I've written about six sentences and cannot get a grip, spinning my writing wheels without a thought to hang on to. I'm trying to elaborate on a thought about how each day is the same yet different. An obvious truth. But the difference depends on the colour window looked through. Some days I spend being disappointed with myself. Is that a common struggle with other people? I know, know, not everyone is going to be an Einstein or Livingstone, a Mother Theresa or Mahatma Ghandi, I know that but much of my existence is coloured by the grey pane (pain?) of mild disappointment. Is it really enough to be thankful? Is that all that is required? Or should I be stretching every ligament in my body to make every second of my existence mean something in the short time I am here?
How will I be at my death, if I have time to review this life? Cranky that I wasted so much time, ashamed that I didn't use the talents given me? I read the articles on the Rebelle website (http://www.rebellesociety.com) and even when the authors are bemoaning their faults or are struggling through difficult times, dangerous head spaces, toxic relationships, they still seem, somehow, to have it together. They write from the Big Perspective, finding the juxtaposition of their unwellness with the cheer-squad wellness of their readers. Their failings are their strengths. Together, readers and writers, they are whole. The mere act of writing their failings obliterates them. They are complete because they can see the Big Picture.
Me? I just seem to spend time moaning that I don't know what or how I'm supposed to be. Or just moaning. Maybe it's tied up with feeling trapped. Wrote about that previously so won't go there again. Maybe all that I do is all I'm supposed to do. Being, wondering, doing, questioning, making bread and making beds, petting cats and spending time on the yoga mat, riding the hills and cleaning toilets, caring for R and wearing perfume every day because I can. Maybe that's all that's required. Without all the goddamn worrying about it!
So, now with that off my chest, I'll head outside and rake leaves beneath a vivid blue sky.
Friday, August 7, 2015
Thursday, August 6, 2015
I Come First, don't I?
A few free hours while R is in town. I find it odd that I don't sink into solitude with the same ease I used to. It isn't that I have trouble being alone. Au contrare! I value time spent alone, mistress of my thought and action. The difficulty is lack of practice.
Just spent an hour reading a book (The Barbed Coil by J. V. Jones). I used to read for hours at a time. Now I'm either making busy or I'm on the computer. At the end of the day, after I've made dinner and my time is my own, I try and read but the tv is on and concentration is off. Find I have to go back and reread bits to familiarize myself with characters or situations I should already know. Even now, the call of the computer is strong. What a blessing and a curse the digital age is. I'd miss the computer if I didn't have one at the same time as I know how much time I waste clicking away on it.
(Oh no, there's a hare come out in broad daylight - 2pm - to nibble on the flake of lucerne I've put out for the horses. Jamaica is lazing in the sun, it's another cold and windy day although sunny. I hope he doesn't see him. Jamaica's not asleep. I can see the glint of bright brown eyes. If he looked 45 degrees NE he'd see the hare.)
In a much better stronger frame of mind than yesterday. A good nights sleep helps. Yesterday was the day following the second night of little sleep. Because I function and get through the day I act as though insomnia doesn't have an affect but of course it does. I don't think as clearly, I'm more emotional and I mask tiredness with activity.
(Ah, the hare has had enough and hops away on long strong legs unscathed. Jamaica dozes on).
Reading on the Rebelle page about the only productive tip a creative sort will ever need. Do the most important thing first every day. I'd modify that statement to read: Find the time to do the most important thing every day.
I've got up in the dark to take the dogs and myself for a 40 minute walk while the stars shine overhead just to be alone and exercise at the same time. I've got up an hour earlier, again in the dark, to write 3 pages longhand while following the Artists Way. I've got up an hour earlier to do yoga in the dark in front of the fire before work. Now I get up just before dawn to feed the cats and horses and birds. Creative acts come later.
