not The Norlane Pool

At 5pm today it was 40.1 degrees. I would say I was in heaven, but in actual fact I was at Beatty Park pool, lycra wrapped and doing slow and happy laps.
I love heatwaves like this, when time melts in cliched Daliesque fashion, and life slooooows down. Not for me the airconditioned rabbit warren that is work. Stepping out of the stairwell into the carpark, the heat shimmers the air, like an invisible wobble-board.
Heat radiates and rises up from the concrete, making my shoes ick. I love it.

There is something undeniably sexy about weather like this. And not because of the copious sweating and scanty clothing. You breathe differently, you move differently. You don't even move, you drift. Even the breeze is halfhearted.

Because it's too hot to sleep, the days automatically get longer, and there is time, long beautiful minutes, to stand on suburban balconies and listen to the neighbourhood rustle of 11pm. There's a brief smear of stars above the city skyline and a trembling sliver of moon, and air that is warm as breath.

Nudity goes without saying here; and little besides water passes my lips as the hours pass in the night, and in fits of half sleep half wonder I slowly come to the realisation that it's dawn.



Later: Domayne furniture, where I went to buy some towels, to make home a little more luxurious - M arrives tonight. And the only luxury I am good at is home luxury. Big towels, clean linen, good food... I want to return some of the comfort and luxury he showers me with, in my own Banana way.
So, I was paying for the towels, and I asked the lady at the checkout what these little ceramic doodads were...like gift tags, and she said they were for special gifts, that the receiver would never through away, like something beautiful you would give your Mum if you were moving overseas.
-That's already happened- I said
And then she told me that her daughter lives in Norway. And in the middle of a City West retail mega store, I felt this soft cord of commonality loop around us. Mothers and daughters, cast apart at separate ends of this happy earth, and yet still finding daggy things that symbolise sentiment and belonging. I left smiling.

Later still, I went swimming with Steph from work. I wasn't looking forward to it, and boy was I out of practice. Not with the swimming itself, but with dressing in the one piece togs. I stood there for quite some time, with the bathers pulled up to my waist, trying to figure out where the hell my boobs go and how to fit my arms through. Until I realise that I should have put my legs through another hole as well. I was laughing so hard it took quite some time.
It was also my first time wearing a swimming cap, and that also caused hilarity.

But the best thing was the memory smell of chlorinated water, and the sound of bare feet on wet concrete, and the smell of sunscreen and the happy screams of little kids.

I am full of wonder today. M's plane is late, but I am full of wonder today.

...

I wish I wish I knew the right words...

Flying blind with music I chanced upon this (or rather it chanced upon me, ringing in my ears this morning) on the way to work. The Whitlams. High school and Melbourne summer days in thin, watery sunlight.
Strange and random, it's a song about kicking the pokies habit, but the music is just beautiful. I listened to it three times until I got to work, and it affected me to such an extent that by the time I was crossing the carpark I wanted to swing my arms and twirl about. I didn't. But I wanted to.

My days continue to be light and sometimes unbearably full - especially on weekends. This last weekend started with B taking the majority of his things from the apartment, before M arrived in orange work shirt as requested. And they ask on the 7pm project, why do women like tradies? Well...

Norma and I had some brief errand running adventures on Saturday morning before M and I drove to Harvey (past the tacky Chinese restaurant where it all tipped in his favour last December) and walked along the leafy creek. My dear old Minolta is back in action, and I relished the clunkyness of it. Of course the photos will probably not resemble the beauty that I pictured but the act of creating made me very happy.

Sunset pooled orange light in the bends of branches, and on long eucalyptus leaves as they melted in the dusk. Leaving the car some way back on the path, we trekked across the orchard, where the deer had left half eaten oranges littering the ground. Logs where pigs had scratched and grunted to satisfaction were also visible, but alas the only animals we saw were kangaroos. And there were many many of them.

We pitched the tent on the farm, between a tractor and a caravan, within plentiful earshot of the cattle. I loved it. The moon was warm and yellow and M made the bed to such a degree of comfort I could have screamed when the alarm sounded at 5. But it was undeniably worth it, getting up at that time.
Morning was just a bright line across the horizon behind the trees, that grew and blossomed in colours as the minutes slid by. And there was no sound, just the crunch of our boots in the undergrowth and the caws of the crows and cockatoos wheeling above. Sometimes the boom-boom of kangaroos bounding away broke the gentle peace but my heart leapt at each one. The novelty of seeing them has not worn off. I suspect it never will.

