Joy

There has been a lot of it around.

Honestly, I think the last time I was this cloudlessly happy was in 2005. And that was in Freo too.
Christmas this year has been magnificent. All about what it's supposed to be about. Love and sharing.

On 23rd, I had dinner at Sandy and Paul's with Mel and Ross and kids in attendance - and fell hopelessly in love with Lila. She is the sum of Mel and Ross (obviously), and just so serene and beautiful. Harley is "handsome" in his own words, and a wild little bundle of energy. Auntie Banana had a grand old time with Lila, wondering constantly if I was holding her correctly.
Those few hours reminded me how much I love spending time with S & P, and Ross reminded me how much I miss them. Sydney's not so far away, but far enough when the people you like to play with are there. So we'll be together at new year's and I can't wait.

Christmas Eve was, despite my lack of tree or presents or anything like that, heavy with expectation and zinging excitement.
I left work before lunchtime, and picked up some toxic coloured drinks for Betty from the Restore, and then enjoyed a long, sharply sunny relaxed lunch with Geoff, Joe and Shezza. Sun-loved and smiling I went to pick up Balint so we could head to Betty and Pete's for our big Hungarian Christmas Eve. B was resting, and the mood was odd and sad and constricting.

I said in the car that I didn't think spending Christmas Day together was a good idea, and the mood froze further. I am selfishselfishselfish - he said - and I could keep my cd (the pogues cd I bought him). I bit my tongue, I set my face and shut up and after we stopped for some ice in Lynwood, we both apologised, and arrived at the party smiling.

I have to say, Peter is a lucky fucker. Betty is the most amazing housewife I have ever come across (of our generation definitely). She does so much! Her and Emese made enormous efforts with the decorations, with the cooking, the baking... Our little band of Hungarians, plus Pat and I, the random Aussies, had an effortlessly happy time.
We even sang carols, without tears, and sang many more songs into an empty champagne bottle, and when that was mislaid, we got out candles to use as slim-microphones and carried on. And on. And on.
We ended the night in the pool, in various stages of undress and woke with a mildly nasty hangover, but well worth it. A painless Christmas.

I drove B home and shortly afterwards Shezza's inlaws picked me up and we went to Bateman, for a wonderful Australian Christmas. I am so touched that Jim and Cathy invited me into their home, included me in their family Christmas (I even got a little soap from Lush, and from Shez and Neil a blow-up toy dragon to use in the pool). It was wonderful. And Bruce, the well built old black pug, was everywhere, wheezing and pattering around on his stumpy legs.

We played in the pool, we played board games, Shez made mojitos, and we grazed through the day. It was relaxed and happy. I am even smiling as I type this.

M arrived from a two day drive from Newman and drove me home, and I opened the Fonty's Pool bubbly that Mum had bought in July to drink to celebrate my P plates. What a joyous way to finish the Christmas day.

On Boxing Day a group of us headed to White Hill Beach, which is a beach accessible only to 4wd's and which provided one of the wildest and most beautiful experiences of my life. I slept in the back of Land Cruiser, under a canopy of stars and a moon so bright it was like a spotlight hung in the sky.
There were games in the surf and fishing (goal in life: to be able to hold a fishing rod in one hand - need to get back into pump classes) and long walks and taking photos and sunset on the beach, with a cool gin tonic in hand, that made me feel like there was nothing in the world better than this. The day sinking into the Indian Ocean, spending lazy hours with good friends... perfection.

Yesterday I was the last to wake, everyone else was up at dawn to go fishing...and when I emerged bleary eyed at 7, there was coffee and the delectable remains of breakfast to greet me, and then a morning swim, interrupted only by a school of salmon.

Back home I lazed by the pool, then drove to the 'old neighbourhood' and was pummeled by the waves in City Beach. Walking back to the car, Geoff and I made a spontaneous decision to watch Conan. So the evening was spent with pizza, and Arnie and the gorgeous but infinitely aloof Tally. I was so tired on the drive home, but happy and after a wonderful sleep I woke at 6 and am now busily baking birthday cake.

