One morning, my best friend, B, said to me: “I think we should visit Blakeney today.”
“Blakeney? Who’s Blakeney? I haven’t heard you mention this person before?”
“It’s a place, you dweet! It’s a gorgeous little coastal town with a creek running through it. It will give us a beautiful walk.”
So we set off for Blakeney. 

Blakeney was a commercial seaport until the early 20th century. The harbour has since silted up, and only small boats can now make their way out past Blakeney Point to the sea. The harbour and surrounding marshes are owned by the National Trust. It is a nature reserve and indeed that day we saw seals cavorting in the sea and basking on the shingle.

We got out of the car and I looked at the creek before us. It stretched as far as my eyes could see. We had timed it just right as the tide was out. The air tasted salty and fresh as we began to meander our way along the edge of the empty creek bed. The creek was filled with small boats impatiently waiting for the water to return them to the floatation they so enjoyed. Seagulls whirred above us.  The air buffeted my cheeks to a rosy glow. I smiled at our walk because we had to dodge puddles of sea water left in the creek by the tide. I had no wish to drench my cherished Veldskoen in soggy puddles. Laughing happily we zig zagged our way up the almost  empty creek bed.

What a charming little village Blakeney is. Cobbled streets and houses gazed contentedly back at us. Higher up the village, the Church of St Nicolas seemed to be waving it’s arms at me. Or should I say, the two towered church definitely seemed to beckon. I could almost see the towers giving little wiggles of invitation. It has two towers: the main tower is more than 100 ft (30 m) high and a well-known landmark for miles around; the smaller tower was built as a beacon to guide boats into Blakeney Harbour. At the time, I had no knowledge of how high the towers were. I was soon to find out!

Jesus says: “Whenever two or three people are gathered in my name, I am there also.”
I have been to a service in a little tin shack and God has been there too. But oh, how much more of an awesome thrill it is entering a beautiful church. I walked into the Church of St Nicolas which was constructed in the late 13th century and gave a sigh of satisfaction. The stained glass windows, the old tiled floor, the priest’s lectern shaped like an eagle, the specially crafted pews with a families crest embedded into the centuries old wood and the stupendous vaulted ceilings.
“Oh, B, the wonderful graveyard outside and this on the inside. I love St Nicolas’s Church!”
“Look here,” B said interrupting my rapture, “It says: ‘Tower Open’. Should we climb it?” she asked eagerly.
I looked at my right leg incased in its stern black brace and thought: ‘This brace makes me walk better. I’m sure I can manage a few stairs.’
“It will mean you going up slowly with me, but yes, why not?”
We opened the door and with me leading the way, we began the climb.

You couldn’t call them stairs. They weren’t big enough for that. Perches is what they were. Your foot perched on one before the next foot quickly moved up to the following perch. And they didn’t ever go straight. Oh, no, perish the thought of anything being that straightforward. No, your way was constantly curving round and round and, blast it, round. I felt like one of those pole dancers, her limbs constantly entwined around that ridiculous long shafted pole going up, up, and up. On my right was a rope which I grasped tightly the entire way. After having ascended a mass of curving steep perches, my eyes finally fell upon a door to my left.
“Thank the Pope, we’ve made it. Here’s the door!” I exclaimed.
“No, Gaynor, look the steps carry on.”
Being 40% blind, with no peripheral vision, my eyes had missed out on seeing the never ending curve to the right.
Flipping heck, B was correct! There were mountains of steps ascending to my right. My legs continued moving upwards.
“Oh, look, Gaye, we are as high as the second church tower.”
‘Look’,  you must be joking! My eyes were on one thing and one thing only. Getting to the top of these damned, constantly pole dancing perches.

I had no idea it would be such an incredible mission. I had thought we were climbing the second smaller tower. ‘Pah’, inwardly I grunted in disdain, the smaller tower would have been easy! I continued my uphill struggle with sheer determination. No damned church tower was going to get the better of me. I came around the corner to be met by this large brown door.
“I think we have made the top!”

I heaved the big brown door open to be met by a roof surrounded by open blue sky and two old people!!! One of them was a very large man. How did he manage to get himself get round those small, tight, curving coils of corners? This is an unsolved mystery to me! They greeted us with friendly smiles and continued to talk amongst themselves. B and I moved to the tower wall and looked out at the beautiful country side spread before us. I looked at the smaller church tower that we had passed on the way up with a little self satisfied contempt. We could see miles and miles of green countryside that led to the creek and the sea. So beautiful I wanted to cry.

