Happy sad at Silversands

'Wabi-sabi is an intuitive appreciation of a transient beauty in the physical world that reflects the irreversible flow of life in the spiritual world...that finds a melancholic beauty in the impermanence of all things.'      (Andrew Juniper) 

This philosophical concept feels like it fits the mood I'm in right now. We are sitting here tired and happy in the vast view of blues and greys and golden sands. That is me and Rachel and the three exhausted dogs. Here is the North Norfolk coast, the vastness is the beach as Hunstanton and we are sitting in the wonderful house that is Silversands.
This place has, for many years, been a place of adventure, escape and refuge for my family and 'other animals'. We have been coming here since 1970 when a trip here would mean hours spent jumping off the high sand dunes and digging for treasure on the beach with an assortment of friends that would join us here. Long horse rides on the never ending sands, cricket on the dunes' edge and long rain swept, wind swept, snow swept, sun drenched dog walks. This really is the essence of being here for me... the best, bleakest most brilliant dog walks in the world.

A friend of my mother's owns this amazing house which sits, like a lookout post surveying the vast Wash below.

Reflection on the view in the window

 To be in the house is to be in the view, and to be in the view is to be on the beach and to be on the beach is to be the tiniest speck of a person in the biggest expanse of golden sand, slate grey and sometimes blue sea. Wrapped up against the Easterly winds, crunching over delicate sea shells, long and sharp, mirroring the sunset hues that splash across the evening sky. Did I mention how huge the skies are here? Like a reflection of the land they go on and up for ever, playing host to the dazzling sea birds that arc and dance and cut through them to visit the rich feeding grounds of the sea's edge and the salt marshes behind.

For me this place has always been special. The serendipity of my mother being offered some time here all those years ago has been one of the defining parts of my small family's life. Year after year we would pack our holiday hopes and luggage and drive up in my mother's tiny car. 

1975 ish, me James, Thomas and Jo

We would come up here mostly with friends, the house is too beautiful not to want to share it with those we love. But then some 10 years ago things changed and it was no longer possible to rent it. Heart broken we had our last holiday up here, a wonderful Christmas and then 10 years of no Norfolk.

A couple of weeks ago things with my treatment seemed to come to a head. It appeared that the lymphoma wasn't responding to the chemo, and the prospect of more gruelling months of chemo looked likely before we could even think about the next stage and stem cell treatment. Rachel just casually mentioned as we sat gloomily thinking about the what ifs...."wouldn't a few days in Norfolk be just perfect right now?"

That sowed a seed for me...a tiny little hope that maybe we could go up to Norfolk again.... I mentioned this to mum and she called up her friend who still owns this house but due to various complications no longer is able to rent it out... a tentative request for a visit here. My mother's friend sensed that all was not well and when my mother told her what was going on with me she responded with "of course Nicola should go back up there!" This was the most amazing gesture and so generous of Sue to offer us this place again.

And so we are here, I surprised Rachel..in fact she didn't know where we would be staying until we drove into the long gravel drive and sat right outside the house.. tears in her eyes she was incredulous and overwhelmed. It was the best thing to happen in that day which, until that moment, had been taken up with a rather horrible bone marrow biopsy followed by a long and uncomfortable car journey.

Days later and the magic of Silversands is slowly helping to numb the thoughts of the other part of my life, the needles and treatment, the not knowing what will be next. A week ago I had the bone marrow biopsy, and I was hoping, by now, to have the answers. However the results have been inconclusive...not enough cells in the biopsy apparently so they need to try some more tests on the slides or maybe even do another biopsy under CT guidance. But that's all for another day, another week. In the meantime, my mother and some family friends have come and gone whilst Rachel went to see her family for a few days to do a run for the Lymphoma Association... and now we have a few days left here. We will swim some more in the shallow sea (don't tell my oncologist!!), we will eat the best breakfasts in the world, we will walk and walk and walk with the dogs along the flat sands into the distant views where the sky and sea converge. We will watch long legged birds tiptoe across the muddy creeks. We will drink wine and eat fish and mostly will enjoy this gift of escape that we have been given...eat it and drink it up.

We will be entirely happy and content with a lightness that 
feels good, but at the same time we will of course feel a sense of melancholy and a weight - a happy sadness or a sad happiness. Both feelings co-existing but neither too much for or overwhelming the other. It is how it needs to be right now....the Japanese have a word for this ...wabi-sabi, 'accepting the imperfect and transient nature of life.'  As I write this the rain is pouring down outside our huge window onto the view.

 Today has been a day of perfect blue skies and warm May sunshine, a day of sunny dog walks and sitting out and reading in the garden. But it has also been a day of towering rain clouds, some of which have passed over the sea displaying their might and power over the slate grey water and sometimes over us. A perfect day touched with imperfections...a day that has somehow mirrored our feelings.
Acknowledging this and coming to terms with this emotion feel like powerful concepts to me and to Rachel at this stage in our journey, and understanding and embracing this, I think, will be liberating. So here's to celebrating the imperfect, here's to enjoying the rain, knowing that it will pass!