Today is another beautiful day. Mum sent me a message just before bed yesterday - "never lose your playfulness" - and she's absolutely right!

. . .

What makes me happy

Having my P plates; being able to drive along not keeping an eye out for police cars, like this morning, in a beautiful morning, listening too loud to Bon Jovi, singing at the top of my voice.

Long empty roads...driving (holdens?)

Mornings make me happy.

The warm sea breeze that hit me with its glorious salty smell last night when I got off the bus, still buzzing a little with champagne, head full of pink lights and happy thoughts.

Being in Freo, feeling like I had never really left (in my heart I never really did).
Belonging makes me happy.

Sand underfoot makes me happy, just as being barefoot (almost) all the time

The kindness of strangers, and their unforgettable and unexpected gestures that suddenly catapult them into the friend sphere.

Safe friends make me happy.

People who smile back make me happy.
Summer.

Being loved makes me happy, and being free to love too.

Tim Tams and barbecues and laughing and hugs...

breathtaking new views, and dearly familiar ones.

cooking and baking and creating...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Christmas panic is starting to hit - I'm dinnering with Sandy and Paul, Mel and Ross and a multitude of beautiful children tonight- no mince pies made, no eggplant roasted, so I've got things to do and no time to do them... but I'm trying to keep the tide of panic at bay.

It is another beautiful day - there was some violent wind action last night, but still I slept the sleep of the licenced, happy and legal.

Blessed

I have to stop bitching about Christmas.

I have had the most beautiful few days, and people's kindness continues to amaze me.
On Thursday was the Christmas party at Mt Eliza, where much champagne was consumed. A happy bunch of us continued on at a couple of pubs in the city and I was reminded of what it feels like to go out. Good feeling. We also happened to bump into Joe's lovely wife, and I hope we can all get together for food (quelle surprise) at some point.

Then I went home and there were mega fireworks and much was said that shouldn't have been. By the grace of some guardian angels I made it to Freo and the big, empty house, and from that moment my weekend of bliss began.

On Friday I worked only half a day, my head couldn't cope with more, but I did some lazy shopping and marinated what should have been a great roast, but in my excitement I ended up taking it out of the oven far too soon.

On Saturday I had some help in getting my Learner Log Book signed off - and I bless M for his patience with that. We must have driven to six different places before we found somewhere with a JP. Then he dropped me at Pete and Betty's and I finally had some quality time with Pete when the two of us went to BCF and then to pick up the Delica from the mechanic's. I'm always so touched when Pete lets me drive his car. It means my skills have been approved.

Then back at the Lynwood Lodge we started drinking and Pete introduced me to Strongbow and Galliano. It sounds disgusting, but it went down a treat. Probably a little too well, because by about 8pm we were onto the German pop music.

After an early cooking session on the barbecue with the eggplants, I had some happy Anna hours to myself before M picked me up and we went to Hilary's and also drove around Padbury looking at houses I will never afford. Oh but the Pinnaroo Memorial Park- the kangaroos... so damn cute.

Pete and Betty came to dinner in the evening, and it was all very civilized and delicious and this morning Betty even came in to share coffee on the balcony, and look at the view and gossip.

So the reason I must stop bitching about Christmas, and why I am blessed have been small things that happened at work today. I came back from lunch to find a card and a box of chocolates from Steve, my boss of only two weeks. When I went to thank him, he said he thought it would be nice to do something because he knew I didn't have family here.
And earlier in the day Harry came up to see me. He said he's worried about me, and that he just wanted to make sure everything is okay. Then he sent me his number at home, and said although he knows I've probably got everything under control, he felt better if I had the number for emergencies.

I think this is my best Monday in months.

And the motorbike rider this morning, with the number plate "Prancer" and the bike kitted out like a raindeer...gold.

Distance is a bitch

Oh Bud,
maybe we should shift our 80 year plan
and move in together now,
buy small dogs (white, of course) and cats...

and even though I'm not losing you to the Land of the Great White Cloud, I don't even feel one jot of happiness. I'd give anything (all my nonexistent money) to hop on a plane now and come and hold your hand and pass you tissues and pour you whiskey. and maybe a nudierun?