We walked until 9 or thereabouts and after packing up had a huge fry-up in Harvey before returning home.

I drove some more of B's things over to his new home last night, Norma's boot slap slap slapping in the night traffic. We were sad together when I left (B, not Norma) and when I got home I sat out on the balcony for a while, letting my head fill. But it wasn't all sad. This is the light at the end of the tunnel.

And Hank is back in May....walking Oxford Street in Leederville alone, back when the west was my wild adventure, solitary as I was, he came with me:
“Loneliness adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better.”

Burnished

was the sky yesterday. It was one of the most impressive sunsets I've seen in ages. I was walking along Brighton beach, having realised that the old legs couldn't hack a run after the first body pump in months... But the walk was beautiful, despite the beach being a bit topsy turvy.
I tried to remember to keep my head up, and as I walked along, the sun sank slowly, luxuriously into the ocean, leaving a thin band of cloud, like an afterthought, scratched across the sky...splendid in burnished gold.

We stood for a time when it was almost perfect dark, listening to the crashing waves ... and said "We live here!"

The only not-perfect part of yesterday was my solitary trip to IKEA. Much as I love that place, it is depressing for the single shopper. I stood for ages, with one hand on one set of crockery and one on a different set, and wished more than anything to have someone to share the decision with. White or black? Black or white? I was on the verge of calling my mother for advice, when I realised that there is no network coverage in the cavernous vastness of the store, so the problem solved itself. I got black.

This morning it was pump again, but I am cocooned in this massive fluffcloud of happiness and the smile refuses to budge from my face. Every little thing in these gifts of days I am living reminds me that I am now basking in the light at the end of the tunnel.

The music I received from Bud is phenomenal, and I can't help but giggle as I am ricocheted from Bon Jovi, through Roxette, to Bright Eyes and the Offspring. It is all moods, rolled into one as I walk to work in the confident sunshine over Leederville.

A seagull on the bridge struggling valiantly, nay defiantly, with a full sized slice of pizza. I treasure these cartoon moments.

M is riding in from Newman on a white horse tomorrow... in the shape of a ute, but I know what it really is. He is also clad in shining armour.

full of opportunity...watch this space

Commercial and crass

it might be. but through the tacky haze of cliches of Valentine's Day, i got this:
a big playful dag who wasn't embarrassed by a requested elvis song, or the lame try hardness of it all, even though wayne the singer was beyond talentless.

in my bag that evening i had the small fairy pendant i received from someone special the day before valentine's day in london - a sort of talisman, for the last time i was treated like a princess.

sometimes i manage to disengage myself momentarily from my frenzied self-involvement... and i really marvel at how un-easy i must be to live with sometimes. with my 'must have anna-time' demands and general stubbornness... i think i have a fair heft of luck that i've crossed paths with such good, patient people.


today, again, was full of pinch myself moments.

Norma took me back to the gym this morning at 5.50 for my first pump class in fucking years (okay, just under 3 months, but it's much the same thing) which was wonderful, though tomorrow i'll be hobbling/staggering. And things at work are bright and sparkly and hopeful. And maybe not career-directioned, but hopeful all the same.
Can I just say- Greek Australians rock. Like, totally.

Tonight was another Tuesday-with-the-ladies...less raucous than last week, this time at Evi's in Ozzie park. My god that woman can cook. Damn her, it was delicious. We watched Madonna DVDs and talked about the 80s and lots of other things and drank disgusting sweet bubbles...

bed calls now, with my last 20 pages of calvino (i really need to start lewis carroll tomorrow) and then a dash of metrica before work tomorrow. later, a walk date, then a run on the beach. time to sit for a while in the sand and watch the sun sink, and remember how fortunate i am to live here.

goodnight - and into dreams, cheese stained and champagne coloured, that won't disturb the "colossal vitality of my illusion"

...

And night fell quietly, like a whisper- I hardly noticed it. Night fell on somewhat of a strange day.
I had felt for the last few days, through the euphoria and the tumult of celebrations, that I needed some serious solitary Anna time if I was to preserve my sanity. Some people struggle with this need of mine, but it is a very real need.

