I have a love / hate affair with the sea. When I was seven years old we went to East London and there was this huge white sandy beach and it was beautiful, we stayed in a hotel which was a novelty in itself. But that holiday determined my relationship with the ocean ever after.
I don’t believe I was in THAT far, but at my bother’s shout I suddenly turned around to see a huge rogue wave bearing down on me. It was too close to even try to swim away from and I’m sure I saw my short life flash before my eyes! Next thing the wave receded and it was all over. For the wave. I have never trusted the sea again. Oh, I love the look, smell, power of the sea. I love to walk along its frilly edge and pick up its bounty. And photograph it. But I fear its hugeness, its unfathomable depths and unpredictability. And of course the unnameable uglies that swim by as I struggle in the waves
And now, as I get older I even find sitting on the hot sand in the hot sun is a real torture. Before our children were old enough to go to the beach by themselves my husband would hire a wooden beach lounger and large umbrella and I would sit there, dressed in light-weight long sleeved shirt and long pants. How painful and embarrassing for the family, I cared not, for I can’t abide the sun for more that 15 minutes at the most! I’d rather find a nice restaurant and watch the sea from there! In the shade with a nice cup of tea at my elbow and like-minded congenial companions.
I have long-believed that God made beaches for children. I can imagine He takes delight in their delight at all the wonders he has created for their amusement. I regret though, in a way, that I have put away childish things and watch from the sidelines instead.