One thing I never had to contend with before was responsibility for anyone other than myself. Yes, I looked after animals, usually a single cat, but with Self as my Motto and Creed, and a cat being a self-sufficient creature it wasn't much of a stretch. Now, at this late stage of my life, I am having to learn responsibility of and for others. While still retaining my I Come First credo. My I Come First credo now has riders; subsections and provisos so it isn't as awful as it sounds.
But I no longer do the most important thing first thing every day. It's usually toward the end of the day when I balance the art board on my knees while sitting on the couch with a cat or two and R at the other end.
Just spent an hour reading a book (The Barbed Coil by J. V. Jones). I used to read for hours at a time. Now I'm either making busy or I'm on the computer. At the end of the day, after I've made dinner and my time is my own, I try and read but the tv is on and concentration is off. Find I have to go back and reread bits to familiarize myself with characters or situations I should already know. Even now, the call of the computer is strong. What a blessing and a curse the digital age is. I'd miss the computer if I didn't have one at the same time as I know how much time I waste clicking away on it.
(Oh no, there's a hare come out in broad daylight - 2pm - to nibble on the flake of lucerne I've put out for the horses. Jamaica is lazing in the sun, it's another cold and windy day although sunny. I hope he doesn't see him. Jamaica's not asleep. I can see the glint of bright brown eyes. If he looked 45 degrees NE he'd see the hare.)
In a much better stronger frame of mind than yesterday. A good nights sleep helps. Yesterday was the day following the second night of little sleep. Because I function and get through the day I act as though insomnia doesn't have an affect but of course it does. I don't think as clearly, I'm more emotional and I mask tiredness with activity.
(Ah, the hare has had enough and hops away on long strong legs unscathed. Jamaica dozes on).
Reading on the Rebelle page about the only productive tip a creative sort will ever need. Do the most important thing first every day. I'd modify that statement to read: Find the time to do the most important thing every day.
I've got up in the dark to take the dogs and myself for a 40 minute walk while the stars shine overhead just to be alone and exercise at the same time. I've got up an hour earlier, again in the dark, to write 3 pages longhand while following the Artists Way. I've got up an hour earlier to do yoga in the dark in front of the fire before work. Now I get up just before dawn to feed the cats and horses and birds. Creative acts come later.
One thing I never had to contend with before was responsibility for anyone other than myself. Yes, I looked after animals, usually a single cat, but with Self as my Motto and Creed, and a cat being a self-sufficient creature it wasn't much of a stretch. Now, at this late stage of my life, I am having to learn responsibility of and for others. While still retaining my I Come First credo. My I Come First credo now has riders; subsections and provisos so it isn't as awful as it sounds.
But I no longer do the most important thing first thing every day. It's usually toward the end of the day when I balance the art board on my knees while sitting on the couch with a cat or two and R at the other end.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
A Murder of Crows and Fight Club Magpies
Another day, another cleaning frenzy. Prospective clients due out this Thursday...hopefully...there have been three cancellations, well two cancels and one mixed communication. Taking a break from mopping/dusty/tidying. Richard dances to the rhythmic sweep of the broom as he cleans all the walkways.
Know I get a bit (a bit!) anal about the cleaning thing, cleaning areas that will never been seen by anyone but me but it helps to dispense with nervous energy.
Not sure what I saw yesterday while riding. Do magpies have Fight Clubs or Boxing Tournaments? Always see magpies in family groups, usually three birds; mom, dad and juvenile. Don't see them flock like PeeWees or even occasionally willie wagtails. Yesterday however, was riding up Zig Zag Hill prior to crossing the Muffin Top. In a cleared area, only cleared because the grass hadn't grown high, were a dozen or more maggies surrounding two fighting birds. Naturally they all erupted and flew away, all dozen or more of them, when Balthazar and I crashed through the long grass.
So why were they congregated to watch the fighting? How many family groups? Were they all males or mixed. Mysterious. Like so many things.