Is it January yet? Watch out Melbourne!

Anything else that happened today has paled in comparison to this. I've written some Christmas cards, made some mince pies and tonight I pack for my redeeming move.
I lost a kg this week, it's those giddy hardworking butterflies, long may they flutter.

. . .

Amazon

I have had a morning of Amazonian proportions. (Well, in my own small world anyway).

By 5.30, when I had already been up for half an hour, I knew I had to conquer the coffee machine. The bastard is so hard to unscrew, but with much quiet grunt and gruesome grimacing, I managed it, and the waft of coffee filled the kitchen.

Then, about two hours later, had you been standing under my open bathroom window, you may have heard the following:
(Radio National in the background)
"Waaaooooo....oh, it's okay, it's okay. Hi Charlotte. You're not so big... it's okay. I'll try and not get you wet, okay?" continuing in this vein for the remaining time spent in the shower. Then:
"Bloody hell, you looked better from the other side of the curtain. No offense though. Oh how am I going to do this?"

A minute later, wielding a plastic box and a sheet of paper I was back. But too scared to brush her off the curtain.

"Come ON you uncooperative arachnid. I'm trying to do you a favour here! I don't want to kill you. Oh my god oh my god."
Scream, as she tumbled to the bathtub, and then many whoops of fear as I manouvered her onto the paper and under the plastic container.

Then, once dressed, I walked her downstairs, out to the garden to freedom.

. . .

the stars

it was a magic weekend... starting with friday night. freo and my monument, and all the stars, tacked into the caressing night.

saturday and sunday were my kind of hot. almost 40 degrees hot. perhaps not get much stuff done hot, but fabulous.
i was beachy in two shifts, all day - first at Leighton, where the water was still and clear and later at my beach, when the wind was slowly moving in, and the water was choppy and bracing.
i stayed a bit longer there, finished the hungry tide, decided it wasn't such a fantastic book after all...
and then i slept alone. well, sort of. there was a militant moth in the room with me, but very soon after flopping into bed, i was too tired to care about the snapping wings and plopping body i could hear on my pillow. in the morning it was gone.

sunday - i woke early and had to get out of the house. the atmosphere is like off-custard, thick and rancid. I read a Kim Scott novel for a while on the beach, and then ran (hah!) along the stretch of beach from city towards swanbourne.
there were willies on parade. Not many, but disconcerting all the same. breakfast afterwards was underwhelming, but the setting was so beautiful it was utterly worth it. Where o where can one get home-made hollandaise sauce? (By making it myself, right?)

at home i made an attempt to work, but ended up painting my nails, and watching the phone. when betty finally called, B and I went to cottesloe to immerse ourselves in some more brazilian capoeira beats. Pete came too and no matter how much of a big fat negative dickhead he is, he still makes me laugh and i love him. it's strange to think i've known him for ten years.

we stayed for a while after betty finished - betty and i had the chance - while we went to get kebabs for the boys (the butterflies forbade me eating all damn day) - to have a gossipy girly and it was so good to talk.
later i drove to east freo, to the house which i am to 'sit' from thursday onwards. hard to find the words really. when tracey walked me through, and out onto the balcony and i saw the tall red industrialness of my cranes my heart leapt into my throat. i can't wait to move in.
i dropped in on sandy and paul just to jump up and down in their loungeroom saying thankyouthankyou and hugging, then i left them to their sunday night.

oh and then at home... ugh... so i had to leave the house. I had vague plans anyway, but i left earlier, and only realised half way to the beach that all of wembley was pitch black. all the traffic lights, all the shops and service stations, all the street-lamps. it was eerie...headlights punctured the blackness, but in an almost milky washed-out way. the beach was spectacular though. without those offensive floodlights, all the stars were visible and i spent a pleasant two hours or so, avoiding going home.

who knows what will happen tonight?

corrrrrrrection!

what a difference four hours' sleep makes... and a really difficult pump class with the funniest instructor... these random fill-in people are often such a joy! something must have gone wrong though (with me, naturally) because my right shoulder doesn't feel like it's where it should be...

