Sat 4th September 2010
What a topsy turvy ride life can be for today has been the absolute antithesis to yesterday. Yes, there have been the customary stabs of hunger, the habitual bitterness towards a sun still to set, but other than that the day has been delightful. Thanks in no small part to Mustafa, who wins Husband of the Day. Sadly, he can not be here to accept this award, so I will say a few words on his behalf.
It was a luxuriously slow start to the day. No toddlers or nursery or anything else to pack ourselves off to, so after yesterday’s continuous tantrum tirade, I resigned myself to praising Baran for every little positive thing he did. “Oooh, look Baran, you can eat off a spoon so well . . . Oooh, look Baran, you’re such a good boy for getting the jigsaws out so nicely . . . Oooh, look Baran, you’re capable of opening a book . . .”. At every bit of praise, we visited his reward chart which consists of a glittery ladder with ten rungs and a homemade Bob The Builder figure with Baran’s head slapped on top of the legendary countenance of Bob himself. Baran was delighted to move the figure up a rung every time he did something good. The chart is new so he doesn’t yet realise that he will be rewarded with a treat when he gets to the top. The anticipation of that moment fills me with glee, and I cling to its potential power to help me with this enormous task of behaviour management.
After a bit of ladder action, Baran saw fit to wake his Dad who had been on yet another night shift, and I saw fit to suddenly decide that we would have a trip to the beach. The sun was shining, the air was clear and what we needed was some real family time. Much to my surprise, Mustafa eagerly agreed and before I knew it, we were packed into our tiny Punto with numerous spades, buckets, towels and picnic blankets. Needless to say, a picnic was sadly absent.
This was the first time we’d been to Findhorn beach. I can’t believe we have lived here for a year and a half and not sampled its delights before. It is stunning. I mean really gorgeous. Its people want to thank the heavens the weather is not any better because if it was, its soft sands would be emblazoned with sun loungers and water melon sellers. Instead, it is a vast, beautiful fusion of white and yellow-gold, decorated with stretches of smooth, multi-coloured pebbles and clusters of rounded sea shells. The sea was like a rich, blue-green slab of sapphire, lacerated with ever-rolling strips of foamy white. The wind was up too. Warm enough to enjoy. Cool enough to remind you of the sharp splendor of the Scottish elements.
Whilst I was taking all of this in, Baran was on a mission. To run across the entire width of the beach and explore every animal, vegetable or mineral that crossed his path. And lo and behold, he did not want me on this epic journey, but his father. So Mustafa suggested I have some time to relax while he went and did father and son bonding. Fine with me. More than fine actually. It was something close to magic seeing them enjoy each other’s company. It was something close to luxury, being allowed some time on my own, on my blanketed patch of sand.
Meditation has had some bad press, hasn’t it? I’ve dabbled in it a couple of times, I’ve run the risk of being labeled a weirdo and I’ve gone past the point of pins and needles in my meticulously crossed legs. But today, in my own private way, I think I slipped into it without realising. It was hard not to. I lay on my blanket on my back, palms facing upwards, the wind skimming each rise and fall of my breath. No matter who you are, I defy you to not be relaxed by the sound of gently lapping waves. There is something about that rhythmical hush-hush that speaks in an otherworldly way to the intrinsic working of our psyche. Before I knew it I was feeling peace wash over me. Deep emeralds and blushing crimsons flooded my mind and offered a sensual solace. Even if only for a few minutes. And even if I was later brought back to earth by a half-naked, snotty-nosed, sand-ridden toddler demanding a snack. He is my other world. A different type of meditation.
Tonight, I can’t help but reflect on the fact that Ramazan should, according to the Koran, allow Muslims to be directed away from worldly activities, and to be discouraged from indulging in unimportant, glutinous rituals. I am pretty damn sure, that if a picnic had been present on my little blanket today, there would have been no moments of peaceful meditation. Instead I would probably have been focusing on whether or not I’d eaten too many sandwiches (and most likely I would have done). So ignoring the hunger pangs and stretching out for a bit of time with the earth was far preferable, and far more beneficial. The silent conversation I had with myself, God, the universe, the elements or whatever, has made me feel better. It’s reconnected me with something good.
And it seems to be rubbing off. By the end of today, Baran had reached the top rung of his ladder for being such a good boy in every way, shape and form. As we speak, there is a bumper story book resting underneath the chart ready for his discovery in the morning. Me? I’ve got a full tum and have satisfied my tea craving for the evening. And my new meditation will be visualizing these last few days of Ramazan like a big, glittery ladder. If I can reach the top, maybe there will be treats for me too.
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