Like the gathering of crows. A hundred or more crows will gather in one spot, squawking and squarking seemingly without rhyme or reason. Periodically they will all lift into the sky as one entity, rising on a crescendo of screaming only to descend again, still shouting at the top of their lungs.
What do they talk about? How do they know there is to be a gathering? How far do they come? Who decides the meeting has ended? Just one more mystery in a universe of mysteries.
Know I get a bit (a bit!) anal about the cleaning thing, cleaning areas that will never been seen by anyone but me but it helps to dispense with nervous energy.
Not sure what I saw yesterday while riding. Do magpies have Fight Clubs or Boxing Tournaments? Always see magpies in family groups, usually three birds; mom, dad and juvenile. Don't see them flock like PeeWees or even occasionally willie wagtails. Yesterday however, was riding up Zig Zag Hill prior to crossing the Muffin Top. In a cleared area, only cleared because the grass hadn't grown high, were a dozen or more maggies surrounding two fighting birds. Naturally they all erupted and flew away, all dozen or more of them, when Balthazar and I crashed through the long grass.
So why were they congregated to watch the fighting? How many family groups? Were they all males or mixed. Mysterious. Like so many things.
Like the gathering of crows. A hundred or more crows will gather in one spot, squawking and squarking seemingly without rhyme or reason. Periodically they will all lift into the sky as one entity, rising on a crescendo of screaming only to descend again, still shouting at the top of their lungs.
What do they talk about? How do they know there is to be a gathering? How far do they come? Who decides the meeting has ended? Just one more mystery in a universe of mysteries.
The Honesty of Imperfection
So restless. Feel like a rubberband, stretching and condensing. House not sold. Hot buyers have bought elsewhere so back to square one. Panic thinking. Contact previous prospective buyers, say we'll accept your offer? No, they've bought elsewhere. So we sit and wait again. Hence my restlessness. In my imagination we were already moved. Difficult to remain centered and here. I want to be exploring and there.
Why is it so difficult to trust in the rightness of the Universe? Rather, why is it so difficult for me to trust in the rightness of my Universe? Feel like I'm battering at the bars of a cage. Let me out! Feel trapped by this house, by my marriage (how dare I admit it, when any kernel of goodness I possess compels me to stay here and be true to this loving man who needs me in the hours of his illness - how guilty I feel admitting this. And he knows, compels me with his words of love and devotion not to leave him when he needs me now and will need me more as time passes and his illness progresses. Trapped trapped trapped. Self-pitying shit that I am when most of the world is glad just to have shelter and food).
It comes down to - How dare I want more than I have? How dare I be unhappy? How dare I be anything but overjoyed and thankful?
Then there are days when I just breathe thank you thank you thank you for the pure joy of breathing beauty that is there for the taking.
But those days are not this day. Maybe there is something in just being honest with myself. That it is okay not to be perfect, to be resentful sometimes and frightened. To admit that I do not have the strength of character to change my mood at whim, to turn fear into gratitude, like bread into toast. I'm doughy and yeasty and easily flattened. Today I am flat. Tomorrow toast!
Why is it so difficult to trust in the rightness of the Universe? Rather, why is it so difficult for me to trust in the rightness of my Universe? Feel like I'm battering at the bars of a cage. Let me out! Feel trapped by this house, by my marriage (how dare I admit it, when any kernel of goodness I possess compels me to stay here and be true to this loving man who needs me in the hours of his illness - how guilty I feel admitting this. And he knows, compels me with his words of love and devotion not to leave him when he needs me now and will need me more as time passes and his illness progresses. Trapped trapped trapped. Self-pitying shit that I am when most of the world is glad just to have shelter and food).
It comes down to - How dare I want more than I have? How dare I be unhappy? How dare I be anything but overjoyed and thankful?
Then there are days when I just breathe thank you thank you thank you for the pure joy of breathing beauty that is there for the taking.