So this morning after Norma and I went to Karrinyup to cash in my massage/facial voucher from M at one of the most luxurious salons I've ever visited (note: I've only visited about, oh, two in my life thusfar)... just beautiful. The whole shebang lasted well over an hour and I felt deliciously pampered and beautiful. Aaahhh.

Yes, so after that, I popped home to put on bathers, pack some books (I still haven't finished the Calvino), water and fruit and took off for a bit of a driving day...somewhere beachy. Lancelin was my destination, simply for lack of a better idea, short of driving all the way to Margaret River- but I can't afford the petrol at the moment, so that dream was scrapped.

The driving is wonderful. Norma is a hell of a woman, and thanks to Bud I have a fantastic selection of music to listen to (Beirut the band: they rawk!) but I was tired. So tired that I had to pull over twice on the way there for a nano-nap, and once on the way home for a 40 minute proper, drooly sleep. And I still feel like a Mack is parked on my chest. Bizarre.

The landscape is endless out there, and yet I know that further north it is even more endless. But stopping in Lancelin to buy a burger, I was the only sedan in the parking lot. Big men with big dogs and big 4WDs. And little me, with my glasses and novel, and P plates and old age (for a P plater okay?).

Lancelin was windy and wild, sort of exactly what my mood desired. My burger not so much, but my mood, yes. And even through the haze of tiredness, the old feeling (but happily this time, not an escape) to just keep driving. And hoppa! wind up in Geraldton. This country amazes me every single day. No matter where I am.

I find the increase in "Fuck of we're full" stickers and too too many Aussie flags a little worrying, but ... no but, I find it worrying, but I still bloody love it here.

So the road trip wasn't the screaming adventure I had expected, but I had lots of quiet space to think (and sleep) and drive, and although the living alone is (surprisingly?) taking some getting used to - every noise makes me jump - I am loving it. So many open, clean, light spaces in my apartment. And the reading corner I've set up next to my desk? Heaven in an armchair.

Good things are starting/continuing at work- I have started baking again, for a start, which is important, but also career wise, I think there's a decent chance I won't be a PA forever. Fingers crossed.

And a certain happy Banana, has plans with a man, on Valentine's Day. And I don't care if it's tacky. I'd rather have a date, than know that the person I am with did things with the previous girl, but not with me. I should have gone with Dan to see Casablanca at the NFT that year, instead of agreeing with Gareth, and going to the gym. Bah....

And when I came back from my appointment early on Friday morning, M had folded my clothes and done the dishes. Swoon etc.

"Only a house, quiet as snow, a space for myself to go, clean as paper before the poem."

Ladies

Yesterday was a female day.

I picked up my new Camry from Carine, and very distinctly felt that she is a woman, quite different from the masculine feeling of driving the Commodore. So naming will be a bit more difficult. She drives beautifully. Is large and safe-making. And I had that feeling again, of just wanting to drive drive drive. But I had plans already for the evening.

Betty and Eszti were coming over with bubbles to celebrate the newness of the apartment, the car, the generally freshness of life. Later Evi came over as well, and basically the evening was spent screaming with laughter or doubled over with giggles. It was just plain, unadulterated fun.
I made hummus, and we ceremoniously smashed the wine glasses I had got from B - in a bucket, with a view to safety, of course - good riddance to bad ...

And so another day of perfect freedom begins. Dull grey and humid, peppered with echoes of crowsong and the rat-tat-tat of the retic.

It took some time and stress and work, but I am back to the life I desire.

I have a steaming mug of coffee beside me, I'm listening to the early silliness on Radio National (sleep still eludes me a bit), and the sunrise-tinged morning seeps in through the open balcony door.

On the weekend, M took me hunting. The eerie light hid a mild afternoon, and through my considerable nervousness I still marvelled at the vast landscape. We were only about 150km from Perth and there was just red soil and big skies and these huge cars. There was something so primal about the whole exercise.
I won't say I didn't almost faint at some point in the night, when the smell of expired animals just got too much, but there was less blood and more excitement than I expected.

So, mine and M's cultural exchange has begun. I have gone hunting, in April we're going to Carmen. He's given me a hunting book to read, I have promised him some Winton.

