Sunny Sunday

Sundays are currently strange but magical days. In the morning we go to the little synagogue we seem to have joined (not much choice in Wellington which has two little synagogues—one liberal and one conservative). There, the kids have Sunday school with a woman who must be the most beautiful rabbi in the world—a woman about 40, with lovely wavy blonde hair and an easy laugh. She looks like a California girl, but she was born in Dupont Circle, about half a mile from where I grew up. The kids stay with her and the other kids and teachers and Michael and I—or Michael and Rob and I—go out for breakfast. This morning again we went to a place where they serve magical food. I had poached eggs on sautéed spinach on crispy hashbrowns and covered with hollandaise (I can hear you moaning from here Dad—these are just one 24 hour trip away from Augusta!). Michael and Rob had meals almost as perfect. We sat in the restaurant and moaned and drank coffee and talked about how wonderful our lives were.

Then—after a quick stop by my office and a quick hello to R who shouldn’t be working on a Sunday but does anyway—we picked the kids off and whisked ourselves back up the coast to finish putting the finishing touches to get the place ready for our billionth open house. The house isn’t selling yet, but there’s no good reason for that. When Rob and Michael and I are finished, it gleams and shines so much you just can’t believe anyone is stupid enough to sell it. On a day as perfect as today, with azure skies and hot sun and cool breezes, the whole house opens up, all the windows unfolding—in some cases whole walls unfolding—until it becomes one magnificent shady space to sit and welcome the sea breezes. Seriously—you’d have to be crazy not to want to buy this place. So we left the perfect house and walked up the perfect beach to do our surf club penance. Even in early November when it was freezing and rainy, I knew that mostly surf club would have this feel—forced time to sit and do nothing on a sunny warm beach while Naomi ran up and down and did her workout and learnt her ocean swimming skills. Little girls took turns walking Perry up and down the beach, Aidan got to play in the sand for hours, and I got to meditate on the perfection of the soft waves, turning translucent and illuminated before curving into a water ring. Melissa and her daughter joined us, and J and his, and Karen came out from town to spend the afternoon and evening with us. We laughed and talked and dug in the sand (everyone other than Michael, Aidan and I went swimming). We couldn’t leave Naomi alone (surf club requirement) and we couldn’t go back home anyway (open house) so we sat on the beach for hours. If you think you’re hearing any iota of complaint in that, you can retune your ear. There are any number of things it might not be fun to have to do, any number of places it’s not fun to wait for Naomi to finish an activity. This perfect Sunday on the beach, however, does not make the list!

We took extra kids home with us and Karen and I walked along the beach, marveling. Although it was just barely 5 when we got home, everyone was weak with hunger, so I opened the fridge full of leftovers and let the hordes descend. It was like locusts in my kitchen, sandy sun-pink children eating plate after plate of food and stuffing fruit after fruit in their mouths. Then, finally sated, we headed back down to the beach to boogie board in the slanting evening sun, the only sound the slapping of the waves and the occasional squeal of delight of a child who had made a particularly good run on the board.

This week will mark the beginning of our second Hanukkah in this country, and my first attempt at the annual meeting of the New Zealand Association for Educational Research, which I am desperately hoping I’ll like better than the American Educational Research Association meetings, which I abhor. And Saturday marks our New Zealand birthday—we’re one year old Kiwibergers then. We’ll keep you posted on birthday and Hanukah and all other summer festivities as the winter snows fall in the northeast. Want to come and visit us in the December summer sun?