Off the Beaten Track
Sandy Barker's Travel BlogArchive for friends
Writing with abandon
I have been writing a book for nearly a decade.
When I type out those words it seems impossible that it has been that long, but it is true. Nine years ago I started penning a travel biography about my time in the UK and Europe from ’96 to ’97. I began this project old-school; I literally wrote the first draft. By hand. Onto paper. With a pen.
I still have the first draft packed into a box in a friend’s attic in Sydney. In the book’s first incarnation, chapters either read like journal entries or as essays. It took about 2 months to get everything down on paper.
I then began systematically typing it into a borrowed laptop. Technology was relatively primitive back then so I backed-up my files onto floppies. As I re-drafted over the years, the thumb drive changed my life, and I put the floppies away with the first draft. Then came an external hard-drive, and now my book (a wholly different-looking beast than how it had began) lives in The Cloud.
But I digress…
Once it was input into electronic form, I worked away at my book in spits and spurts. I wrote about the process in a previous post (Write Now!), so I won’t bore you with it again. The last line of that post says, “Yes, I need to get back to my book.” And yet, here I sit some 6 months later, and I have managed to squeeze out a paltry 4 chapters.
To change the subject, I saw an old friend last weekend. Well, she is not old, but we have known each other for the better part of 20 years. She, too, loves an American and lives in the U.S. A work trip afforded me the chance to see her and meet her husband (lovely bloke). The fates smiled on me doubly, as I was able to take more away from the reunion than the simple pleasure of catching up.
Larissa (her real name) is a creative type too. We met studying for our respective Bachelor of Arts degrees, both with a major in Theater Arts. She has come full circle after some professional detours and is currently rehearsing a Sam Shepherd play, and is a voice over artist and teacher. I, too, have had some professional detours from the stage, which is why I know I love to write.
I moaned to Larissa that I have no motivation to write my book at the moment. Or any moment, really. I work at a computer eight hours a day, and while I mostly love my job, it does not inspire me to sit at a computer when I am not there. There are many things I would rather do when I am at not at work: reading (Oh, how I love other people’s books!), running, movies, conversation, cleaning, laundry, and a thousand other things that seem more appealing that the thing that I supposedly love to do most.
I also mention to Larissa that I am inspired by something else at the moment.
I want to write the story of how I met Ben, of how we fell in love while living a world apart, and how I ended up packing up my life and moving to another country to live with a man I had yet to spend more than 5 consecutive weeks with. I want to write about that.
But there’s The Book…
How do I abandon one book to start another? Will I ever finish it if I keep finding distractions – literary or otherwise?
Yes. No. Maybe.
Which brings me back to my conversation with Larissa. “You are not abandoning your book. You are putting it away so that you can follow inspiration. You can always come back to it later.”
She said this while we were walking through Whole Foods looking for the ingredients for my Quinoa/Wild Rice Salad. Suddenly, right there next to the bulk bins, it made sense. I needed to give myself permission to abandon my book, so that I can follow what inspires me now.
On the flight home I scribbled furiously into a scribbler pad. I filled 20 or so pages and there is (much) more to come. A lot of the content has already been written and will come from travel journals, emails,and accounts that I wrote for us after our trips together.
In the car on the way home from the airport, I recounted my epiphany (thanks, Larissa) to Ben. He recalled that a favorite author of his said, and I am paraphrasing, “Some of my best work happens when I am procrastinating from the work that I am supposed to be doing.”
I have asked Ben’s permission to be candid. He has given it. I think. For weeks now the first lines have been bouncing around inside my head. “It seems a little ‘hokey’ to say that I dreamed about Ben before I met him. But I did.” Since deciding to abandon my book, those words are on paper now.
Oh, and recipe for the salad to follow. It is incredible – no, really!
Leaving home and homeward bound
I have been home in Sydney for the past week to finalize a work visa for my new job in Seattle. The trip, while being ‘immigrationally necessary’, has been the greatest gift.
When I landed the position at Groundspeak two months ago, I was thrilled – and then a little sad. I realized that it meant I would not see Australia, my home, for at least a year and a half.
