Another year over

And I always feel obliged to write, to sum up, to express hope.

And there is Chabrier, because who else (Bizet brings tears too, not just joy) pummels such unbridled cheer into the world. I spent some of today reading on the balcony (nails: Colour me Coral) and listening to a wonderful doco about Jim Morrison. It has been a slow day, just like the last few since Christmas. Comfortable long days, full of sun and thick heat. In fact since yesterday Perth has been tropical. The haze over the city yesterday was mysterious and foreign.

I have started swimming again, and in the forgiving coolness of the pool I am feeling like I am returning to myself.

This year has been less than perfect. I have moved twice and licked wounds and opened them up again, but if this year has taught me anything it's that love is unpredictable and irresistible.
This was also the first year without the resonant and wise voice of Gyula tata in the telephone at Christmas. But such emptiness makes me all the more grateful for the Gyorgy women in my life.

The best thing that happened this year was the job. Sorry, that Job with a capital J. For the first time in my life I am not a PA. And it has changed things and opened things inside me that I hadn't even realised were there, or closed. Dark rooms that are now filled with dust motes dancing in the fresh light.
I am happier in my work than I ever have been before.

And words have also settled back into my life. These last few weeks have been cyclonic in their reading fury, but I must confess that most of it has been lighter literature. I have, however, discovered and grudgingly fallen for Nikki Gemmel.

My one new year's resolution is to run the Rotto Marathon. But there are of course many other hopes that I will nurture and try to make reality. A home for a cat. A home for me. Always bettering myself at work, but remembering to play.

Happy New Year!

And from Chabrier moving on to Liszt: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=goeOUTRy2es - around the 6th minute a soul explodes.

I am reading a novel set in Antarctica and it's pushing a comfortable cold through my being. I have been thinking a lot about the Great Ocean Road and how that is a place where cold angry weather works, even for me.
Standing under a flinty sky with the furious waves crashing by the Sherwood River. I miss my Victorian past sometimes.

Between two engagements on Sunday, driving down Hampton Road I came across a garage sale sign. For a fluttery moment I thought it was the old blue house, with its brickwork and pale glass. It was the next door neighbour. The wild-haired woman who shouted shouted at her granddaughter and slammed kitchen things around. I hesitated, and then stopped. I breathed in the old familiar gum on the corner, and fingered items on tables trying to decipher their stories. I bought two books.
And then walking back to where Norm was parked I wanted to stop at number 40 and put my hand on the warmed blue porchwood. It was at that moment I realised that no one from that old life is left. B & P are long gone, I can't call them and say "Remember, we lived here. Together" I haven't written to Gareth in years and then it was just the four of us. There were happy days then.

It was a beautiful and relaxing weekend, even if it was full of drink and screaming children (not at the same time)...

My late written Christmas cards are finally making it to the post office and the macerating fruit will be made into mince pies tonight. It's 66 degrees on the ground in Newman, and my heart is full of happy contrast.

Light and Dark

Here is a beautiful marbled morning, strung out of the night, and I woke way too early, but rested. And happy.
I went for a run around the lake this morning without my sidekick, but it was at a satisfying clip and I'm determined to work back up to my 10km fitness quickly, so I can start preparing for bigger and better things next year.

The weekend was a magical adventure in the south west, and although my dear Frenchman's winery was not open, I subjected myself to lunch at Vasse Felix and utterly fell in love. To the left can be seen my 'lamb shoulder' smile.

Christmas looms and I have been busily painting cards (some look good, some look like a four year old has been left alone without supervision) and thinking constantly about menus. And what should I soak the fruit in if I can't afford Drambuie?

I received a beautiful surprise in the post from Hungary yesterday. My dear old copy of the Alexandria Quartet, littered with postcards from home and a wonderful article about Bogdan Zsolt (shiver, sigh) - surely the most talented Hungarian actor of our generation- forgive me Alfoldi Robert. Even Norma received a little gift in the treasure trove and it was wonderful to speak with Mum late in the evening.