I miss my memories
I miss my diaries. Being back home has put me in touch with not just many people but many places and half-memories that I know I had recorded in those tattered 320 page exercise books that are gone.
Talking with people from Flinders Peak and even from primary school I am reminded of how little I actually remember. Yet I always credit myself with having a fantastic memory.
Surely my lifestyle hasn't been so destructive? ...
But, memories or not, it is wonderful being home. I try to see it all as new, as through B's eyes, but most often I can't. It's too familiar for me to disconnect.
Since I've bothered to write here, we had a week in Sydney that was unreal yet all too real with poor Mel being sick with pregnancy. I am happy to report however, that the wall of silence with Harley has come down, and he even learned my name. Very flattering. He is a beautiful boy, reckon he'll be a heartbreaker :-)
When we climbed the Harbour Bridge in a cool-ish Sydney twilight, despite the ridiculous height of the thing I hardly noticed my fear (except on the ladders) and instead was awestruck by the magnitude of the thing. What it took to build it, what a symbol it is for Sydney. I'm not a Sydney girl, but even I felt the great pride that such an icon lends a place. We are so lucky.
B and I walked our feet properly off in that week, and then spent evenings with Ross and Harley, eating amazing dinners and relaxing in their Engadine nook.
Back in Melbourne we're taking it a bit easier, partly because of finances, partly the (wonderful) rain, and partly because we are both doing a bit of work and one can't forever be the tourist.
On our return from Sydney we met up with Dale and the gang for his 'rally driving' experience, which for me (and most others except Dale) turned into a champagne fuelled Sunday Session. It was hazy and wonderful.
On Tuesday I repeated the overdose at Emma's house over a fantastic beefsteak tartare, with Timea and Keir there too, subjecting both Keir and B to a magnificent selection of 80's tunes.
Come Wednesday, and I decided to stay off the piss until Christmas time, so last night's James Bond themed poker game was fuelled by Maison sparkling grape juice and Appletizer. And I won $24! Not a bad return on my little purple fiver!
Geelong today. I don't look forward to it, but that's not because of dad. In any case, at least B and I are, as ever, pretty wonderful on our big adventure
...
and speaking of memories, we're back from Geelong where I was wallopped with a doozy. Dad (and of course Margo) had not warned us, that we were not, in fact, invited to a simple Sunday lunch, but rather to Arany's birthday party, in full feast mode. Shit!!
So I walked into the house feeling not too happy with the situation, and then I saw here. Varga Marika, the old lady from Corio who was a great friend to Mum and a wonderful babysitter to me. She and her dog cuddles were willing audiences to my somersaulting and cartwheeling in her lounge room (I was much smaller then) and waited and baked with us before Dad came out to Australia.
I saw her, and she saw me, and did a genuine double take and then I was hugging her smoky little body and fighting back tears. I almost managed it, but it took me a good two minutes before I could utter a word.
She was the highlight of the visit, as was Dad, as ever. In small doses he is a wonderful, eccentric, embarrassing delight!
On the train back, while reading Don Watson's account of Keating's Redfern speech, and listening to Carmen, I stole long looks out the train window at the flat sparse countryside I love so much. Interesting that post-non-alcoholic evening I still feel bloody emotional! I just feel so grateful all the time. (And now I'm working.)
...
Talking with people from Flinders Peak and even from primary school I am reminded of how little I actually remember. Yet I always credit myself with having a fantastic memory.
Surely my lifestyle hasn't been so destructive? ...
But, memories or not, it is wonderful being home. I try to see it all as new, as through B's eyes, but most often I can't. It's too familiar for me to disconnect.
Since I've bothered to write here, we had a week in Sydney that was unreal yet all too real with poor Mel being sick with pregnancy. I am happy to report however, that the wall of silence with Harley has come down, and he even learned my name. Very flattering. He is a beautiful boy, reckon he'll be a heartbreaker :-)
When we climbed the Harbour Bridge in a cool-ish Sydney twilight, despite the ridiculous height of the thing I hardly noticed my fear (except on the ladders) and instead was awestruck by the magnitude of the thing. What it took to build it, what a symbol it is for Sydney. I'm not a Sydney girl, but even I felt the great pride that such an icon lends a place. We are so lucky.
B and I walked our feet properly off in that week, and then spent evenings with Ross and Harley, eating amazing dinners and relaxing in their Engadine nook.
Back in Melbourne we're taking it a bit easier, partly because of finances, partly the (wonderful) rain, and partly because we are both doing a bit of work and one can't forever be the tourist.
On our return from Sydney we met up with Dale and the gang for his 'rally driving' experience, which for me (and most others except Dale) turned into a champagne fuelled Sunday Session. It was hazy and wonderful.
On Tuesday I repeated the overdose at Emma's house over a fantastic beefsteak tartare, with Timea and Keir there too, subjecting both Keir and B to a magnificent selection of 80's tunes.
Come Wednesday, and I decided to stay off the piss until Christmas time, so last night's James Bond themed poker game was fuelled by Maison sparkling grape juice and Appletizer. And I won $24! Not a bad return on my little purple fiver!
Geelong today. I don't look forward to it, but that's not because of dad. In any case, at least B and I are, as ever, pretty wonderful on our big adventure
...
and speaking of memories, we're back from Geelong where I was wallopped with a doozy. Dad (and of course Margo) had not warned us, that we were not, in fact, invited to a simple Sunday lunch, but rather to Arany's birthday party, in full feast mode. Shit!!
So I walked into the house feeling not too happy with the situation, and then I saw here. Varga Marika, the old lady from Corio who was a great friend to Mum and a wonderful babysitter to me. She and her dog cuddles were willing audiences to my somersaulting and cartwheeling in her lounge room (I was much smaller then) and waited and baked with us before Dad came out to Australia.
I saw her, and she saw me, and did a genuine double take and then I was hugging her smoky little body and fighting back tears. I almost managed it, but it took me a good two minutes before I could utter a word.
She was the highlight of the visit, as was Dad, as ever. In small doses he is a wonderful, eccentric, embarrassing delight!
On the train back, while reading Don Watson's account of Keating's Redfern speech, and listening to Carmen, I stole long looks out the train window at the flat sparse countryside I love so much. Interesting that post-non-alcoholic evening I still feel bloody emotional! I just feel so grateful all the time. (And now I'm working.)
...
posted by BanAnna at 12/13/2008 03:38:00 pm
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