This blog post is far too long. Sorry. (Photos
to come!)
In no particular order, here are some of
the prezzies I received this Christmas…:
#1
Family
Our trusty Volkswagen first took us to Paarl,
where we celebrated Tom and Debbie’s wedding. Every cousin, aunt, uncle, niece,
nephew and grandparent was there, save three. On the rare, precious occasions
when I find myself amongst the wider, greater, abundant Grobler clan, I always
feel dwarfed by – in awe of – this amazing family, and I so wish we could all
be in geographical proximity far more often, and I know that I am immensely
rich.
We met Paul and Sue in Swellendam
for a night, then stayed on, just the four of us and Lola, to pick berries,
picnic, splash in rivers and generally explore the splendid towns and countryside
of the Western Cape. The definition of nuclear
family is father plus mother plus kids. Which is terribly mediocre. I would
say the nuclear family is a solid, unseen place that is always home. I would
say it’s the place where I am happiest and most myself, that it’s the crux of
life, and that I store most of my love in its walls.
Then it was on to Nature’s Valley and adoring cousins who dragged Scott everywhere and elicited his continuous laughter and my sisters who babysat while we walked on the beach at sunset and my mom whose bedtime reading stamina is matched only by Cam’s insatiable hunger for stories.
#2
Cam and Scott
We couldn’t keep the boys out of the
water and we happily resigned ourselves to a very soggy, salty, sandy, SPF 30 holiday!
Typical holiday activities like sleeping late, reading on the beach, or going
for long mountain walks, didn’t even feature on this holiday’s horizon. But we
are just so enjoying our two little boys who are, as Murray puts it, ‘small and
snuggly’, and such striking symbols of vitality.
Scott walks everywhere, all the time. Quietly.
With great stealth, clear intent and moderately calculated risk. He is clever,
dangerous, and world-record-breakingly gorgeous. (Last night while I lay voluntarily
incapacitated in the bath with conditioner on my hair, he opened the kitchen
cupboards and delivered to me, one by one, six mugs. He carefully placed each
one on the edge of the bath, said ‘Ta!’ most politely, then turned around and padded
back down the passage to fetch the next one.)
It's still a gift every time I notice
Scott following a distant seagull's flight. And every time he catches my eye
across the room to give me a crafty raised eyebrow and a devastating smile. He has
already caught up and overtaken Cam in certain hand-eye coordination activities,
and we’re often quite aghast to realise just how different Cam’s journey is and
has been. Cam has started compensating for his vision by telling us what he
thinks we want to hear. Like when I ask him what he can see, he might say, ‘A
blue river and beautiful flowers!’ when the right answer would have been, ‘A road
and some grass.’ Still, he is unbelievably brave and resilient, dusting himself
off as if it’s the most normal thing in the world when he misjudges a depth or
trips over something, and his tears over a graze or a bumped forehead are
standard three-year old lamentations and scarcely tinged with self-pity.
We had some fascinating conversations with
Cam. Because of Tom and Deb’s wedding, he asked me a lot about marriage. Once I
had explained that in fact he couldn’t marry me, I told him that when he is all
grown up Jesus will bring a beautiful girl into his life for him to love forever,
but that he needn’t worry about it just yet. He was quiet for a while then
asked, ‘When do I need to worry about
it?’ Throughout the holiday he often made mention of his ‘special little girl’
(= future wife) even saying that he would like to share his special little girl
with Scott. A hasty explanation of what one should and shouldn’t share with one’s
brother ensued.
Cam also asked us (again), ‘But how do
we get to heaven when we die?’ Murray
produced a superb toddlerised metaphysical explanation of how Jesus will come
and fetch us, leaving our old/sick bodies behind and giving us new ones in
heaven and that no one in heaven ever gets tonsillitis or ear infections. A thoughtful
pause. ‘Will there be a toilet there in case we need to wee?’
Cam is not all theology and philosophy,
though. At the Carols by Candlelight, he danced and clapped passionately, and when
I sneaked in a bit of Boney-M iPod time on the way back from the beach he
wouldn’t get out the car, staying to listen to Mary’s Boy Child and then asking me to play it again so that we
could dance to it.
He’s also not all good. Yesterday he poured
2 litres of engine oil into the car and over the driveway. But as quick as he
is to cause trouble or throw a tantrum, he is also quick to apologise and offer
help (e.g. ‘Grandpa, if you get tired of driving I can just take over…’).
#3
Mary Poppins art
I’m useless when it comes to all things
artistic. I barely know which end of the paintbrush to hold. I can’t tell the
difference between what is officially good art and officially bad art. But to
me, for as long as I can remember, a painting is good if it makes me want to
dive inside it and be there – the way Mary Poppins and the chimney sweep guy
and the two kids magic themselves into the chalked picture on the pavement in
the movie. My (actual) Christmas present from Murray was a breath-taking oil
painting of the mountains, beach and sea of Nature’s. Now, when we walk on the
beach, I can say, ‘We’re inside my painting!’ And now, when I need to solve the
world’s problems, I can magic myself into the realm behind the wall of our
lounge and be there because it’s amazing how many solutions you can come up
with if you walk the length of your favourite beach.
#4
Restless rest
We didn’t get to catch up on sleep. Apparently,
Scott wakes up a lot on the plateau, and he also wakes up a lot at sea level. It
wasn’t really a restful holiday in the traditional sense of the term. Yet
somehow the distractions of fresh air and sunshine and raucous splashing and giggling
and eight spirited cousins together in one house make for a system reboot of
sorts. Restless thoughts of a year past and a year to come somehow find a place
to land.
#5 Timeless things
Like reading The Enchanted Wood to the boys at bedtime.
It’s the same copy that my sisters and I
would take to bed with us decades ago, breathlessly excited to discover – and then
re-discover as we read it over and over – which land was at the top of the Faraway
Tree. Cam is transfixed. Living himself into those gnarled magic branches. Just
like I did. Still do. (Scott is less transfixed. Wide blue staring eyes. Rhythmic
sucking as he consumes litres of soporific milk.)
And like Christmas at Nature’s.
Some windows are lit up as the sun goes
quiet and pink behind Robberg and the sea turns silver. There are sunburnt kids
on bicycles and golden retrievers and surfboards and barefoot smiling greeting people
and soft-treading locals. You feel very here-and-now – present – but the past reminds you that it’s there too with memories
on every breath of the sea and forest. This is where the ashes of my
grandparents lie buried beneath a yellowwood. This is where my parents were
teenagers in love. This is where I was a teenager in love. We take our picnic
mats to Carols by Candlelight at the lagoon and it’s all at once lovely and
overpoweringly beautiful and strangely sad for me and it’s one of the final road
markers in my year. Then it’s Christmas morning and the chaos of wrapping paper
and sheer delight and church and more family arriving and lunch. Then the
aftermath and again strange sadness.
Here’s something I wrote earlier in the
year.
Nature’s Valley
Season
by season
We
come
And
have come –
Tide
in, tide out
Of
generations;
Lives
linked by a timeless tranquillity
That
binds and transcends
Age
and infancy
Season
by season
We
come
Bringing
our stuff of the year –
Our
own fires, floods, droughts,
Splendid
sunsets, tender rains –
To
contemplate in the mirror of your own
To
leave on your shores
To
sigh into your forests
Season
by season
We
come
To
cry and rest and laugh and let the
Salt
splash waves crash
Drown
the clamour of city thoughts
Season
by season
We
come
To
marvel breathless at His fingerprints
On
iridescent feathers flowers skies and stars
And
on each other
Season
by season
We
come
To
remember why we hope.
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