I also wanted to cry at the thought of going all that way down. I am always rather dicey at going down steps, never mind perches! B went ahead of me so that she could break my fall if it happened! I was determined to count the steps. I wanted to know just how many there were!
It took us an absolute age. I truly admired B. This is the kind of thing she does regularly in the mountains. Now, here she was going ever so slowly because of yours truly!
We finally came around the last curve, opened the door and were out.
We had coiled and twisted on three hundred and eighty steps.
Three hundred and eighty perches!!!

I could barely walk. I had used muscles that had happily been sleeping for years.
But I was so proud of myself.
I FaceTimed Mums and she gave a full, delighted laugh when I told her of my days expeditions.
“My goodness, I am thinking of the doctor who told me you would never walk again. Not only did you stroll over Blakeney marshes but you also climbed to the top of a church tower. How I wish that doctor could see you now. Well done, my Girl.”

I guess the thing to do is never to limit yourself. By limiting yourself, you are creating boundaries. I have a Mother that didn’t believe that I should lie in bed, facing the wall. Why shouldn’t Gaynor learn to ‘dance’ again???
I give so much thanks for that kind of thinking. Because of that thinking I am able to wander up a creek bed with my best friend.

I am able to experience the heady delight of standing at the top of a church tower!

The post The Blakeney Climb! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Leaving my home in George, there are naturally things that I will miss. Here are a few pictures of the things that will pull at me whilst being away:

I will miss Mums obviously. FaceTime will be running between us regularly!
Mums has just celebrated her birthday!
Mums was so sickly I never thought she would reach her 50th birthday. What joy the family had, marching into her bedroom, with a tea tray, roses and presents on her 81st birthday. We partied the day away!!!

It is Perdita, my little ageing wire haired dachshund, that I will long for. 
After I leave, Perdita apparently sits by the front door waiting for my appearance. For three days. On the fourth day, she gives up, abandons the door and promptly settles in to her new home.

Every night, I go to sleep with Perdita tucked into my side and Spencer, my cockatiel, muttering beneath his covered cage on my left. I just adore sharing my flat with Spencer. Every morning, with Perdita crouched on my lap, Spencer comes out of his cage and has an exploratory walk around my bed.
I look so forward to going back to his bed walk explorations.

We have a coffee house in George, Ground Control.
The coffee and carrot cake are ambrosial. I had to think quite seriously about going overseas. No Ground Control carrot cake for almost a month!!!

Every morning I gaze up at my George mountain and am perpetually astounded by such incredible ‘God-made’ beauty!!!

My friend, Jans, introduced me to succulents.
She came round with a glorious windmill, beautiful rocks she had picked up at the beach, and my first fleshy, multi-coloured succulents. I have added more as time has moved on.  How I love letting Perdita out every morning and perusing my sensational plants. I wonder how they will change during these weeks of separation?

I’m leaving Perdita with Mums and her best friend, Brendan. How I adore that little black and tan bundle of lively mischief. He is so good for Perdita. He is forty-eight dog years old and Perdita is one hundred and five. With his youthful vigour and zest, he keeps my ‘little old lady’ on the go. My best thing is watching them sleeping together. He rests his chin on Perdita’s back as they drift into the world of dreams.

I will love my time in England. I will be seeing special places but even better, I will be reconnecting with people I love that mean so much to me. 

And then….I will go home.

This quote sums up my feelings exactly:

“The magic thing about home is that it feels good to leave, and it feels even better to come back.”
Wendy Wunder, The Probablily of Miracles

The post There’s no place like home! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

“The sea is emotion incarnate. It loves, hates and weeps.

 Five years after my fall, I went on holiday to the Virgin Islands.

The sea stretched as far as the eye could see. It was spellbinding in it’s beauty. It’s colour varied from a deep purply blue to cool turquoise. Why wasn’t our South African sea these vibrant colours, I wondered. We moored our boat alongside a coral reef. I had been lent flippers, mask and snorkel. I had never snorkelled before and was both excited and a little nervous. My friends gave me a thumbs up, turned to the water and flooop, they were gone! 

