Back to the Beach

Since I have been back in Australia, I have been very successful in making many excuses for not getting back out to the beach and making some use of those surf classes I took. This week, I was in particular need of distraction from my project du jour, so much so that I actually summoned up the initiative to get back out in the water.

I have a surfing co-conspirator (don't worry - Partner-in-Crime knows that he's my favorite, but not my only accomplice), a fantastic friend who I met in surfing class. She and I are about evenly matched in surfing ability (that is to say, "poor to pathetic, but having a lot of fun") and ability to self-motivate. We both need to be held accountable for actually showing up for leisure time activity, so we're simply perfect for each other.

I got to the beach a bit before Surfing Cohort, so I plopped myself down for some sunbathing. To my great fortune, a class of young surfers, maybe 12 years old, or so, plopped themselves down directly behind me. I feigned sunbathing while I listened closely to the instructor's spiel. It was like getting a refresher course for free!

We ended up having a marvelous couple of hours paddling and bouncing around in the surf. Surfing Cohort managed to work her way onto her knees a few times, and I found ever more graceful ways to tumble off my board as I attempted to stand. We were eventually overtaken on two sides by classes of teeny grommets, whose skills far exceeded ours; and a pack of spatially-unawares-and-exceedingly-pale-Irish-tourist-bodysurfers too close behind for comfort. When you don't have any control over where your 9-foot minivan of a surfboard is going, it's much better to have a big section of the water to yourselves!

Far and away, the best thing I saw all day was a curly haired toddler with a surfboard:

His dad looked to be a good surfer, and he was baptizing the next generation. It reminded me of a theory I've devised that one day, when Partner-in-Crime and I have little Australian children, that they will:

a. be born blonde (even though neither of us or anyone in our families is blonde)

b. automatically be wearing cargo shorts, a khaki multi-pocket vest, and Crocodile Dundee hats (regardless of gender)

c. have Australian accents (imagine - first word: "g'day")

d. know how to surf, whether or not we take any part in teaching them

I'm sorry - that's a vastly stereotypical and silly image, but it makes me laugh whenever I think of it. If our kids are anywhere near as cute as the one above when they have their little surfboards, they can g'day me all they want.