Hence, the reason I have treated this week as a gift. The work visa was approved on Monday morning, and while I awaited the return of my passport, I enjoyed every moment of being home.
I have hugged old friends and chatted excitedly on the phone to others. I have swapped stories, gossip, concerns and triumphs, catching up on nearly a year of absense. I have talked at length with my dad, and spent an evening of laughter and tears at my aunt and uncle’s dining table.
I have indulged in many cups of coffee made by top-notch baristas, and stocked up on Jaffas and BONDS undies. I have taken dozens of photos of the most beautiful coastline in the world, filled a ziplock bag with sand from Bronte beach, and raided my storage boxes for much-loved books I want to take back to Seattle. I brought one suitcase, and I am taking two back. I have a tan.
And after just a week on Aussie soil, and my accent is as thick as ever (Ben calls it my Aussie accent ‘reboot’).
In a few hours I will be jetting across the Pacific Ocean on my way home. When I get there it will be one hour after I left, which I love, because it feels like ‘time travel’. I lost a Thursday on the way over, but am happily swapping it for two Saturdays.
On arrival, after hugs and kisses, and unpacking and showering (is there anything that feels better after a long-haul flight?), Ben and I will head over to our friend’s place for their housewarming party.
I will get to hug my new friends, and swap stories about our escapades over the past week, and plans for our upcoming holiday season. I will spend the rest of the weekend trying to get on Seattle time as quickly as possible, for on Monday morning I (finally) start my new job. I cannot wait.
So, I leave home to fly home, just as I did a week ago. When you have two places you call home, you are prone to twinges of homesickness, you will always miss loved ones, and you will sometimes slip into the annoying habit of comparing the two places – even if only to yourself.
But you will also have more love in your life, more joy, more nostalgia, and more hope for the future than you can possibly imagine.
I do. And I am very grateful. For all of it.
Boys, baristas and burgers
When you move to a new city, your senses are heightened. You notice that everything feels ‘new’, because your body is picking up on the subtle differences between that place and your previous home.
The salt air here in Seattle is brinier than in Sydney, more pungent. On sunny days, the sky seems bluer here too, perhaps because it contrasts so starkly with the usual grey. The people here are friendlier, especially those who work in stores, “Are you finding everything okay?’.
This heightened awareness, however, does not last. Through a series of simple little acceptances, small snippets of knowing, a place starts to feel like home. The novelty of charming details dissipates, as do the annoying differences (‘I have to pay when someone sends ME an SMS?!’).
Instead those details become part of a fabric called ‘home’. The appreciation may remain, but we come to know those details as the norm. We stop saying, ‘Back home in Sydney…’ and think of the new place as home.
Seattle is now home.
I have started looking after two little boys, aged three and five, once a week. Mostly, our time together is fun, or at least fine. They paint, and play endlessly at a game that I can only describe as ‘not much of anything at all’, but includes lots of running, and uttering of unintelligible words. I even made muffins with the little one, who delighted in cracking an egg for the first time all by himself.
These boys love to stop and smell the flowers, and I mean that literally. Yesterday, a three block walk to the bus took 15 minutes, because they stopped at nearly every garden to smell and admire the flowers. Sweet – a little annoying after 13 minutes – but mostly, sweet.
When I first met them, I was charmed by their strong American accents; it is generally cute to hear any child speak in an accent other than your own. ‘Oh, their R’s are so pronounced – how darling!’
However, that novelty was quickly forgotten yesterday when the oldest one ‘chucked a tanty’ (threw a huge tantrum, for my North American readers). There is nothing cute about a tantrum in an American accent. There is nothing cute about a five year old screaming anything in any accent. (We made up – me and the five year old. Although, I am a forgiver, not a forgetter.)
The boys at Seattle Center
Yep, Seattle is home.
I have a new local coffee shop now. I thought that it would be Uptown Espresso, which I discovered on a visit here last year, and for a while it was. Their coffee is good, and they are only three blocks away.