Flooopassshhhhh!!!! I splashed into the water with a little more vigour than the others. When the bubbles from my entrance had cleared, a world that was wonderfully new opened her arms and embraced me. I have no words to aptly describe the life that was revealed. In the Virgin Islands, the seawater is transparently clear. The sea life is both luscious and delicate. Part of me wished for a camera to capture the enchantment of the environment that dipped and danced before me. The exotic fish that swirled around, beneath and above me were mesmerising. What was so exhilarating was that underwater, everyone, like me, was deaf!  I thought that there was no way to capture this experience. It was too vast and other worldly. I must simply be in the moment and remember.

In Peter Veysie’s sermon last Sunday, he conjured up this twenty-three year old memory of the Virgin Islands, when he spoke of his time snorkelling in Israel. He spoke of a world of devastating beauty that you only become aware of when you don a pair of goggles and snorkel and venture into the ocean. Wham! The underwater beauty hits you full on. He said that often people are like this. When we encounter people, we often tend to only see what they present to us. Look closer, search deeper, dive into them and their beauty will hit you like a dynamic force! 

This beauty within is a mind blowing thing to behold. And you don’t even need a snorkel and goggles!

B and I have a friend, Moira. We actually met Moira in church. Both B and I are deaf so we always sit in the second row. The first two seats in the second row are taken by a lovely lady, Dot and then there’s Moira who sits next to me. We love seeing what Moira is wearing. She is an eighty year old who arrives in these wonderful trouser suits. Whatever the colour – orange, purple, green or pink, everything matches. She is a sheer delight! 

Last week, through WhatsApp, I discovered that she had cancer and was in hospital. I received a message from B who had also just got the WhatsApp news:

“I’m coming past your place. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go see Moira together.”

Moira’s face broke into an enormous smile when she saw us. I gave her a tight hug.

“I am so sorry, Moira,”I said, “what a complete bummer! Whereabouts is the cancer?”

“It’s everywhere. They’ve done tests and will tell me properly later. But enough of me, tell me, did you have a wonderful time overseas?”

B and I spoke a bit about my trip to visit her and John. Then Moira said: 

“I have also just been overseas to England. Do you know,” she said with sparkling eyes, “this was the first time I have ever left Africa.”

“Moira!” B gasped.

“And I had the most splendid time. My family took me to London, Scotland and the Lake District. Oh, what a marvellous holiday we had.”

We spoke to Moira as we had never done before. I saw this gutsy lady with a sense of humour who, in spite of everything, has retained a deep love of life. When we finally left the hospital, the smell of the ocean hung over B and me. Mentally I flung our snorkels and flippers into the back of the car. 

I am fortunate to know Nisha Varghese. She has cerebral palsy and spends her life in a wheelchair. Physically she battles. But, deep within her depths beats the most incredible compassionate heart. She could be bitter, miserable and depressed. Instead she spends her time striving to improve the lives of others by raising money for various charities. Whenever I read one of her Facebook posts, I can hear the sea waves echoing as they crash onshore. I can also see the wonder and enchantment below the sea. A glorious place that quite definitely belongs to Nisha. 

Last week, I watched Princess Eugenie get married. The bride got out of the car in this exquisite bridal gown. Prince Andrew, her father, took her arm as she mounted the steps of St George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle. The dress had a low cut back and you could clearly see this long scar running down her spine. It was from an operation she had when she was much younger as a result of Scoliosis. I loved the fact that she hadn’t chosen to hide it. What she was saying was: ‘Yes, I have a scar but that is part of what makes me who I am. And I feel beautiful today!’

I am reminded of Edith Egers’ words in her magnificent book The Choice:’Maybe to heal isn’t to erase the scar or even to make the scar. To heal, is to cherish the wound.’

Princess Eugenie was certainly cherishing her wound. Since the wedding, people around the world have been empowered not to be ashamed of their scars. After all, they are only skin deep!

As Princess Eugenie said: “I think you can change the way beauty is.”

A shoal of fish darted in amongst the pink coral. Their gold and black stripes seemed to laugh at the starfish as they spun on their way. The sea anemones looked on nodding approvingly.

I have not been as brave as Princess Eugenie. 

As a result of my fall, my body changed. Because of my spasticity, I walk with a limp and have an unruly arm that does its own thing. I also have a squonk eye and wear two cochlear implants to deal with my deafness. Aware of these imperfections, I am constantly striving to hide them. 

Last week, a pharmacist turned to serve me and gave a gasp. 

“Cochlear Implants!” she exclaimed, pointing at my head.

