It’s hot and the sun is shining like it only can in Queensland at the beginning of Summer, the water is freezing cold but the day is still. I look over at hubby, my brother & sister and their partners and smile at the fun we’ve had so far.
The picnic is nothing but a few scraps left for the birds to pick away at, the tennis balls are wet and covered in sand and each and everyone’s faces (especially the pale faces of Hubby & Jess) are rosy with the heat from the sun. I lie back on my towel, breathe deeply inhaling the salty sea air and consider how lucky I am…
Then it happens… The suggestion that will change the way I look at myself forever more.My younger sibilings suggest we trek over to the Rainbow Beach sand blow, climb it and slide down it. You know, like we used to when we were kids!
Before I could stop myself I let out a huge groan… Give up my afternoon of nothing but lazing about, the occasional dip in the ocean and I might have mustered the effort for a little more beach cricket. And I assume that I’m not alone in this but when I look around I note I’m out on a limb here and all alone. So we go.
And I don’t slide… I’m afraid, and tired and cranky. I sit on the side of the hill just past the bush entrance and watch them all take turns. I take some photos and enjoy the view. I berate myself for not having a go. And soon they are exhausted and it’s time to go home.
Flash forward to this evening and I come across the sliding day photos and they invoke the same feelings. Isn’t that strange how they can do that. They are beautiful and colourful and yet I cannot enjoy them as they remind me of the day I realised that I had lost the will to slide. And I grieve a little.
Suger 
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