But those days are not this day. Maybe there is something in just being honest with myself. That it is okay not to be perfect, to be resentful sometimes and frightened. To admit that I do not have the strength of character to change my mood at whim, to turn fear into gratitude, like bread into toast. I'm doughy and yeasty and easily flattened. Today I am flat. Tomorrow toast!
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
No news on either house. Ours remains unsold and thankfully so does the Burringbar house.
When we found this place, I knew it was ours. I knew we belonged here and so we have, for 25 years. When we walked through the Burringbar house, I knew (and don't want to doubt that I knew) that it was our next new home. It felt as though it welcomed us, wanted us there as surely as this house did. Feel this house is on to its next phase, that someone will take it further; insulate it, install a/c, perhaps pave the driveway or enclose the garage. I don't know but we've done our dash, saved it from a slow decline into dereliction. It was loved, is loved, and it shows.
Nevertheless, I can leave it and move on.
Again and again I wonder how I have the temerity to want something else, something more when I already have so much. Oh, the guilt! The guilt inherent in simply wanting something other than what already is mine by virtue of being alive. I have no easy answer nor do I have the ability, apparently, to shed the guilt as easily as I would shed a stained shirt. So I'll move on because this was not the reason I opened blogger today.
I opened it because I was writing a scene in my head while asleep last night, one of the times I was asleep in what is turning into a regular pattern of irregular sleep.
I could just cry right now. Ran an online 6 card Tarot spread ( http://www.free-tarot-reading.net ) with the burning question. Will we get that house? This is the result.
Whether you are recovering from ill health, a broken marriage or relationship, or challenges at work, you will find the will power to come out on top.
If you are looking to give up any bad habits, such as smoking or drinking for example, this is a good time to do it.
(I worry whether I'll have the strength to cope with the move, Richard and his particular health challenges and my own failings - but despite fear have always felt that I'll never be faced with more than I can handle - so yes, I do have the strength).
Perhaps you feel a victim and that events are not going as planned. Trust that this is a passage from one phase of your life to another.
If you are not sure what or who you need to give up, trust that things will resolve themselves over time and whatever the outcome it will ultimately be to your benefit.
(This sums is up perfectly. The Hanged Man also means stasis which beautifully describes this limbo we find ourselves in)
If you are experiencing or have just experienced losing a job, a bereavement, divorce or the end of a relationship, these changes will allow new experiences and opportunities to enter your life.
(Of course this is the Death of one phase of our life and the start of another. There are always challenges in change. It is not only the Death of living here, it is the Death of our relationship based on equal health. Nevertheless, Bring it on! )
When we found this place, I knew it was ours. I knew we belonged here and so we have, for 25 years. When we walked through the Burringbar house, I knew (and don't want to doubt that I knew) that it was our next new home. It felt as though it welcomed us, wanted us there as surely as this house did. Feel this house is on to its next phase, that someone will take it further; insulate it, install a/c, perhaps pave the driveway or enclose the garage. I don't know but we've done our dash, saved it from a slow decline into dereliction. It was loved, is loved, and it shows.
Nevertheless, I can leave it and move on.
Again and again I wonder how I have the temerity to want something else, something more when I already have so much. Oh, the guilt! The guilt inherent in simply wanting something other than what already is mine by virtue of being alive. I have no easy answer nor do I have the ability, apparently, to shed the guilt as easily as I would shed a stained shirt. So I'll move on because this was not the reason I opened blogger today.
I opened it because I was writing a scene in my head while asleep last night, one of the times I was asleep in what is turning into a regular pattern of irregular sleep.
I could just cry right now. Ran an online 6 card Tarot spread ( http://www.free-tarot-reading.net ) with the burning question. Will we get that house? This is the result.
Card 1: How you feel about yourself »
Strength
You feel that despite the challenges you have been faced with in the past, present or future, you will find the strength and courage to succeed.Whether you are recovering from ill health, a broken marriage or relationship, or challenges at work, you will find the will power to come out on top.
If you are looking to give up any bad habits, such as smoking or drinking for example, this is a good time to do it.