So we're talking about stuff again... and that's good. And now even he's telling me not to feel guilty, and that's also good.

Poor Shez was witness to a small yuletide outburst this morning when we went down for coffee and the carollers were out. I had to run into the toilets for a bit of a sook.
I've decided being surrounded by kids at Christmas will be the way to go... I'll be close to Sandy and Paul's place, plus Mel and Ross are bringing their two treasures... it's all good. Or at least it will be.

...

midnight rant

okay, it's only 11.46, but i can't sleep and i'm growly.
we're in bed, yes the same fucking bed, and I'm reading - because lately it's the one thing that helps me nod off. so he huffs and turns around and says 'how long are you going to keep reading'...and, because I'm a big fat dickhead, i avoid the inevitable sigh from him, and put the book down, tell him he can turn off the light, because i don't even have a fucking bedside table of my own, or a reading light. (is it the 17th yet?) but of course, all thought of sleep has gone.
and then he tells me laci might be coming over in january, while i'm not here, because i don't like the guy...but really? houseguests in a house where you're technically a guest? and god only knows how it will be when judit and her sister come over...
and what about when dad comes over? will we just resort to sleeping together again and make nice? i don't fucking think so. i can not face turning 30 like this.
so i have come in here, thinking to work, and he comes in and says can't sleep eh? how about some sex to tire you out?
exqueeze me? baking powder?
i seriously can't believe i am in this situation.

oh well, at least a whole lot of metrica is getting done tonight...

Tchaikovsky's Violin concerto is not a good one to listen to at a time like this - it's so rich and mournful i feel like my chest is about to open and all my soul all spill out... but god it is beautiful.

I'm moving to east freo...only for a few weeks, but i think it will do us good. I will be living with a terrier called Archie and a bird (!!!) in a house not two streets from the river and close to Sandy and Paul. If only this guilt wasn't pulling my heart down to the pit of my stomach, but I'm sure I'll get over it. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat.

I came home to an empty house, made my pilgrimage to the shore, let the wind blow the dullness of the day away. I'm trying to work now, but I feel unbelievably skittish and restless.

Yes, the violin concerto was a bad idea...

"For centuries the bullet remained quietly confident
that the gun would be invented.
a drowning surrealist will not appreciate
the concrete lifebelt.
no guarantee my last goodbye is an au revoir,
i am your father, and this is the way things are"

Don't laugh

but i think today's flat mood was caused by story in the Age about Gary Ablett Jnr considering a move to the Gold Coast's new AFL team. Geelong can offer him 8000000, maybe a million at a push (this is a year)... while the Gold Coast could offer him 1.4 million maybe more... I fail to see how that extra few hundred thousand would make a major difference - enough to leave team and fans? Maybe I'm missing something. But it reminded me of the disgusting amounts thrown around in the English premier league and how outraged Johnny Rotten was when asked about how he felt about Arsenal in their current guise (no English players at one time).
Anyway, it's not as though this is a major thing in the greater scheme of things, just further proof that we're becoming ever more materialistic, selfish and self-absorbed.

Yesterday in the mellow sunset, I saw a family - mum dad and child - on a beach that was almost deserted. Their silhouettes were beautiful against the raucous sky.

Yesterday I also talked to Tusi-nagyi - about food, about B and about the situation at home. She is a remarkable woman. I spoke my customary two sentences to granddad before both our voices cracked, and also a word or two to Laci, who just happened to arrive at that moment. The warmth is still there in his voice, but it has become hollow. It's very very sad. Reminds me that what I'm going through is a walk in the bloody park.

Sitting having my lunchinthesun today, I thought about the long hours of the weekend and I think I might take the tent for a practice run, out to some park or field somewhere, to get some silence, and also to make sure I know how to put it up :)

Today, walking to work in a glorious morning, I suddenly had a wild thought, that came out as a word: "Chinaski"... and why?

Last night, we went to the Capitol to see Les Claypool. Former bassist for Primus, the guy has quite a reputation, but I had never heard of him. B had been hanging out to see him for ten years or so. Considering yesterday's fatigue, I wanted nothing less than to be squeezed into that sauna-esque sardine-tin, but we did go. And I'm glad.

