under a sunday moon
We missed the sunset on Sunday, reaching the ocean when shapes and shadows morphed into assertive silhouettes and shimmered under the nascent moon. Still, even without an end-of-day colour play it was beautiful. Cold beer, excited dog, and my hand in your hand, walking on the beach. Perfect.
And then we drove home, windows down, listening to Paul Kelly and the smile barely fit on my face.
And I have to say that while maybe I didn’t handle the creeping jealousy that beset me on Sunday in the best possible way, I figure with a view to past behaviours I could also have handled it so much worse. I have often blamed hormones and alcohol (and usually both) but this time I made no fireworks and it’s a testament to the bloody good place I am in now, that I was more or less able to talk about it. B would be proud of me.
I had lots of beach time this weekend just gone, going for a run along the coast road on Saturday, and why oh why does fitness fade so fast when it takes so effing long to build up? But whilst even the downhills felt like uphills it was phenomenally good to be on the move again, Stephen Fry’s orgasmic aural onslaught in my ears. One of the podgrams I listened to dealt with language – its textures, the pleasure to be gained from words. And then Stephen Fry tore into those damn purists who insisted on grammatical correctness and putting the apostrophe in the right place every time rah rah rah. I think I must have blushed under my already flaming face, and began in my head to defend myself. In the end I think if I were to talk about this with Stephen I would say that yes, I agree to letting go some of the anal purist-ness and allow mistakes or creativity or whatever you want to call it to imbue language with fresh words and ideas but I think what I have a problem with is carelessness. And he would nod his sage head and agree with me, right?
After my run I went to the newly opened pool with Nickiy and surprised myself by being able to swim 1000m. Then we walked into Leedy and had a banana smoothie at 55ML (the baked eggs place) and talked in the sinking afternoon glow. It’s so good to have my fruits home again.
On Sunday I swam again and relished the meditative zenness of the laps and how it cleared my head and powered me toward breakfast J
Nickiy and I went to Greenwood to watch the Cats beat the Bulldogs and then went and sat on City Beach with coffees for a while, looking at the crashing waves and the squalling seagulls and relishing how lucky we are to live here. End of winter and there we sat in little skirts with naked toes dug happily into the sand. After I took N home I went back to the beach, unable to find my place anywhere else. I sat with Robert Drewe for a while (the book I got from J) and then had a wonderful long conversation with Andrew. Dog is a PJ indeed.
Before stuff gets forgotten though I wanted to write something else about the big trip.
One of the most interesting days was the day I spent with Cuni. Pushing 70, she has changed little in since i saw her last too too long ago. Aspects of dad are obvious in her face, in her mannerisms and dad's stubbornness in this respect I think, is heartbreaking. We took the tram to Margaret Island and got changed into our bathers right there in the park, giggling that we didn't care who saw. In many ways we are so embarrassingly similar, adn often a sidelong look was enough to know what the other was thinking. In other things, she's just like dad and utterly opposite to me. But there is a lot of love there.
We talked a lot about the gap left by Gyuri and how even a decade hasn't healed what was broken, but we also laughed a lot and remembered.
She told me a lot about Dad and how he lived through the last years when we were still a family and I know (not that I needed proof) how very much he loves me. She also told me about her own Dad and awful as it is, I am honestly glad that I didn't have to have much contact with him through my life. Not a person with a much goodness.
Back at Mum's for dinner we got to talking about family history and where we came from and Cuni told us that their name was Klein before the war. A distinctly Jewish name. So this explains the size of my nose. So I am a little bit Jewish.
But wait, there's more...
Then she told us that her grandmother on the paternal side was a gypsy woman from Debrecen. These are not big things in my heart because I've never had a problem with Jews or Gypsies but I smile when I think about the conversations I was privy to between M and Peter and Betty and how they spat out awful things against Jews and really anyone who was a little bit different - indeed anyone who wasn't Hungarian.
So I'm a little bit proud that I am even more different than I thought I was!
It was eleven years ago this month that I met VC and Dale at the Sziget. I spoke to Dale on Sunday morning, a few days after Katrina gave birth to their daughter. Not everything is okay and it wrenched me to hear Dale admit to his own stumbling stoicism and not showing emotion because he believes in facts etc etc. I throw out wishes into the big world that Chloe will be well and they can start the cosy family life he's dreamed of and planned for since I first met him.
Work has lost some of its shine. Not for the love of people here, but I have started to become unbusy and unempowered and I am fearful of sliding back into a bleak place of uselessness and lethargy. I have had good help in staying upright and looking forwards and am hopefully starting to make things happen. The most frustrating and the most rewarding part of this work is the relationships, But so it is with all of life I guess.
