Macska

Will our two fridges fit side by side?

And where will we store my bed?

And will you let me get rid of that hideous leopard print linen once and for all?

And what if my cane furniture gets wet in the rain?
(Don't worry, I have tarps we can cover it with)

I will miss the flame trees that line my street, and the view of my city from the balcony.
I watched both sunrise and sunset today (and I wonder why I am tired) and really believe that the warm light on the trunks of proud gums will be as beautiful in the suburbs as it is in Leederville.

I listened to the buzzing of the universe around me tonight, when I had - oh I don't know - about three minutes to myself and felt the soft round shapes of hope under my hands.
Work continues to surprise and humble me.

The reasons why this is home continue to pile up.

And for all the embarrassingness of my dear Dad, I have made better friends with Margo, and I'm glad they have been here, and now they understand too.

I love my Dad because he'll eat five day old chocolate cake, just because I made it.

Dad and Margo are in town, and the last few days have been full to bursting. Bursting with new places, and gratitude and sharing and busyness.
Mat surprised me with a delightful dinner at the Essex Restaurant in Freo on Thursday night and two bottles of divine Eagle Vale merlot (silly boy shouldn't let me be king of the wine list if he wants to watch his pocket, but there you go)...
In the breezy Freo night afterwards, I guided him up to Monument Hill again, and only when we were at Solomon St did he realise where we were going. The lights saluted gently and I felt at home both in my skin and in my city.

On Friday began the big move - and in the evening Betty and Pete came and we all shifted and hefted and groaned together, before collapsing on the now empty lounge room floor in Bibra Lake and scoffing pizza and garlic bread. After B and P left, Mat and I rolled out the mattress and slept in the echoingly empty house, oblivious to the zizzing electricity and the juddering trains.

I had oodles of metrica (still have) to complete, so the rest of the weekend was a little disjointed, and I saw M much less than I would have liked. He spent most of Sunday and part of Monday lodged in the wardrobe (seriously), assembling and disassembling and securing.
The kitchen is small, but gas powered, and I can't wait to make it my own a little more. And that will happen. I sent the email that will get the ball rolling today, giving up this lease and steering me in the direction of that new life.

And when I arrived on Saturday night - we might have both been tired beyond movement, but the bed was made with beautiful brand new linen, and I got to choose my side. Small things.

When Mat met Dad I felt a double wave of amazement and love. At how respectful he can be, and how unperturbed he was at, well, the social embarrassments Dad and Margo brought with them, like a whirlwind of strange old-fashioned-ness.

I had my first day of autonomous work without AO today, though she is back tomorrow. I am dwarfed and awed by the systems I am supposed to be working with, but luckily I am not afraid to ask questions and smile for help. I adore the people I work with.

A short week, and already the weekend so full of plans it feels impossible. But it's not impossible. And in place of flame trees I'll have the lemon tree that was replanted on the other side of the yard - big blister to show for it.... he wouldn't say it was for me, but it was.

I wonder how
I wonder why
yesterday you told me 'bout the blue blue sky
and all that i can see
is just a yellow lemon tree...

(I first heard that song, sitting in Andreas' small black Beamer, in a dazzling Munich night, a very long time ago)...

The sun crept slowly down, painting the sky Australianblue as we sat propped amongst big embracing pillows. This is what it's like to be grown up, I guess.

Come meet me at sunset, at the Black Salt in North Freo, I'll buy you a drink and we can talk.

At home in the carport I sat for stretched minutes, while Andrew Porter finished a short story reading on the book show. It was harrowing, but beautiful. It reoxigenated my blood for the rest of the night.

Yesterday was a long day, and mostly good.
Sometimes the shit-bucket tips over on Sunday and I am left to start the week harbouring angry thoughts and some frustration.
But the start of Sunday, or somewhere in the middle, was beautiful.

In an indiansummery day, redolent with birdsong, we sat sipping coffee and leafing through the Sunday papers, and your hand never left my leg. Summer skin.

Today is my third (and for this season, final) Carmen instalment, and I was saying to Betty yesterday how wonderful it is to have a catalogue of experiences from which to draw and compare and decide whether this Escamillo was the worst, or just middling?

The new job is glowing and yesterday AO pushed me (with a firm shove) in the direction of the Indigenous Affairs department which may one day result in a dream job.

And tomorrow, Gary and Jo to dinner: sociology and gulyas.