The audience was a little older than for Static-X, and also larger. We finally went upstairs, when the smell of beer and sweat and weed was making me too giddy to stand still. Upstairs however, there was just one line of vision, and although I got the odd glimpse from between bums and shoulders, there wasn't a great deal to see. I had an interesting view of the front few rows of audience, and some photographers rightup-pressed against the stage... now one of those guys came upstairs about half way through, and I kid you not, stood square in front of me. I started to think that perhaps I am so small he just failed to realise I was there. But no, I came to the conclusion that he was an arrogant prick that had noticed but didn't care.
So mostly, I had a good view of Les Claypool's feet...

But the music... weird and wow. Funky and sinuous. Full of movement. And it made me think it would be the kind of music the hero of Bukowski's novels would listen to... what was his name? Henry? Hank? ...

and the answer came to me on the freeway bridge on the way to work.

It's been a mad day so far, and because I couldn't bear to metricate much on the weekend, i have that to look forward to tonight... but at least the fatigue hasn't leaked into this week...yet :)

One of my favourite things about Fran Kelly is when she is speaking with a politician, and has to ask the hard questions, and she says "with respect minister..." and then she floors them.

...

I don't know where this unimaginable tiredness comes from... last night I was in bed by 10, and this morning when I woke at 6 I felt rested.
Around 730 I drove to a foreign beach for a run (jogwalk) and a splash which was just wonderful (I saw a pug that was so fat he waddled, and his fur was sand-caked and he looked frustrated. I could have hugged him till his head popped off) and on the drive home I felt like the whole wide Sunday belonged to me.
At home, quick breakfast and back to the beach where I started a book called the Hungry Tide - so far so bloody good.
Then Coles (yay for Sunday trading in December), lunch and back to metrica, but within 3 articles my eyes were droopy so I sat out on the balcony, under my light orange blanket, stirred by the wind, read and then put the book in my lap and dozed. That felt like a perfect Sunday thing. But that was 3 hours ago, and I've had another hour's sleep in the lounge-room, with that sausage pillow Timea and I found...and I still feel like I've been run over by truck and now it's parked on my chest.
Everything feels so crowded.

It's shaping up to be a dark weekend. Yet not weather-wise. It's about 35 degrees now, and at 7am it was already baking when Emese woke me at Betty's to move the car. I wasn't hungover - try as I might last night, I managed two sweet glasses of Cinzano and some lemonade. I had my first cigarette in well over a year and regretted it even as I was lighting it.
It was so good to be among people even though i was far from my usual self- and bless them, almost everyone mentioned it. Betty was very happy with the painting and the ciabatta (tightarse Anna's birthday presents) and we shared that this morning for breakfast. I will make a further bread attempt today (I do wonder why I bought the breadmaker if I insist on doing it all myself)

I loved the night to myself, in that old familiar room, but I woke under such an insistant cloud, that by 7.15 I was out in the yard in the brutal sun reading - wait for it - Dan bloody Brown. I got through half the book before B & P woke up.

After breakfast (even Pete like the ciabatta and that's saying something!) I got back in my saunapants and drove home in a sort of apathetic fug. I've reclaimed my right to listen to Placebo and Faithless and that was good, but at home I feel strangely lonely - stupid considering this is surely what I wanted.

I had a big mug of Paul, slapped another coat of paint on the chairs, sprayed the legs again (man that rust is insistent) and am about to head to the beach. Which brings me to the first negative thing about being single. Sunscreen - back - ? I'll have to look like a block of top deck this summer.

Jutka sent me photos of Mum with Ben. Mum looks so happy - grandson by proxy.

But rather than wallow- let me write about yesterday's beach experience. After work, I raced home, chucked off my clothes and put bathers on and raced (within the speed limit) to the beach. The Doctor was in, and I wussed around in the shallows, until I was hit with this sudden surge of "oh my god I LIVE HERE" as I looked out at the waves, and then I just plunged in. It was the most wonderful WONDERFUL feeling.

SPF30+