(I worry whether I'll have the strength to cope with the move, Richard and his particular health challenges and my own failings - but despite fear have always felt that I'll never be faced with more than I can handle - so yes, I do have the strength).
Card 2: What you want most right now »
The Hanged Man
The cards suggest that what you most want at this time is to have it all! Why should you have to give something or someone up?Perhaps you feel a victim and that events are not going as planned. Trust that this is a passage from one phase of your life to another.
If you are not sure what or who you need to give up, trust that things will resolve themselves over time and whatever the outcome it will ultimately be to your benefit.
(This sums is up perfectly. The Hanged Man also means stasis which beautifully describes this limbo we find ourselves in)
Card 3: Your fears »
Death
You are afraid of experiencing turbulent and catastrophic change, as we all are, yet such challenging transformation in our lives helps create the space for something new.If you are experiencing or have just experienced losing a job, a bereavement, divorce or the end of a relationship, these changes will allow new experiences and opportunities to enter your life.
(Of course this is the Death of one phase of our life and the start of another. There are always challenges in change. It is not only the Death of living here, it is the Death of our relationship based on equal health. Nevertheless, Bring it on! )
Card 4: What is going for you »
The World
Success,
fulfillment and conclusion are near at hand - the successful outcome to
a venture, satisfaction in a relationship and efforts rewarded. It is a
culmination of events and indicates material wealth and greater
spiritual awareness. You may choose to buy that dream house or a
wonderfully fulfilling relationship is on offer, enjoy!
(What can I say? 'You may choose to buy that dream house', well, yay!)
Card 5: What is going against you »
The Chariot
Watch
out for being too arrogant or letting that ego of yours get over
inflated, nobody likes a know it all. Watch that temper too, aggressive
bullying behaviour will only set you back. If this doesn't sound like
you, beware of someone like this that could set you back. This is a time
of movement and change, and conflicts ending in victory, so don't give
up.
(Notice a tendency to be impatient with R when he doesn't understand what I'm saying. It is not him, it is not his fault - so I must watch myself and always ALWAYS treat with love and patience. A big learning curve for this impatient and knowitall Sagittarian. Had to stop and backtrack when I found myself making decisions without consulting him. Have to include him, have to take the time to explain things fully so that he understands and is comfortable with the decisions being made. So a timely reminder to keep in mind).
Card 6: The likely outcome »
Justice
Justice
will be done. Decisions will go in your favour, particularly regarding
partnerships or legal matters. A time for some good luck and reward
for your good deeds in the past.
(What can I say but Yes! and Thank You!)
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
I wrote no more of the previous post as I was still at Helen's, everyone woke up and the day began.
The Burringbar house. High and gloriously adorned with views in three directions. Not dramatic views as at the Nobbys Creek house but striking views nevertheless of the Border Ranges, and that sweeping arc of palm studded jungle to the north. A wide wooden deck inviting elbow-leaning on the rail with a glass of something red at hand.
Wood floors everywhere but bedrooms. A pantry in the kitchen corner with good light and good access. Gas stove. Huge master bedroom with ensuite and access to deck. Private office, also with view. The house just opens its arms wide and embraces. I see us living there.
We made an offer and it was accepted contingent upon our house selling. Loved that. Rather than the dismaying back and forth faffing about with offers and counter offers, I (we) made an offer which was less than their asking price but still a meaty amount. It was accepted by the next email. Everybody happy.
So now the mad cleaning for the hopeful second visit of the people interested in our house. They were supposed to come last Monday but a death in the family postponed it until tomorrow. No confirmation as yet but I've mopped and dusted and today will be devoted to raking and windows and more raking.
Many people thinking good thoughts for us. I am excited but also a fatalistic part of me, who better sees the big picture, knows that if is falls through it is for a reason that is ultimately to our advantage. So we wait and hope.
