In The Wet Of The Waves

2nd February 2013

We are on the beach at Beer.  Sun bouncing off the pebbles. My husband says, 

You are going to get your feet wet.

I’m taking photos of a flat scallop shell the colour of apricots, in the firing line of the tide.

But I love it when a rushing wave douses the brown suede of my boots. All for the sake of art. The shell disappears under the white froth of bubbles anyway.

All day I’ve been noticing how much I DON’T WANT stuff and how painful and pointless that is. So I have a little conversation in my head to make me think differently - not always successful though....

I don’t want my husband to not know what the dip stick is under the bonnet of his car.

Does he know what it is?

No.

So want him to not know.

Want what is, not what isn’t.

I don’t want to drive north, away from a cream tea when we are supposed to be heading south towards the cream tea. 

Are we driving north?

Yes.

Want it then.

Even for a second to want what is instead of what isn’t is like laughing in the wet of the waves instead of running from them......

Wanting is just an idea I’m attached to anyway - not the truth or anything like that....and in the end we both worked out how to check the oil level in my husband's car. Even if he does't know the word for dip stick.  Phoning a friend or the Renault garage usually works....