They were usurped, however, when I happened upon the smooth smell of well-made coffee wafting from the door of Cafe Lladro, a few blocks further from my home.
Jackpot! Their coffee is great. ‘A double tall non-fat latte, no foam, extra hot,’ has replaced ‘tall, skinny flat white’, and is just as good as Pavel used to make back in Sydney. I never thought I would say that about a cafe in the same city that birthed Starbucks, but I am happy to proven wrong about this particular previous gripe. And I would be remiss not to mention that their friendly efficient service is the icing on the cake. Great coffee and good service. Nice.
Oh yeah, Seattle is home.
Last Friday night there was an impromptu gathering of friends at the loft of Lars and Anya, or ‘Larzenanya’, as they have come to be called. Lars promised us a ‘$25 Hamburger’ – not because that is what they cost to make, but because that is what he could charge in a restaurant. It was a big call.
We arrived to gracious hellos, the pouring of drinks, and burger order forms. In: blue cheese, special sauce, onions, or a combo of these. On: Swiss cheese, Cheddar cheese, or Mozzarella? Done: well, medium-well, medium, medium-rare, or rare. Wow. Not sure on the math, but I approximate at least 1500 permutations of burgers with those options.
Lars manned the grill with confidence and flair. Anya, ever the charming hostess, ran front of house like a pro. Ben, long time avoider of red meat, signed on for the ride.
When my burger was done, I added my fixings, and savored the anticipation. Onions in, and Swiss cheese on a medium-rare burger with barbecue sauce, ketchup and mustard.
Phenomenal. I was delighted by every bite, and judging from the lull in conversation throughout the room, so was everyone else, including my mostly-vegetarian boyfriend.
This month Seattle Magazine has readers voting on the best burgers in Seattle. I would argue heavily that the Larzananya’s Burger should win.
For sure, Seattle is definitely home.
I have said before that Ben and I do not know what the future holds for us both professionally, so therefore do not know where work will take us in the coming years. For this reason, we are truly savoring all the little things about Seattle that make it home.
It’s natural beauty takes my breath away. The wonderful friendship we continue to make, make my heart full. That I am picking up some work outside of home is a blessing (no matter the little ‘moment’s that come with child-minding).
I knew well before I moved here that I could happily live in Seattle. And now I do.
So long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu
I have just had another brilliant Christmas. I truly love Christmas. I love the cookies,the music, and being with family and friends. Oh, and I LOVE presents. Having spent the last two Christmases in colder climes, I was thrilled to be able to have a true blue dinky di Aussie Christmas – well, our version of it anyway.
The abridged day is:
Christmas Stockings, big presents, champagne brekkie of prawns, smoked salmon and fruit salad, Christmas ham for a late lunch, and much wine. We also fit in a game of backyard Boules, Trivial Pursuit and some more wine.
Aunty Linda’s first stocking
My stocking stuffers
Dad and Gail opening presents
Brekkie
Yum!
More food
Backyard Boules
That was all a couple of days ago, and we haven’t slowed down – oh no! How much fun, laughter, food and drink can one person handle? It was lovely, and made even moreso by phone calls to loved ones, and the arrival of more loved ones on Boxing Day. It was a brilliant Christmas, and it also was a wonderful send off.
My next grand adventure FINALLY begins in a couple of days. I said a sad goodbye to my family today, and drove the four and a half hours north to Perth, where I sit and write this. Tomorrow I fly to Sydney for a last night with my Sydney family, and then on Monday I fly to the U.S.
These past months have been a rollercoaster ride, with every little triumph and setback seeming monumental. I have cried – with sadness and joy – and laughed often – once so hard I made no sound. I have used up my quota of swear words for 2009 and probably 2010. I have packed, unpacked, and re-packed bags, boxes, and more bags. I have lugged heavy things up and down stairs, and have given away or sold half of my ‘stuff’. I have traversed the continent and the cities. I have been on the go for what seems like forever.