And to finish on a stanza from Shelley:
And then we drove home, windows down, listening to Paul Kelly and the smile barely fit on my face.
And I have to say that while maybe I didn’t handle the creeping jealousy that beset me on Sunday in the best possible way, I figure with a view to past behaviours I could also have handled it so much worse. I have often blamed hormones and alcohol (and usually both) but this time I made no fireworks and it’s a testament to the bloody good place I am in now, that I was more or less able to talk about it. B would be proud of me.
I had lots of beach time this weekend just gone, going for a run along the coast road on Saturday, and why oh why does fitness fade so fast when it takes so effing long to build up? But whilst even the downhills felt like uphills it was phenomenally good to be on the move again, Stephen Fry’s orgasmic aural onslaught in my ears. One of the podgrams I listened to dealt with language – its textures, the pleasure to be gained from words. And then Stephen Fry tore into those damn purists who insisted on grammatical correctness and putting the apostrophe in the right place every time rah rah rah. I think I must have blushed under my already flaming face, and began in my head to defend myself. In the end I think if I were to talk about this with Stephen I would say that yes, I agree to letting go some of the anal purist-ness and allow mistakes or creativity or whatever you want to call it to imbue language with fresh words and ideas but I think what I have a problem with is carelessness. And he would nod his sage head and agree with me, right?
After my run I went to the newly opened pool with Nickiy and surprised myself by being able to swim 1000m. Then we walked into Leedy and had a banana smoothie at 55ML (the baked eggs place) and talked in the sinking afternoon glow. It’s so good to have my fruits home again.
On Sunday I swam again and relished the meditative zenness of the laps and how it cleared my head and powered me toward breakfast J
Nickiy and I went to Greenwood to watch the Cats beat the Bulldogs and then went and sat on City Beach with coffees for a while, looking at the crashing waves and the squalling seagulls and relishing how lucky we are to live here. End of winter and there we sat in little skirts with naked toes dug happily into the sand. After I took N home I went back to the beach, unable to find my place anywhere else. I sat with Robert Drewe for a while (the book I got from J) and then had a wonderful long conversation with Andrew. Dog is a PJ indeed.
Before stuff gets forgotten though I wanted to write something else about the big trip.
One of the most interesting days was the day I spent with Cuni. Pushing 70, she has changed little in since i saw her last too too long ago. Aspects of dad are obvious in her face, in her mannerisms and dad's stubbornness in this respect I think, is heartbreaking. We took the tram to Margaret Island and got changed into our bathers right there in the park, giggling that we didn't care who saw. In many ways we are so embarrassingly similar, adn often a sidelong look was enough to know what the other was thinking. In other things, she's just like dad and utterly opposite to me. But there is a lot of love there.
We talked a lot about the gap left by Gyuri and how even a decade hasn't healed what was broken, but we also laughed a lot and remembered.
She told me a lot about Dad and how he lived through the last years when we were still a family and I know (not that I needed proof) how very much he loves me. She also told me about her own Dad and awful as it is, I am honestly glad that I didn't have to have much contact with him through my life. Not a person with a much goodness.
Back at Mum's for dinner we got to talking about family history and where we came from and Cuni told us that their name was Klein before the war. A distinctly Jewish name. So this explains the size of my nose. So I am a little bit Jewish.
But wait, there's more...
Then she told us that her grandmother on the paternal side was a gypsy woman from Debrecen. These are not big things in my heart because I've never had a problem with Jews or Gypsies but I smile when I think about the conversations I was privy to between M and Peter and Betty and how they spat out awful things against Jews and really anyone who was a little bit different - indeed anyone who wasn't Hungarian.
So I'm a little bit proud that I am even more different than I thought I was!
It was eleven years ago this month that I met VC and Dale at the Sziget. I spoke to Dale on Sunday morning, a few days after Katrina gave birth to their daughter. Not everything is okay and it wrenched me to hear Dale admit to his own stumbling stoicism and not showing emotion because he believes in facts etc etc. I throw out wishes into the big world that Chloe will be well and they can start the cosy family life he's dreamed of and planned for since I first met him.
Work has lost some of its shine. Not for the love of people here, but I have started to become unbusy and unempowered and I am fearful of sliding back into a bleak place of uselessness and lethargy. I have had good help in staying upright and looking forwards and am hopefully starting to make things happen. The most frustrating and the most rewarding part of this work is the relationships, But so it is with all of life I guess.
And to finish on a stanza from Shelley:
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea –
What are these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?
posted by BanAnna at 8/27/2012 07:28:00 pm
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