In the next few days, I hope to gather up some lazy minutes, and write about the adventures in Bremer Bay, the even bigger adventures with Bud recently and just settle into a happy routine that I've yearned for, it feels like forever.

. . .

Life is good

I met another Commodore yesterday. A white one, owned by one very charming elderly Frenchman. I want it. I almost wept when he handed me the keys - exactly the same shape and everything. And it goes, like any good Commodore should. M and I are going back today to double check.
Then I swung by the Herdsman for a head of Savoy cabbage and went home. I felt totally drained. I was crushed when I realised that the screwdriver was missing from the little toolkit, meaning I couldn't dissemble the desk in the study, meaning that full perfection would elude me. The stains on the carpet (what talent is required to destroy something so completely, in such little time?) are not budging, the lino in the kitchen is a nightmare... and I was so tired I kept crying. So I settled for putting all my clothes away, and making the meatballs, but the savoy cabbage remained untouched once more.
I had a fitful sleep, I awoke at 4 to some serious thumping and scratching in the roof (rats? amorous possums?) but slept again until 5 and when I got up, all clouds had lifted and i was full of energy and smiles.

I washed the windows and cleaned the last piss stains from the toilet door, I eradicated the last maggots hiding under the lining of the sink in the kitchen, I removed the dead bird from the chair outside the apartment and I put the new linen on the bed. It all looks seriously good. And clean.

I am almost 100% back to how I should be. Squealing with excitement at the colour of the morning light - this morning I took photos of the light on the bricks - and being unable to keep the smile off my face.

I purged a lot of anger with the Dyson and the scrubbing last night, but allowed myself one tiny vindictive victory with the Domestos.

From Winton: an explanation of why (for me) living here will always 'be enough', make me happy, hopefully keep me grounded.

"There is no one else around. I flinch at the sound of a school of whitebait cracking the surface a few metres away. It's alive out there. After the still, exhausted Aegean, where nothing moves but the plastic bags, it seems like a miracle. Call it jet lag, cabin fever, but I am almost in tears. There is nowhere else I'd rather be, nothing else I would prefer to be doing. I am at the beach looking west with the continent behind me as the sun tracks down to the sea. I have my bearings."

Discoveries

And I don't mean the egg streaked measuring cup in the cupboard, pretending that it's clean, or any of the other 'surprises' that I've found while cleaning.
I mean the vibrant-green bugs that tapped against the dark window at 11.30 yesterday, keeping me company in the long, thin night.
Or the wheeling black cockatoos that rent the morning with their cries while I ran several Jacob's ladders worth of stairs, up and down with garbage, and the microwave, and the mushroom kit.
Yesterday I bought new linen, with stars on, I felt I deserved something after the way the afternoon panned out.

When I was in the relationship, I couldn't imagine a situation where we wouldn't be civil; friendly, even. But here is that situation. Here is my vindictiveness rearing its feminine head, armed with matches and wickedness, my frustration and irritation. Ugh. Over it. And now I can't imagine a situation where we are friends once more. Not everyone can be like Dale.

But the anger is (mostly) gone now, and I am home.

Dom dom est os...

I have the brand names and jingles of cleaning products screeching through my mind in operatic frenzy. My hands are scarred and raggedy from encounters with steelo and scourers and sharp oven edges. My brain is comatose in a milky mist of domestos and white king. I am going home!

The last couple of months have been a complete mess, with pockets of perfect, clear light interspersed to help me keep my sanity. I think I have. Although I have been caught in the bathrooms at work, making "hair product" noises that Timea would be proud of.

So, pockets of light - people's goodness and generosity: from lending cleaning items, to rolling cigarettes, to parking the car when I wasn't capable... these small acts of beauty keep me believing that this year will kick arse. Not ass, arse.

And now that I am finally moving home - although this week it still feels a little alien... a landscape littered with beer bottle tops, cigarette buts and foreign hair ... I am making it mine again. The doona is on the balcony, soaking up sunshine and fresh air, drying sheets of linen adorn the house, mingling fabric softner aromas with the nag champa I am constantly burning to counter the stench of bleach and ammonia.

But the frangipanis made it, and this morning when I had my first cup of Paul back home on the balcony, it felt right.
I will try and recap major events, now that I'm more or less back on line, and back in action.

. . .