Leave your camera at home...

Another "Simple" layout. Journalling reads

"Jane’s in laws were visiting with her when Jules & I arrived at Te Horo and we all headed down to the beach for a walk. Now it’s a tricky thing, this camera. I get a lot of joy from taking photos but I also know that for me it’s quite a convenient “mask” when I’m finding it hard to stay present. The tricky part is working out when that’s an okay thing to do and when it’s going to give me more pleasure to just live the moment. For some reason I left the camera behind and it was definitely one of those times that just “being” was worth more than any photo or scrapbook page.
The beach itself is stunning – long, windswept and out to sea, Kapiti Island. In some ways it’s almost a little naff – everyone paints it and it’s as recognizable as the view to Rangitoto is to Aucklanders but who cares. It’s a view I know & comforts me.
Almost as predictable is the way people behave on the beach and the five of us on cue fell into our beach roles. The in-laws in their very “Wellington-Green” way, strode along the sand with purpose filling their plastic bag with rubbish. (Do you think they always carry a spare bag in their pockets for such beach recovery emergencies?) Jules zigzagged back and forth between the sand & surf searching for sea glass & treasures, poking bravely at the piles of kelp and, (she will kill me for saying this), with the look of a spaniel finally let off the leash and in sensory overload. As always I dawdled along with my usual sense of vigilance in a new place, ready to alert everyone to the possibility of tsunami or other natural calamity and keeping a close eye on the others trying to work out what it is that “normal” people do when they are on a walk.
Jane meanwhile sailed down the beach bemused. This was her beach, we were her family & she the indulgent matriarch, pointing out the best places to dig, quietly gathering driftwood to take home for later and calling us back every now and then to show us some tiny miracle she thought would either amaze or amuse us.
One of those moments she placed this tiny shell in my hand – brilliant blue and smaller than my littlest fingernail - telling me the colour would fade eventually “but isn’t it precious now”.
Yes it is Jane. It is still sitting on my desk, still blue, and every time I look at it I am back walking down the beach. Some days you just need to leave your camera at home."