When I was on the south coast of Western Australia for Christmas, I got a glimpse of what ‘at peace’ feels like. I was able to be still for many consecutive days, and to just ‘be’. It felt amazing. I am now looking forward to more of that feeling. I know that it will come when I unpack my bags and boxes, and when I settle into a lovely apartment with the man I love, and embrace my future. I feel nothing but awe and excitement when I think of the possibilities. Now that the visa is approved, the flight is booked, and the boxes are in Seattle…Now that the car is sold, and I have said my good byes, I can look ahead and feel ‘at peace’.
I will miss my family and friends – you all know that. But I will be back. Ben promises, and so do I.
On the home(less) stretch
I have spent more time on hold listening to Muzac in the past days, than in the past months combined. This is because I am having to inform everyone official – from my dentist to the phone company – that I am of ‘no fixed address’. I now have something more in common with the homeless many of Seattle than a love of coffee. Not only do I not have an address, I too am relying on the kindness of others in the following weeks.
Currently I am living with friends, Shaz and Aido (the Aussie forms of their Irish monikers Sharon and Aidan), who recently bought a big house with room enough for a wayward friend. At first it was a little surreal waking up in one of their spare rooms, as it is filled with my furniture, given to them on permanent loan while I am in the U.S. So, my room, but not my room.
The furniture situation, thankfully, suits Shaz and Aido, because they are frequently descended upon by travelling Irish folk – friends and family alike. It suits me, as I love the blanket box my Dad made me when I was 21(although as a side note, he referred to it as my ‘hope chest’ – or rather, my ‘hope I get married chest’ – remember when girls had those?), and I will get to have it back when / if Ben and I move back to Sydney. I haven’t really thought beyond that, but I suppose if plans develop and we stay stateside or move to Europe, I could send for it, packed tightly with my priceless memorabilia and photos.
Which brings me to my ‘Where the heck is my stuff?’ list. This is a list of the locations of items kind friends are storing for me. Some things are on permanent loan (that whole returning to live in Sydney thing), and I am happy for friends to use them. Some things are tucked away in attics, sheds, and garages, labelled ‘Sandy’s stuff’.
Stuff deemed ‘takeable’ is sitting on a dock in Sydney waiting to be loaded on a ship that leaves for Seattle via California in about a week. Packing these boxes was like constructing a three dimensional jigsaw puzzle. I spent two weeks creating a giant pile of stuff in the middle of my living room, and there it sat tormenting me, until a friend came over and said, “C’mon, let’s pack this stuff.” So we did.
I constructed my jigsaw puzzles, while Patrice wrote down what went into each box. She didn’t even raise an eyebrow when I called out, “Box three, hiking boots with egg cups.” She has moved internationally, you see, and like me she knows that the inside of a boot is a good place to put something small and breakable.
So, the stuff has pretty much dispersed: given away, sold, farmed out, and packed. At the moment, I have two suitcases full of clothes, a stack of paperwork yet to deal with, and a few personal items. Oh, and a car. A big, red shiny car, that needs to be sold in the next four weeks. I am keeping positive on that front, as it is in good nick and looks brilliant post detail and polish.
Next week I move again. After the nuptials of Yasmin on Scott this coming weekend, they take off for 6 weeks in south-east Asia on their Honeymoon, and I begin my stint of house/cat sitting. Storm is a Russian Blue and only likes three people – Yasmin and Scott of course, and me. It will be nice to have a cat around, as I do still miss Jessie.
After four weeks with Storm, I jet off to WA (Western Australia) for Christmas with my family, and then on the 29th jet off to the other WA (Washington State) for New Year’s Eve with Ben. As I tick things off my many ‘to do’ lists, it is all sinking in, and I am getting very excited.
Ben told me that the other night he went up on the roof – there is a deck and outdoor furniture up there – and looked at Puget Sound under the stars. In about six weeks, I will be able to that with him. Yes, not homeless for much longer.
Going Home
This weekend I fly to Perth on the west coast, and will drive 5 hours to the southwest coast to see my dad for his 60th birthday. I am going ‘home’.
