7am is alright. So why does it feel so wrong? What time is it in Australia? No, that is not good maths to do. I should think about time in SPAIN, because that is where I am. Hmmm.
40 hours is a short time for say, a weekend in Paris, but a very LONG time to spend in aeroplanes, airports and buses.
40 hours is also a long time to wait, finally in the quiet peacefulness of your house for the person who makes it home. Longer when it's already been 6 weeks of waiting.
A month is not much time to spend in your home country with the family you came from after 20 months of emails and phone calls. It sure is a long time to stay away from your fun-loving, music-playing soul friend.
9 months is quite long to wait for family joking and perhaps a second round of trivial pursuit, but perhaps not quite enough time to study all the questions in the latest edition.
It's a tough one.
I will put photos up soon, I don't know how long that will take, only that it will be a long time.
Thursday 25 March 2010
Sunday 7 March 2010
Here
1. The sound of the ocean all through the night, through the day, whenever you start listening.
2. Walks with Dad over the headland. Glimpses of water so big that you almost have to look away...Because not only is it too beautiful, but just too big.
3. Short and sweet phonecalls with Salva. Hearing the bustle of Buenos Aires from the calm of Coffs Harbour. When I hang up the phone I can hear the contrasting, exaggerated silence.
4. Lots of laughs with my little brother.
5. Trivial Pursuit with all 4 family members. I get the easiest questions wrong and provoke incredulous laughter. My brother gets everything right. If he doesn't know the answer he makes an educated guess based on other knowledge. He won two games. I continue to imagine Salva playing with us and the fun we'd have if he were here.
6. Going through family photos for the first time ever. Not baby albums, but a suitcase filled with rolls and rolls of film developed, with their negatives. There are photos of me as a baby. Good ones, that look like me, except as a baby. There are some black and white portraits of my parents taken in 1984. Dad asked me to take a 26-years-later shot in black and white today. The differences aren't as dramatic as he thinks, which was nice.
7. Reading The Slap which took me back to Melbourne for an overdue immaginary visit.
8. The best chocolate biscuits money can buy.
9. The temporary relaxation of my low-caffeine policy.
10. Lots of sleep, for most of the sunless hours.
2. Walks with Dad over the headland. Glimpses of water so big that you almost have to look away...Because not only is it too beautiful, but just too big.
3. Short and sweet phonecalls with Salva. Hearing the bustle of Buenos Aires from the calm of Coffs Harbour. When I hang up the phone I can hear the contrasting, exaggerated silence.
4. Lots of laughs with my little brother.
5. Trivial Pursuit with all 4 family members. I get the easiest questions wrong and provoke incredulous laughter. My brother gets everything right. If he doesn't know the answer he makes an educated guess based on other knowledge. He won two games. I continue to imagine Salva playing with us and the fun we'd have if he were here.
6. Going through family photos for the first time ever. Not baby albums, but a suitcase filled with rolls and rolls of film developed, with their negatives. There are photos of me as a baby. Good ones, that look like me, except as a baby. There are some black and white portraits of my parents taken in 1984. Dad asked me to take a 26-years-later shot in black and white today. The differences aren't as dramatic as he thinks, which was nice.
7. Reading The Slap which took me back to Melbourne for an overdue immaginary visit.
8. The best chocolate biscuits money can buy.
9. The temporary relaxation of my low-caffeine policy.
10. Lots of sleep, for most of the sunless hours.
Tuesday 2 March 2010
Change
A week ago I was alone, curled up in the fetal position on my bed in Valladolid, scribbling a story onto sheets of brown paper. It was one of those sunny wintry days that doesn't bring me much joy by the end of February, when I'm dreaming about the sensation of air on uncovered skin.
Today I am alone in my parent's house in Coffs Harbour, it's been raining pretty much since I got here, but the temperature is in the mid 20's and each breath of air is like a long drink of water.The humidity. My hair is like fairy floss in a messy bun. I'm still thinking about the same story, and trying to get around to editing it.
This is not any of the rural settings I grew up in. It's the realisation of my Mother's dream: a beachfront town house. Really clean and simple, white on white.
Me and my brother don't live here and you can tell, but it's not like an empty nest. They were never going to suffer from that kind of syndrome, probably because we've never stayed still long enough to get attached to any particular place, or associate any particular walls with the togetherness of this family. That's something that just happens wherever, whenever possible now. It's good.
Mum is at uni. She is a uni student, and I am not, right now. There is something strange about that.
My Dad has a new office in a new side of town. We've been walking over the headland together of a morning, and he goes to work later now.
There are 3 health shops in a 200m radius in Coffs' cbd. They have every type of essential oil you could want, and they don't even have to order them in. They just have them there in the shop. The supermarkets are also really, really full, of every ingredient ever cited in a cookbook. I can't remember if I ever used to cook the same thing 2 days in a row when I lived in Australia.
People are warm and relaxed. They talk to me and ask me where I live, if it comes up. People smile widely and say "That's great!" Although they probably usually havn't been there. They just think it's great that I don't live here. So do I, I suppose. Though it sure is nice to visit.
Today I am alone in my parent's house in Coffs Harbour, it's been raining pretty much since I got here, but the temperature is in the mid 20's and each breath of air is like a long drink of water.The humidity. My hair is like fairy floss in a messy bun. I'm still thinking about the same story, and trying to get around to editing it.
This is not any of the rural settings I grew up in. It's the realisation of my Mother's dream: a beachfront town house. Really clean and simple, white on white.
Me and my brother don't live here and you can tell, but it's not like an empty nest. They were never going to suffer from that kind of syndrome, probably because we've never stayed still long enough to get attached to any particular place, or associate any particular walls with the togetherness of this family. That's something that just happens wherever, whenever possible now. It's good.
Mum is at uni. She is a uni student, and I am not, right now. There is something strange about that.
My Dad has a new office in a new side of town. We've been walking over the headland together of a morning, and he goes to work later now.
There are 3 health shops in a 200m radius in Coffs' cbd. They have every type of essential oil you could want, and they don't even have to order them in. They just have them there in the shop. The supermarkets are also really, really full, of every ingredient ever cited in a cookbook. I can't remember if I ever used to cook the same thing 2 days in a row when I lived in Australia.
People are warm and relaxed. They talk to me and ask me where I live, if it comes up. People smile widely and say "That's great!" Although they probably usually havn't been there. They just think it's great that I don't live here. So do I, I suppose. Though it sure is nice to visit.
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