The most marvellous dream this morning. Long convulated story involving work and workmates at the surgery, my boss' house, the boss's mentally unstable son getting married and stabilizing, nudists, a toilet that sprayed mud and urine when flushed (won't even attempt - it's too scary - to decipher what that means) and finally winding up volunteering to help organize books at an opportunity shop. Richard volunteered first (how like him) and I waded in after. The woman in charge, all high energy and talent (she carved these extraordinary sleeping horses from wood) soon had us sorting books alphabetically. I was going great guns until I came upon a box, an ordinary wood box but filled with art nouveau treasures in the form of carved perfume bottles. A frosted glass one with stylized deer, one a cobalt blue, another amethyst. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. They were so beautiful and they were at an op shop. Asked the woman what was the procedure for volunteers buying what they'd found. She said the bottles would have to be sent to Melbourne to be priced and then volunteers would have to pay twice what they were worth. Thought sending them to Melbourne was a bit inefficient, especially if they turned out to be worth less than the postage but otherwise fine.
I awoke with a smile on my face.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Every day I think of things I want to write and every day I do not write. Today I write.
Just looked up the quarry, the one we are going to move away from. It's for sale for $9.5 million. We have entertained the fantasy that if we won the lotto we'd buy it, thinking it'd be worth just a couple of million. Now know we'd have to win the big $20 million which is offered occasionally to even come close.
Thinking about moving house is frightening. I used to be so brave. I can prove it as I'm writing this on an island continent in the southern hemisphere, tens of thousands of miles away from my birthplace. I made the move in my twenties. I had a large soft bag of clothes, a tackle box full of pastels and bucket loads of courage. Now I have much more 'stuff'; a husband, animals and a crushing sense of responsibility and anxiety. We wouldn't be moving except that I have made such a stink about living next to a quarry. If it doesn't work it will be my fault. Part of me knows it will be fine; tiring, stressful, scary but fine. Another part of me screams failure, regret, disaster. I try not to listen to it.
One step at a time. The birds are off the verandah. The verandah has been thoroughly cleaned and is ready for undercoat. When the final coat is dry and the windows have been washed, we ring the realtors. Can't believe we'll do it. Was watching tv last night and there was a shot of people sitting on a queensland beach. That could be us I said. And it could. We can't afford to live on the beach but we can afford to live within easy driving distance.
I do believe that it is time to embark on the next chapter in our lives. We need other places to explore, other people to meet. Being closer to the the populations centres does have disadvantages - more people, traffic, crime, etc. but it is also ripe with opportunity.
Just looked up the quarry, the one we are going to move away from. It's for sale for $9.5 million. We have entertained the fantasy that if we won the lotto we'd buy it, thinking it'd be worth just a couple of million. Now know we'd have to win the big $20 million which is offered occasionally to even come close.
Thinking about moving house is frightening. I used to be so brave. I can prove it as I'm writing this on an island continent in the southern hemisphere, tens of thousands of miles away from my birthplace. I made the move in my twenties. I had a large soft bag of clothes, a tackle box full of pastels and bucket loads of courage. Now I have much more 'stuff'; a husband, animals and a crushing sense of responsibility and anxiety. We wouldn't be moving except that I have made such a stink about living next to a quarry. If it doesn't work it will be my fault. Part of me knows it will be fine; tiring, stressful, scary but fine. Another part of me screams failure, regret, disaster. I try not to listen to it.
One step at a time. The birds are off the verandah. The verandah has been thoroughly cleaned and is ready for undercoat. When the final coat is dry and the windows have been washed, we ring the realtors. Can't believe we'll do it. Was watching tv last night and there was a shot of people sitting on a queensland beach. That could be us I said. And it could. We can't afford to live on the beach but we can afford to live within easy driving distance.
I do believe that it is time to embark on the next chapter in our lives. We need other places to explore, other people to meet. Being closer to the the populations centres does have disadvantages - more people, traffic, crime, etc. but it is also ripe with opportunity.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Letter to a friend:
Won't get into a competition with you about who is worse : ) We are equally bad ... and equally good, methinks. Suspect we're both subject to that continuously criticizing voice within (where did that come from? My parents, although not perfect, didn't belittle me. Is it our western christian, therefore guilt-based society which gives birth to the inner critic?.... and does it matter?)
Met the little guy when Richard and I had lunch with them last week. Hadn't seen P in such a long time. He looked well. Lunch was great as always. Loved the pond. Donated a few goldfish which promptly went and hid under rocks. Caught up with Jack the cockatoo. Still miss him but so glad he's glad. He's a happy bird now. Great to see Cambridge on 'this side' of the aviary rather than always at the far end. Richard and L talked Tai Chi (Richard has been to his second class. He also fasted with me that Monday. He won't admit something's going on but his openness to trying things which might help brain function is telling). Anyway, the property looked stunning as always. Wattles in bloom everywhere. Was a lovely couple of hours.
But it isn't the same without you there. P's stamp is more visible, as it should be- but sad all the same. And sadly you sound somewhat melancholy, G. Wish I had some wise words to help you through this but only you and P have the answers, if answers are even needed. Perhaps living day to day IS the answer. If you need to do something you'll know it. And act upon it too. You don't lack courage.