The Burringbar house. High and gloriously adorned with views in three directions. Not dramatic views as at the Nobbys Creek house but striking views nevertheless of the Border Ranges, and that sweeping arc of palm studded jungle to the north. A wide wooden deck inviting elbow-leaning on the rail with a glass of something red at hand.
Wood floors everywhere but bedrooms. A pantry in the kitchen corner with good light and good access. Gas stove. Huge master bedroom with ensuite and access to deck. Private office, also with view. The house just opens its arms wide and embraces. I see us living there.
We made an offer and it was accepted contingent upon our house selling. Loved that. Rather than the dismaying back and forth faffing about with offers and counter offers, I (we) made an offer which was less than their asking price but still a meaty amount. It was accepted by the next email. Everybody happy.
So now the mad cleaning for the hopeful second visit of the people interested in our house. They were supposed to come last Monday but a death in the family postponed it until tomorrow. No confirmation as yet but I've mopped and dusted and today will be devoted to raking and windows and more raking.
Many people thinking good thoughts for us. I am excited but also a fatalistic part of me, who better sees the big picture, knows that if is falls through it is for a reason that is ultimately to our advantage. So we wait and hope.
WRITTEN JULY 4, AT CURRUMBIN BEACH. 2:30pm
Sitting outside, across the street from the beach (mickey bird just landed, looked me right in the eye and plucked a crumb from the table). Within seconds of sitting down I saw the telltale plume of a humpback whale heading south followed by the arcing black curve of its back.
The beach. How I want to live near the beach. Tomorrow Helen and I go to Nobbys Creek, 35 minutes from the beach, to view a property. At 3pm we view another, 15 minutes from the beach. At this point there is no contest.
The sea is calm, not quite glassy but a frustration for surfers. It is a series of blue and green striations. The horizon draws my soul out and away and free.
Flocks of seagulls riding the upwelling of sea air hitting the beach. Warm sun on my neck after 2 degrees at home this morning. Mellow and beautiful. Happy.
A guilty pleasure for R is home minding the animals. And, as much as I love him, I am relieved to be on my own, anonymous and empress of my time for at least a few hours. Meet Helen's brother at 4:30. Helen returning from Melbourne 9:30 this evening.
The last time I really had this solitude was in Charlevoix, how many years ago? Spent the night alone in the house. What fun. Beholden to nothing and no one.
July 5, Sunday.
Found the house we're going to buy: at Burringbar, NSW.
At first we went to the Nobbys Creek house. Drove through dark green tunnels on a roller coaster road. (Used the sat nav on my new smart phone. I am old enough to be continuously astounded by modern technology). Met a very fine realtor, Wally, at the house. The outside was just as it looked in the photos; neat, tidy, conservatively landscaped. The views, the magnificent vista - to die for, steep rocky escarpmets, a vertical wall of rock at athe face of a solid wall of mountains.
Grounds steep, difficult for aviary placement. Lush. No shelters or sheds near the paddocks. But doable. Dog fenced, carport, magnificent shed for R.
Then we went inside the house. My heart sank. I wanted to love the house for R's sake. Nothing obviously wrong with it; bedrooms a good size, neat and tidy and new, bathroom, laundry, all the normal stuff - but it had no soul. It was cold and barren and although I politely took the tour with Wally, I couldn't wait to get outside.
Is this what it's going to be like, I asked myself. Is there something wrong with me that I felt such an aversion to a perfectly normal house? But you can't force a feeling that isn't there.
Fortunately, oh fortunately! Helen hated it too. She also felt it was cold and barren.
After thanking Wally we left and had lunch at Mavis' kitchen, an old high set Queenslander converted into a popular restaurant, where I had the strongest coffee I've ever had.
Then it was time to find the Burringbar house. We drove past and then drove to the sea to time it. Fifteen minutes. Parked the car, walked out onto an estuary where people were fishing and followed a path to the widest brightest beach and the white wave fringed sea.
By that time we had to drive straight back to make our appointment with the owner.