‘Home’ is a word laden with connotations that make me feel a plethora of emotions. Coming ‘home’ after a long trip brings mixed emotions – from relief to sadness, and many shades in between. From necessity in conducting a long-distance relationship, Ben and I have come to know our ‘home’ as ‘wherever we are together’. Home in the context of my up-coming weekend, is my hometown, and even more than that, it is where my parents are.
Ironically I have never lived in the house where my dad and step-mum currently live. They sold up the house that was my home – and home base – for 15 years and moved from Perth to the south coast. They did this a couple of years ago, and the last time I saw them at that house, in the hills outside of Perth, I drove away in tears. I had lived there, moved away, lived there again, and then moved away again; it was my home base, my longest permanent address ever. I still had boxes of stuff there long after I had moved to Sydney. It wasn’t until my dad called and said, “Darling, come and get your boxes,” that I knew he and Gail were serious about selling up and moving elsewhere.
Now they are building a new home that my clever dad designed, and while they do that, they live in a rental property in the tiny, extremely beautiful, town of Denmark. This is where I will be heading to this weekend. But even though I have never lived there, and this is only my third visit to the house in two years, it feels like home. As I have said before, ‘home truly is where the heart is’.
I will sit at the breakfast bench in my pyjamas, with messy bed-hair, and as a 38-year-old woman, let my dad squeeze me fresh orange juice. When he places it before me, I will say, “thank you, Daddy,” as I have done for decades and he will say, “You’re welcome, Darling,” as he has said for just as long. It is a ritual that is a small, but integral part of the whole. And in no other context do I drink orange juice; it is just what we do, one of the things that makes their home my home too.
In addition to the trip south, I will spend a fast and furious Friday seeing as many people as I possibly can, all of whom are ‘family’. Like ‘home’, ‘family’ means so much more than its dictionary definition, as I am fortunate to have long-time friends who are as precious to me as my relatives. I will be seeing three of these friends tomorrow.
First will be Thomas, who I met in the first week of university many years ago. We get to see each other so rarely, but it is always a homecoming when we do. Tom has been my partner in crime so many times, that just a single word, or a look can set us both off on a nostalgic fit of giggles. He understands my love-hate affair with my hair, as he has his own, he is unfailingly supportive and compassionate, and our mutual love of the dance floor has made us an impromptu floorshow dozens of times. Even though we can only squeeze in a quick coffee tomorrow morning, it is worth it just to see him.
I will then hit the road and arrive at Jules’ house for lunch, and Stace will join us. Both women have known me since I was 14; both are my sisters. They have known me through bad 80s hair, and bad 90s hair, come to think of it. In those 24 years we’ve all gained weight, lost weight, gained it back and lost it again. We have seen each other through every relationship we have had, including three marriages (not mine), and the heartbreak we all endured in our 20s. We have seen each other at our best and our very worst. There are three children (again, not mine), so I have happily adopted the moniker ‘Aunty Sand’, and I am an awesome aunty. Tomorrow I meet my newest niece, who arrived only a few months ago.
Tonight I will be collected from the airport by my dad’s sister and her husband, and we will catch up over a bottle of red, as is our ritual. I am, at once, a friend and their ‘young’ niece. I have travelled and worked and lived enough to have wonderful, worldly, lively conversations with them, but at the end of the evening when they hug and kiss me goodnight, I am their ‘Sand’, who still loves to be showered with affection and called ‘Darling’ before she climbs into bed.
Going home to Perth is often these whirlwind trips where I cram in as much love and laughter and, as many ‘catch ups’ as I can, but I do not come back to Sydney depleted. Just the opposite. Even though I love to go far and wide, a trip ‘home’ to Perth feels like an oasis. With ease I strip off the roles I play in my working and grown up world, and just be me, the woman-child. A dose of family and old friends, a visit home, where I am just ‘Sand’, becomes a sliver of heaven in my busy world.
I will not get to see everyone this trip over west; it is too short. I will miss my mum and her sisters and their families. I will miss many old friends. I will not be able to take Ben with me this time, maybe the next.
But these are not thoughts to dwell on, as I am looking forward to my glass of orange juice, and to wishing my dad a very happy 60th birthday.
Happy Birthday Daddy.
