On Sunday, I went and picnicked on the beach (is that an actual verb?). It’s the second winter in a row we’ve been able to picnic on the beach in January. I know all this climate change is not a good thing for the world, and Lebanese farmers are probably not too happy with it either, but I remember Januaries spent on top of those moveable gas heaters. You know, those heaters on wheels, and I’d roll them all around the house with me. I much prefer it like this.
It’s was a gorgeous Sunday to spend outside the house. You spent yours inside the house? Afraid of things that might come? Suckers. (sorry, couldn’t resist that)
SIL and some kids
We went to Amshit, SIL and I and a tribe of kids. A gentleman with a camera passed by, asking if he could make a picture of this extended family on the beach. He was compiling pictures for a book on Lebanon, and the relationship of Lebanese and the beach. I wonder what caption will feature under our picture. I could give you some scenarios. ‘While most Lebanese cower in fear at home, this brave young family spent its Sunday on the beach.’ Or ‘Oblivious to the turmoil in the country, this family . . . .”
A poem for this picture
Anyway, the weather was absolutely mellow, the sea calm, the beach empty and clean. There’s this old house in Amshit, right on the shore, surrounded be a veritable forest. It’s a beautiful house, looks like it was built in the twenties of last century; it has this Mediterranean Revival look. I’ve got my eyes set on that one, but am afraid that I won’t get past that stage; setting my eyes on it. Maybe I should play the lottery more often.
The kids decided to make good use of our empty wine bottles (sigh. Yes, I know, I know), and make a message in a bottle. I think they spent a good two hours on that. The finding of the paper (we didn’t have paper with us, they ended up using the wrapper of the bread), the writing and the launching didn’t take much time, but the bottles kept washing ashore. Onto our own private little beach, and that was of course not the plan.
Getting the message in the bottle
Let's go launch that message
Into the sea it goes
Let's see where it's floating to
Uh oh. It's floating back to shore.
When we left, we asked the kids, “So what address did you use?”
. . . . . .“Address? You didn’t tell us we had to write our address on it! What’s our address anyway?”
Aaaah, lovely. Lebanese kids, they don’t know what their address is.
“You mean an e-mail address?”
Well, if you find a Listel bottle with a message in it on the beach somewhere, send me in (e-mail) message, please.
1 comment:
Another winner..fantastic..and your kids are not the only ones who don't know their address!
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