he said to me today in an email:
"I can't stay in Germany without you".
it was pretty nice.
Saturday 23 June 2012
treasure: talkin' bout the weather
the weather. it's a foolproof topic, unlike money, religion and politics. in fact, in my case, it's even safer than telling your grandparents what your career plan is (for all those playing at home, i am a happily semi-directionless no-hoper who lives with her parents).
i grew up in the country, the daughter of a sheep-farmer. a sheep farmer who also happened to be a glider pilot. i never thought it was weird that my father could pause to pass the time of day with any old country folk and devote the majority of conversation to the weather: past, present and future. it's a currency of sorts: the bizarre competition between farmers of how many cm of rain they've had. in drought times, even an extra drip or drop inspire envy and a general propensity to wring one's hands and look to the sky.
without even knowing, you learn things about clouds. for making farmers happy, you want the heavy wet cloud, full of rain. for making glider pilots happy, you want the fluffy ones, full of rising hot air and promise.
when i moved to canada it seemed normal to monitor the weather so closely; this was the first time it had ever been relevant to me personally. la nina, cold fronts, snow, inverted temperatures. forecasted snow could change your whole attitude about life. it meant early nights for early powdery starts. or it meant late nights, resigning yourself to waking up late, hungover, listening to rain.
something i have noticed since i returned to australia- the clouds. australian clouds are like nothing i saw in canada. they're fluffy- almost caricatures of themselves.
inevitably, while i soak up the winter sunshine on the very farm where i grew up listening to weather talk, enjoy the clear cold blue days, i must admit that for the rest of my life, the weather here is exactly what it should be. there are thunderstorms, there are windy afternoons that make the pine trees whistle, there are peaceful still summer days for mowing the lawn and finishing up on the deck with a beer. and no matter where i live, waking up to rain will instinctively make my heart sing.
there's a lot more to life than the weather, i know that's true. still, there's something nice about living so close to the earth, relying on it for your lives and your happiness. i'm happy to talk weather with my grandfather if it means i have something to say to him that we both agree upon. yup, this is me, embracing my wholesome country upbringing. it may be the flavour of my writing for the next few months.
i grew up in the country, the daughter of a sheep-farmer. a sheep farmer who also happened to be a glider pilot. i never thought it was weird that my father could pause to pass the time of day with any old country folk and devote the majority of conversation to the weather: past, present and future. it's a currency of sorts: the bizarre competition between farmers of how many cm of rain they've had. in drought times, even an extra drip or drop inspire envy and a general propensity to wring one's hands and look to the sky.
without even knowing, you learn things about clouds. for making farmers happy, you want the heavy wet cloud, full of rain. for making glider pilots happy, you want the fluffy ones, full of rising hot air and promise.
when i moved to canada it seemed normal to monitor the weather so closely; this was the first time it had ever been relevant to me personally. la nina, cold fronts, snow, inverted temperatures. forecasted snow could change your whole attitude about life. it meant early nights for early powdery starts. or it meant late nights, resigning yourself to waking up late, hungover, listening to rain.
something i have noticed since i returned to australia- the clouds. australian clouds are like nothing i saw in canada. they're fluffy- almost caricatures of themselves.
inevitably, while i soak up the winter sunshine on the very farm where i grew up listening to weather talk, enjoy the clear cold blue days, i must admit that for the rest of my life, the weather here is exactly what it should be. there are thunderstorms, there are windy afternoons that make the pine trees whistle, there are peaceful still summer days for mowing the lawn and finishing up on the deck with a beer. and no matter where i live, waking up to rain will instinctively make my heart sing.
there's a lot more to life than the weather, i know that's true. still, there's something nice about living so close to the earth, relying on it for your lives and your happiness. i'm happy to talk weather with my grandfather if it means i have something to say to him that we both agree upon. yup, this is me, embracing my wholesome country upbringing. it may be the flavour of my writing for the next few months.
Thursday 21 June 2012
secret: powers of invisibility
suddenly, and without any pretext, i feel as though i am invisible.
i sit quietly on the internet catching up with everybody else's lives. i swap emails with a few faithful friends who write to me, keeping up a constant dialogue of the little, the precious, the mundane. underwritten is a sort of soft reassurance that i am a real person, who people know and remember from my past life, when i wasn't hidden off the grid at my mum's house.
the internet is not enough. it shocks me a little to realise it; i've championed the internet my whole time away in canada, i've believed in it as a way of connecting, but now, on the far end of all of this i really have to wonder why i felt that way.
i feel invisible because i'm out and far away from things. because i have a boyfriend in germany, and the more that time passes, the less real he gets. he's turning into a theoretical person, and so am i, in response. an invisible, theoretical person.