Had occasion to reflect upon the nature of grief and guilt the other day. We lost our little cockatiel Tachimedes. Noticed he was a bit lacklustre and his poos had gone green and runny so put him on coccivet. Worse the next day so direct dosed the coccivet. The following day acutely ill with gurgly breathing. Rang Karen and put him on Baytril but he died late morning. The guilt stems from hindsight, from not noticing little things which I should've paid attention to but that I didn't SEE (not being mindful, aware, HERE). His death was unnecessary. He was only 5 years old. The grief, well you know far too well the grieving part. So while crying from shame and loss a part of me stood back and watched and thought completely unrelated thoughts, like when will I have cried enough to assuage the guilt I feel. When will I have cried enough to meet the inner criterion of grieving? It was quite an odd experience. Having grieved so many times over so many things...the feelings were real yet also just a familiar process that didn't touch the true reality of things - does that make any sense at all?
Hours later:
We went to Spring Bluff for coffee. Richard ate a caramel macadamia nut coated bit of slice with whipped cream and is now sick in bed. Too rich. Odd how one's digestion becomes used to good food and can't handle the other stuff anymore. He'll come good in time.
Ah, the ballet. Ah, Warhorse. Ah, David Helfgott. Lucky you. Especially the ballet. I love ballet. In my next life I'm going to be small boned, petite and live near a ballet school. Took it up at age 44 but couldn't handle the leaps. Dang.
Anyway, best go and do some chores, quietly, while Richard recovers. I hope you come see us when you're at Long Grass for those 3 days (or before!). Richard goes to the States on the 21st September, returns October 2. Not much time but as he's going with Anthony, that's all the time he gets.
Saw an old Errol Flynn movie, Robin Hood, the other day. In it he laughs at the Sherriff of Nottingham, a big rollicking hands on hips, head thrown back sort of laugh. What a great laugh at life sort of laugh. I'm working at cultivating it. You too?
Won't get into a competition with you about who is worse : ) We are equally bad ... and equally good, methinks. Suspect we're both subject to that continuously criticizing voice within (where did that come from? My parents, although not perfect, didn't belittle me. Is it our western christian, therefore guilt-based society which gives birth to the inner critic?.... and does it matter?)
Met the little guy when Richard and I had lunch with them last week. Hadn't seen P in such a long time. He looked well. Lunch was great as always. Loved the pond. Donated a few goldfish which promptly went and hid under rocks. Caught up with Jack the cockatoo. Still miss him but so glad he's glad. He's a happy bird now. Great to see Cambridge on 'this side' of the aviary rather than always at the far end. Richard and L talked Tai Chi (Richard has been to his second class. He also fasted with me that Monday. He won't admit something's going on but his openness to trying things which might help brain function is telling). Anyway, the property looked stunning as always. Wattles in bloom everywhere. Was a lovely couple of hours.
But it isn't the same without you there. P's stamp is more visible, as it should be- but sad all the same. And sadly you sound somewhat melancholy, G. Wish I had some wise words to help you through this but only you and P have the answers, if answers are even needed. Perhaps living day to day IS the answer. If you need to do something you'll know it. And act upon it too. You don't lack courage.
Had occasion to reflect upon the nature of grief and guilt the other day. We lost our little cockatiel Tachimedes. Noticed he was a bit lacklustre and his poos had gone green and runny so put him on coccivet. Worse the next day so direct dosed the coccivet. The following day acutely ill with gurgly breathing. Rang Karen and put him on Baytril but he died late morning. The guilt stems from hindsight, from not noticing little things which I should've paid attention to but that I didn't SEE (not being mindful, aware, HERE). His death was unnecessary. He was only 5 years old. The grief, well you know far too well the grieving part. So while crying from shame and loss a part of me stood back and watched and thought completely unrelated thoughts, like when will I have cried enough to assuage the guilt I feel. When will I have cried enough to meet the inner criterion of grieving? It was quite an odd experience. Having grieved so many times over so many things...the feelings were real yet also just a familiar process that didn't touch the true reality of things - does that make any sense at all?
Hours later:
We went to Spring Bluff for coffee. Richard ate a caramel macadamia nut coated bit of slice with whipped cream and is now sick in bed. Too rich. Odd how one's digestion becomes used to good food and can't handle the other stuff anymore. He'll come good in time.
Ah, the ballet. Ah, Warhorse. Ah, David Helfgott. Lucky you. Especially the ballet. I love ballet. In my next life I'm going to be small boned, petite and live near a ballet school. Took it up at age 44 but couldn't handle the leaps. Dang.
Anyway, best go and do some chores, quietly, while Richard recovers. I hope you come see us when you're at Long Grass for those 3 days (or before!). Richard goes to the States on the 21st September, returns October 2. Not much time but as he's going with Anthony, that's all the time he gets.
Saw an old Errol Flynn movie, Robin Hood, the other day. In it he laughs at the Sherriff of Nottingham, a big rollicking hands on hips, head thrown back sort of laugh. What a great laugh at life sort of laugh. I'm working at cultivating it. You too?
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