells for life

While smacking my legs to remove the sea sand and before putting my slightly damp derriere onto the car seat, I noticed a group of a dozen geriatric people lugging surf- boards and body-boards towards the waves. I am not a joiner of groups, but this was a group that I felt would suit me. Autonomy within a safe space. If I fell off my surf-board and was unable to re-mount, there would be a non-judgemental helping hand. I allowed my mind to wander into realms of fantasy. Flying along the wave crest with not a care in the world. Of course I soon realised that surfing required the ability to rise gracefully and fluidly from a crouch to a lunge. It has been many years since I was able to do the fluid rise thing. I wobble and creak, I get halfway up and then need something to grab on to. Sadly surf-boards do not come with Zimmer frames or hand-rails. Maybe I should practice rising from the floor of my lounge before I brave the surf school at Raglan? Perhaps next year will be the year of the geriatric surfie? Who knows, but I can dream, can't I?

We spent a weekend with our grandson and daughter doing a Summer road trip to Wellington. We hit all the highlights along the way. Huka Falls at Taupo, picking up pumice stones alongside the lake, dress-up at Waiouru army museum and the working windmill at Foxton. We visited Te Papa museum to see the Terracotta Warriors and the Gallipoli display and then wandered the paths of Zealandia in search of geckos and creepy crawlies. A family of quails played around our feet and bird song rang from ancient trees. Communing with nature at its best. We stayed at Paekakariki camp cabins and took time to play in the stream where indigenous eels popped out to cavort around the children. Omani (our grandson) found a sand-dollar shell on the beach (very fragile and almost impossible to find most of the time). So with this plethora of amazing experiences we felt to ask Omani what his favourite moment had been. Yes, the eels made the top ten list but the highlight for our ten year-old was eating at restaurants that he did not need to clean up after the meal..... aka McD or BK or even KFC. A restaurant where someone came and delivered your food on ceramic plates with real cutlery and then came to clean it up once you were finished, was a novel and fascinating experience. The trip was Omani's birthday present from us to him on his 10th birthday. A way of saying to him that he was entering the world of almost-adulthood. He spends most of his life being aware of his younger siblings and this was to be a time for him to be a bit selfish. He found that quite difficult at times .... being selfish. He gave me the sand-dollar instead of keeping it for himself. Kind and thoughtful always.

As he handed me the sand-dollar, I thought about all the shells I had collected over my lifetime. What had happened to them? I am sure they would create a veritable pyramid of shellkind if I had to pile them one on top of another. Our three year-old granddaughter was with us at Waihi on Saturday and she too was shell collecting. I watched as she oohed and aahed over every shape and colour and then gently placed them in patterns on the sand. She was beginning her shell collecting journey and I wished that I could bundle up those shells and save them for her future self. Her older sister dashed into the waves and I thought about her future ten-year-old self. Should I start planning for surfing lessons so that when she is my age that she will be able to rise smoothly from squat to surfing goddess? What is it that we teach our children and grandchildren that will ease them into life? I do know that boredom is essential for a healthy imagination. Someone who has their minds filled with 'stuff' every moment of every day does not need to develop their own internal alternative narrative. I do my best thinking of the weird and wonderful when I switch off my practical brain and allow my boredom to prompt me into the amazing world of fantasy. Like flying along wave-crests with joints that do not complain. What are we teaching our progeny? That when we are bored we need to be entertained by outside forces? Or do we teach them to embrace slippery eels nibbling at their toes and enjoy the experience or to run screaming away from life at every hurdle? Omani bought a lovely garden ornament at the Foxton windmill that said Opa's garden. I told you he was a thoughtful boy didn't I? Is that what he has taken from our examples?

My husband is on his hands and knees at the moment laying a patio. Alongside him are our two adult sons. Now Barry is not always easy to work alongside and to be honest, I have long given up the fight. Barry believes that his way is the only way and if you try to help, he will undo your work and re-do whatever you have completed. I throw my hands up and leave him to it. Yes, he does grumble about my non-helpfulness. So today he has Sean and Chad to assist him. I will ply them with juice and snacks at appropriate moments and then retreat to my own pursuits. I am in the middle of illustrating my latest colouring-in book based around a Maori myth. Intense work most of the time and by the end of the day my eyes feel like red-hot coals have been applied. But what are we teaching our adult sons? How to be pedantic and get each cobblestone laid to 110% perfection? Maybe. Certainly they are learning the correct way to do things and in years to come they will look at that patio and feel a sense of accomplishment. What are they learning from me? That the support people are just as important as workers? In the steaming heat a glass of juice is just as important as a bubble level that is lined up to a T? Who knows? An old friend said that I am lucky to have children and grandchildren that enjoyed spending time with us. And yes, I am extremely lucky. I cannot imagine any other scenario. Children that avoid their parents ... parents that dislike spending time with their offspring. Wow, what a sad heritage to leave. On my tombstone I want loving words about my family loving me..... not something awful .... or maybe nothing at all except a date.

Our daughter Colette has a line on her gravestone saying that she will live forever in our hearts and minds. Colette would have been 39 years old this month. What would she have been like if she had lived? Kind and caring like Omani? Crazy about sports? Or a bookworm? Would she have been a mediator or a meddler? I do feel her around me at times and I know that her sisters feel the same way. She will always be the big sister and my baby. No, I am not feeling sad. Well not yet anyway. Maybe on her actual birthday I will melt into a puddle of tears but today I am enjoying having all four of my living children close by. Sean walked into the room where I was working and my heart swelled and I could not help smiling at him. Well of course I smiled at him. What type of mother would I be if I did not feel joy at our progeny?

So whether I can stand up on a surfboard or flounder in the waves like a beached whale, who cares? At least I am happy and surrounded by lovely people. Oh and by the way, my radiation treatment is over and I am in the process of healing. It is my excuse for not kneeling for hours looking at a spirit level ... and retreating into the house for a bit of art therapy.