My hand shot up to my Cochlear Implant that is normally hidden by my hair. Blast, it was showing.

“How wonderful! Would you mind just waiting a moment?” she asked. “Lene, Lene, come here quickly?”

A young woman appeared from behind the shelves.

“This is my daughter, Lene,” she said, “and I want to show her your Cochlear Implants. We have been told that Lene needs them. She has been unbelievably apprehensive. But look,” she said to her daughter, “look how neat they are. There’s nothing frightening or ugly about them at all.”

Lene came closer and gave my Cochlear Implant devices a thorough inspection.        

“I was totally deaf for 18 years,” I said, “These Cochlear Implants re-opened the world to me. What is incredible is what is hidden between my skull and my skin. Twenty-two electrodes!  These pick up the vibrations travelling through my Cochlear and transmit messages to my brain. The whole thing is an almost uncanny, magical miracle. I am now able to hear things that were lost to me for years. Lene, don’t be apprehensive. Greet your Cochlear Implants with joy.”

As I left the chemist I saw reams of fish, scatter through the waves in front of my minds eye. And I laughed. I must remember that it is what is underneath the water that is important. Underneath Lene’s water and underneath mine.

I hope that people, on meeting me, are diverted from all of my imperfections. I would like them to put on metaphorical snorkels and goggles and plunge beneath the surface. Together we can investigate the beauty that exists in the hidden depths of life’s great ocean. 

We can explore each other. Finding the beauty beneath the surface.

This kind of beauty is ravishing!

The post The Beauty Beneath!!! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

There

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The lead photo and the aquatic photo we taken by Benjamin Jones. You can see more at https://wanderlusters.com

The post Worlds within Worlds! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

TICK…TOCK…TICK…TOCK…TICK…
You can’t speed up or slow down time. It just carries moving regardless, relentlessly pressing on…and on…and on…
TICK…TOCK…TICK…TOCK…TICK…
I have just spent a blissful night with the beautiful Cassie Bassett nee Holliday and her lovely family. I recall performing in a show with Cassie’s Mum, Shelagh Holliday. One Sunday the cast was invited around to Shelagh’s house for a beautiful lunch. It was there that I met Cassie. She was in her final year of school. What totally captivated me about Cass that day was that

she was trundling around their massive garden in this small red car. We were eating outside. Cass would drive to us all under the trees in the car. “Mum has sent out these snacks for all of you. She’s just adding some broad beans to the salad.” She would pass us this delicious array of treats and then she and the little red car would trundle off back to the house once more.
I am so glad I remember that first meeting.

Roseanne, Cassie’s eldest daughter is now sixteen. A year younger than Cassie was when first we met! How can time move so fast? TICK…TOCK…TICK…
I remember as a child going to bed the night before my birthday, a bundle of excitement. I could not wait for my birthday morning to arrive! The whole family would come into my bedroom, singing Happy Birthday, carrying a mass of presents. Why did that night simply rolled ponderously on and on? Why did it take such a long time? I would switch on my light and glare at my watch which revealed that only twenty-two minutes had passed since the last time I had looked at that dratted dial. Why did time move so SLOWLY?
After my accident, I would get so frustrated at the slowness of time. I would battle with my therapy, day after day. I would long for time to move on. I wanted my face to return back to normal. I wanted to be able to walk better. I wanted more control over my spasticity. I didn’t like being where I was. I wanted time to move on. And quickly!
TICK…TOCK…TICK… I remember when my Mother turning fifty, thinking to myself: ‘Whew, fifty is soooo old.’ In July I turn fifty-three. How dare time move so fast! Why is it that the older one gets the faster time seems to vanish? It disappears down a long, deep hole and try as you might, you can never stop it going. You can never get it back. I get so furious with the pace of time. I see people getting older. I know that soon they will leave this earth. I don’t like that. I don’t want people I love to disappear from my life. I want everyone to remain in their place. I now want my world to stand still. But in this Life of ours change is inevitable! Time moves on.
I believe that the only thing to do is to live each day fully. To smile more and make others smile. To be aware of and make the most of all of our senses. To greet each day with an openness and optimism. After all, it is through time passing that wondrous things can occur. An ugly, hairy caterpillar can be transformed into a light, incandescent butterfly!
TICK…TOCK…TICK…TOCK…TICK…

The post Tick…..Tock…! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

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