i prescribe myself some long walks, a cup of coffee with an old school friend and then next week, thankfully, hours and days of time with my little brothers, the ones who make me giggle and laugh and flesh me out to three dimensions again, filling at least one of those dimensions with beer. to them i am not invisible, nor computer presence, nor theoretical anything.
i shall set myself some writing goals too, any minute now, and write myself back into a person-shaped person. that's what i'll do. and maybe i'll put together a playlist too. stay tuned. let me know when you can see me again, when i'm visible once more.
i sit quietly on the internet catching up with everybody else's lives. i swap emails with a few faithful friends who write to me, keeping up a constant dialogue of the little, the precious, the mundane. underwritten is a sort of soft reassurance that i am a real person, who people know and remember from my past life, when i wasn't hidden off the grid at my mum's house.
the internet is not enough. it shocks me a little to realise it; i've championed the internet my whole time away in canada, i've believed in it as a way of connecting, but now, on the far end of all of this i really have to wonder why i felt that way.
i feel invisible because i'm out and far away from things. because i have a boyfriend in germany, and the more that time passes, the less real he gets. he's turning into a theoretical person, and so am i, in response. an invisible, theoretical person.
i prescribe myself some long walks, a cup of coffee with an old school friend and then next week, thankfully, hours and days of time with my little brothers, the ones who make me giggle and laugh and flesh me out to three dimensions again, filling at least one of those dimensions with beer. to them i am not invisible, nor computer presence, nor theoretical anything.
i shall set myself some writing goals too, any minute now, and write myself back into a person-shaped person. that's what i'll do. and maybe i'll put together a playlist too. stay tuned. let me know when you can see me again, when i'm visible once more.
Sunday 17 June 2012
treasure: when the words come back
i know it's been all quiet on the western (now eastern) front.
there was too much and not enough to say. but today... today is the day the words start to come back.
it's just it's just it's just... sometimes it's hard to find the right place to start.
there was too much and not enough to say. but today... today is the day the words start to come back.
it's just it's just it's just... sometimes it's hard to find the right place to start.
secret: return of the prodigal
a few months ago i made a reflection that the day when i woke up to look out the window and realise my mountains were missing would be a tough day.
yesterday i woke up at 6am, wide awake almost instantly. jet lag is a bitch. i lay in my cocoon; sleeping on the futon that was mine all through my high school years, wrapped up in blankets i've known and used for cubby houses since my childhood.
at 6 am, the world is very still and quiet. as the minutes pass and my mind wanders, there are hints of pink and orange. in a slow miracle, the sun rises, and i watched out the window, curled up in warmth. i thought about a lot of things, like who i was and where i was. i thought about the one i love, so very far away from me, both in kilometres and time. i watched the world become real again and the night disappear, i watched the bare rolling hills and the few gum trees in my eyeline.
no mountains. it's winter here, or starting to be. winter in new england is delicious, smoky and cold. crisp like an apple. sparse. familiar like family. there are clear blue skies and a tentative warmth that disappears as the sun sets. the sun has a way of shining off the frost that often appears from the cold clear night before. it widens the day with the sparkle it makes, and then it melts. i like when my nose is cold in the mornings outside.
i worried, those months ago, that i would always want to be somewhere else. i've never been so satisfied with a sense of place as i was in canada. my poor jumbled brain needs to feel that feeling, to have a base to work from. it was perfect, that sun rise, for showing me that things can shift, and any place can be my place. wherever i go, there i am.
yesterday i woke up at 6am, wide awake almost instantly. jet lag is a bitch. i lay in my cocoon; sleeping on the futon that was mine all through my high school years, wrapped up in blankets i've known and used for cubby houses since my childhood.
at 6 am, the world is very still and quiet. as the minutes pass and my mind wanders, there are hints of pink and orange. in a slow miracle, the sun rises, and i watched out the window, curled up in warmth. i thought about a lot of things, like who i was and where i was. i thought about the one i love, so very far away from me, both in kilometres and time. i watched the world become real again and the night disappear, i watched the bare rolling hills and the few gum trees in my eyeline.
no mountains. it's winter here, or starting to be. winter in new england is delicious, smoky and cold. crisp like an apple. sparse. familiar like family. there are clear blue skies and a tentative warmth that disappears as the sun sets. the sun has a way of shining off the frost that often appears from the cold clear night before. it widens the day with the sparkle it makes, and then it melts. i like when my nose is cold in the mornings outside.
i worried, those months ago, that i would always want to be somewhere else. i've never been so satisfied with a sense of place as i was in canada. my poor jumbled brain needs to feel that feeling, to have a base to work from. it was perfect, that sun rise, for showing me that things can shift, and any place can be my place. wherever i go, there i am.
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