the little king turned two on sunday and the whales came to the party. it was the dark of the moon. we won’t get into the whole present thing that goes on except to point out that someone gave him two BMWs and someone gave him a bucket and spade and someone gave him an easel with blackboard ,whiteboard, magnetic and painting possibilities. and already he has dipped into the red the blue the yellow and the green making his mark on paper, with quiet determination and utmost seriousness a masterpiece appears . and why wouldn’t it be ? who says only adults can be artists ?
who and what is it that determines the merit of art ?
isn’t it heART feeling love.
he received a painting of whimsy by penny jones
teapots and teddy bears
clouds and puppy dogs.
bec painted him a journey,
a cosmic rainbow tale of meanderings
and wanderings and stories yet to be lived.
over a lemon and sugar pancake breakfast
with present opening
we turned our discussion to gender,
to nature versus nurture
to genes or culture.
is it that he loves cars because he is a boy
or because someone gives him thomas the tank engine stories hats and clothes?
how preset are we?
and no we haven’t figured it out yet.
I think back to the girls running wild here ,
grubby urchins with one eye on the pantry and what they could score,
another eye on regular market stalls on the back verandah to load up with cash.
once I offered them a gold coin to hop in the freezing Belllingen river
and they did.
they climbed trees swung off ropes
but never played with cars.
they loved fairies and magic wands
and drawing unicorns
but never looked at bikes or trucks.
there was phone calls from nanas and aunties and grandpas
all to celebrate the magical mystical journey called ‘growing up’.
off we went to mystery bay for a party picnic,
we took the hommous, the teapot, salads vege sausages and pork.
we lit a fire on the bank under the spotty gums and looked down onto the bay at ocean water clear and blue.
waves splashed spray over the rocks,
dogs kids frisbees,a cricket game
all at sunday play.
sunny and warm on the beach.
a sharp wind where we were.
two candles on a cupcake with a borage flower on top,
elsie rose stayed snoozing under the picnic blanket
and the bucket and spade went down to the beach
to build castles by the sea.
John fell asleep on the sand and Bec left to take her clothes off in the hall at Cobargo,
life modelling they call it.
and then when we were on our final cuppa
and the day was almost done
the whales arrived
just off shore
sliding their huge bodies with consummate ease thru the cold waters
blowing out fountains of spray
dreaming and singing their song
of living within the depths
of stars and tribes,
of births and deaths
of planetary changes.
if we listen really hard we can hear them sing their song
and now the song includes a verse of the day Kingston John turned two.
the story that goes before
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