So it’s that time of year again – the earth whirled around the sun like a swing on the end of a rope, and here we are – another year older and (hopefully) wiser. I doubt the wiser part. I can’t seem to shake stupid, but the gray hairs multiply and the wrinkles are more pronounced. That doesn’t bother me, strangely enough. I thought I’d be vain, but since I wasn’t vain as a younger woman, it hasn’t hit me yet (and hopeully never will) – I’m vain enough to brush my hair and teeth, shave a leg now and then, and “do” my toenails. Does wanting to have cute toenails count as vanity? I suppose so. I searched for the perfect summer shade – since I refuse to wear shoes in the summertime. It’s flipflops or sandals – or my golf shoes if I really have to…
How old am I? I lie about that so much I keep forgetting. I thought I’d stop at 25, but my kids caught up with me, so now I’m sticking to 45, and to hell with anyone who doesn’t believe me. Otherwise I’ll just say 95 and hope I get there. I’ll either get a “You look older than 45…” or “Wow, 95! You’re so well preserved!” Pickled, more like it. Preserved? Makes me sound like strawberry jam. Which reminds me. I have several projects for this week – and one includes hitting the pick-your-own fruit and veggies, and getting stranwberries for jam. And plums, and tomatoes, and whatever else is ripe and ready.
For my birthday, we went surfing. I never surfed – in all the years I lived in the Caribbean, I only went body surfing. When we lived with Holly, she had a big surfboard that we would carry (it took all three of us: Holly, Julie and me, helping, and sometimes Peter although he was little). So we’d take the surfboard and head down the road, down the big, rutted, red dirt road that plunged down the mountainside, until we got to the beach – Mandhal bay.
This is what the bay looked like back then, and you can see the small stone jetty and the big one, just behind. Well, we’d sit on the surfboard (it was big enough for all of us) and paddle across the lagoon, mostly to try and catch crabs. We never actually surfed on it. In the back, where the boats are, is a shallow, warm, and muddy salt pond full of sea-cucumbers. We would pick the up and squirt ink at each other.
Anyhow, I never surfed in St Thomas – there isn’t a wide shelf so the waves never roll in, they just flop down on the beach. So this year, for my birthday, my hubby got us a surfing lesson with a real surfer dude, on a real surfing beach in the Medoc (where we were because he gave a polo clinic there). And there is terrific surfing there.
We had a wonderful time – never got to the standing position – I got as far as the bouncy frog, Stef made it to the wobbly dog – we tumbled and rolled, slipped and surfed, and laughed. It was a lot of fun. Our teacher was patient, but you could tell he really wanted to surf (the waves were big that day) so I gave him my board and off he went, making Stef and I envious and determined to do better next time!!