Steep driveway after hard right turn inside the gate. Flat area on top for aviaries although they will have to be a bit scattered, not enough flat land to put them all in one area (NB no near neighbours to be bothered by screaming birds).
J came out with a toddler and a talkative 4 year old and gave the tour.
Won't try and describe each room. Oh! First thing I noticed when getting out of the car, which was noticeably absent at Nobbys Creek, was bird song. A sold wall of jungle rises behind the house - it rang with music.
Inside, a house of toddlers and a man whose wife is on the road; cluttered and dusty and in some places having a slight gamey smell - but what a house!
Sitting outside, across the street from the beach (mickey bird just landed, looked me right in the eye and plucked a crumb from the table). Within seconds of sitting down I saw the telltale plume of a humpback whale heading south followed by the arcing black curve of its back.
The beach. How I want to live near the beach. Tomorrow Helen and I go to Nobbys Creek, 35 minutes from the beach, to view a property. At 3pm we view another, 15 minutes from the beach. At this point there is no contest.
The sea is calm, not quite glassy but a frustration for surfers. It is a series of blue and green striations. The horizon draws my soul out and away and free.
Flocks of seagulls riding the upwelling of sea air hitting the beach. Warm sun on my neck after 2 degrees at home this morning. Mellow and beautiful. Happy.
A guilty pleasure for R is home minding the animals. And, as much as I love him, I am relieved to be on my own, anonymous and empress of my time for at least a few hours. Meet Helen's brother at 4:30. Helen returning from Melbourne 9:30 this evening.
The last time I really had this solitude was in Charlevoix, how many years ago? Spent the night alone in the house. What fun. Beholden to nothing and no one.
July 5, Sunday.
Found the house we're going to buy: at Burringbar, NSW.
At first we went to the Nobbys Creek house. Drove through dark green tunnels on a roller coaster road. (Used the sat nav on my new smart phone. I am old enough to be continuously astounded by modern technology). Met a very fine realtor, Wally, at the house. The outside was just as it looked in the photos; neat, tidy, conservatively landscaped. The views, the magnificent vista - to die for, steep rocky escarpmets, a vertical wall of rock at athe face of a solid wall of mountains.
Grounds steep, difficult for aviary placement. Lush. No shelters or sheds near the paddocks. But doable. Dog fenced, carport, magnificent shed for R.
Then we went inside the house. My heart sank. I wanted to love the house for R's sake. Nothing obviously wrong with it; bedrooms a good size, neat and tidy and new, bathroom, laundry, all the normal stuff - but it had no soul. It was cold and barren and although I politely took the tour with Wally, I couldn't wait to get outside.
Is this what it's going to be like, I asked myself. Is there something wrong with me that I felt such an aversion to a perfectly normal house? But you can't force a feeling that isn't there.
Fortunately, oh fortunately! Helen hated it too. She also felt it was cold and barren.
After thanking Wally we left and had lunch at Mavis' kitchen, an old high set Queenslander converted into a popular restaurant, where I had the strongest coffee I've ever had.
Then it was time to find the Burringbar house. We drove past and then drove to the sea to time it. Fifteen minutes. Parked the car, walked out onto an estuary where people were fishing and followed a path to the widest brightest beach and the white wave fringed sea.
By that time we had to drive straight back to make our appointment with the owner.
Steep driveway after hard right turn inside the gate. Flat area on top for aviaries although they will have to be a bit scattered, not enough flat land to put them all in one area (NB no near neighbours to be bothered by screaming birds).
J came out with a toddler and a talkative 4 year old and gave the tour.
Won't try and describe each room. Oh! First thing I noticed when getting out of the car, which was noticeably absent at Nobbys Creek, was bird song. A sold wall of jungle rises behind the house - it rang with music.
Inside, a house of toddlers and a man whose wife is on the road; cluttered and dusty and in some places having a slight gamey smell - but what a house!
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