Saturday, January 11, 2014

An Aussie Holiday

I am spending my summer holidays in Australia – a whole 6 weeks or so, for the first time in over 3 years. It wasn’t by choice – I had big plans for South America or Cambodia, but friends are getting married right smack bang in the middle and the opportunity for those kinds of celebrations with friends is coming along less these days.

At first I had no idea how to spend the time – it’s so expensive in Australia, especially when you don’t have a home base but it has turned into the loveliest opportunity to catch up with friends which is the perfect holiday for me at the moment because I miss my friends and family heaps n stuff.

Bali: Luxury. 4 days of uninterrupted conversation with girls I miss constantly. Big questions about future and past. Champagne and margaritas and Nasi Goreng and walks on the beach. And shopping. Quality time a long time coming. Made me miss my life in Juc but got to holiday with the best bits of that life by a pool in the tropics. With cheap drinks.

Melbourne: The time to be a daughter which is always too much and not enough time. And the role I hate leaving the most. And be an aunt, which is never enough time. But they create the best Christmas spirit possible, especially when you get to see movies like Thor. To see Christmas lights and trees and phenomenal buskers. For Christmas, bursting to within an inch of my life, with my family. Too much spiced rum and fun times with a new friend. And to see the women who inspire me to live strong and happily and write- cannot thank you enough for that. Tequila and the constant inconstant weather. And Deb, my always rock. And crazy, sometimes violent, sometimes naked city people.

Sunshine Coast: A return to all things wonderful. Oceans without crocodiles, sunshine. Bush. A breeze that makes you want to take your clothes off. New Years with fireworks and amazing lightening storms. Drinks and sex on a deck in the warm air. New friends with the honest openness that resolves my decision to believe in people rather than a god. Climbing mountains and walking coastlines too lovely to look at. Open spaces, so much space and time. And BATS! So chaotic moving towards their streamlined merging. The most beautifully wild silhouette. A woman who will hold my hand and take me walking when life is hard and a man who devours life and inspires everyone else to. Fuck he loves life.

And then a catch up with a school mate who I haven’t seen in maybe 20 years. It was so great to catch up with him and his wife as they are such great people, but it was mostly great because they knew me before all the loss and sadness and confusion and craziness and I was still there. The girl from Rochy is still here (and I don’t just mean my obsession with a good checked shirt). Some days the weight of loss – partner and babies and dogs and home – makes it so hard to take a step, makes me breathless. Even after so many days they turned into years – I am still heavy with it. But for an hour and a half I was someone who had never gone through any of that, I was someone who had a lot of things and people in common, but none had anything to do with that baggage, instead it was the girl that sat on a wooden bench, trying to sit comfortably in a summer uniform that was too short, listening to this very funny friend’s jokes while trying not to spill beetroot from my Tuck-shop soggy salad roll.

I love travelling but sometimes the incentive is to not be surrounded by what I lost in Victoria, to have new adventures that allow me to indulge in my love of wonder as much as possible. And to move quickly enough to not have to feel the weight of the past. But this holiday has been a reconnection to someone who I forgot about a bit, to the girl and woman I was before settling down in Juc – who I forgot about in trying to deal with and move on. And in that is a relief, I forgot I had existed before and that helps me shove the weight off – even if it’s just to the side for a bit, it’s a respite.


My wonderful friend wrote a blog recently about the impact family and friends have on the person we become. She wondered how strong the elastic is that allows us to move and change and wander. Having been able to spend time with my friends and family this summer showed me it is very hard to break those ties and snapped me back into the world and people who helped form me into the quite amazing woman I am today. It has been liberating.

This is dedicated to all of my friends and family. But especially to Kate, Fev, Duey, Hocko and Mini, who have given me, me again. 

Saturday, June 22, 2013

A rock.


Tonight my friend’s youngest girl wanted to sit on my lap. She was wrapped up in a poncho with only curls and dimples left popping out. I felt not a little overwhelmed with the privilege. 

It was not the first time. I have watched “Tangled” with her snuggled on my knee and suffered through “High School Musical” – I didn’t whinge or wriggle because she was delighting in it and snuggled on my knee. I have seen her dimples flash wide while she showed me how she can “swim”(jump fearlessly and skill-lessly through the water). She has performed "Dancing Queen" and some aerobic dancing moves of her own for me. I have multi-coloured her nails. But tonight on my knee she complained because I was rocking. I didn’t realize I was even moving- it wasn’t my normal, restless, I-can’t-stand-being-still twitching, it was the physical memory of comfort. 

My mother always rocked me. If ever she was patient enough to have me on her knee she rocked– even as a teen, if I gave her the chance to hold me for a minute, she’d rock. So it annoyed Dimples but I had the chance to remember the comfort of the rock – and it was totally about comforting me, not her.

The memory is so bittersweet, I will not ever share what my mother – and before her my grandmothers, shared with me. I will not share those moments of nurturing, I can’t pass on the rocking to my own. Mostly, I go about my days pretty well – and I have some pretty awesome days that most of my friends are jealous of. But randomly, with no warning, I know: I will not be a mother. I will not be a grandmother. I will not rock a child of my own. I will not feel my heartbeat through her skin as I hold her. I will not see my eyes in hers. And it floors me. 

For a moment, I cannot breathe, I am caught still in my horror. No-one sees this, it is just a moment but it is such a hopelessness.  I am the last of me and the comfort of rocking.

Kiss 2


What I miss, what I miss
is a kiss.
The softest touch,
but such a touch-
holding their heart beat on their lips.
The whisper of breath,
a sigh.
Winding, finding its way down,
wrapping around my heart and warming it.
Reminding it to keep beating.