Category: Autobiography

Chaise Lounge

sandybarker

P1010727

This is my living room sans couch, dining suite, and pictures on the wall. Ironically, it now shares common traits with the Seattle apartment, where we have yet to buy a couch, a dining suite and to put things on the wall.

Ben and I started looking at couches, dining suites and things to put on the wall while I was there a few weeks ago. I think we share a common vision. I say this, of course, with the understanding that we may be seeing that common vision from completely different perspectives.

We have agreed, as a start, that the entertainment system is all him, and the kitchen is all me. While that division in domesticity may reek of 1950s ideologies, it is a fair call on our part. I love to cook, and have very specific ideas of how I want ‘my’ kitchen. And Ben knows more about electronic components and how to make them ‘talk’ to each other than I thought was possible. So, in this arrangement, we are playing to our strengths.

We have other differences too. Last weekend my boyfriend admitted that he has added to his collection of plastic 2:1 scale musical instruments (Rock Band, Guitar Hero), while I confessed that I have bought 4 pairs of new shoes in the past two weeks. He loves video games, I love shoes. We’ll make room for both, somewhere.

In the meantime, we get to choose a couch that says, “Ben and Sandy live here.” Likely it will NOT have one of those fabric contraptions with pockets that hangs over the arm and holds the remote controls.

We did find one we both sorta liked. Mostly what we liked about it was that it had a chaise lounge on one end. That says to me, “stylish, yet perfect for snuggling.” To Ben it says, “I can watch TV horizontally.” The point is, we both like that style of couch.

I had to be honest with my soon to be ‘domestic partner’ when he mentioned that ‘La-Z-boy’ had couches on sale that recline on both ends.

If we get a couch like that, I worry that we will become a couple who have ‘his and hers’ end tables, mine littered with empty tea cups and books yet to read, and his piled high with remotes and back issues of ‘Fortune’. We’ll head to our respective ends, recline and get comfortable. Comfortable, we three feet of leather between us. Yes, the couple with one of these is a couple that no longer enjoys a passionate relationship.

His response to my impassioned argument was to laugh, and say, “Well, it IS true that we are defined by our furniture.” He is teasing me, but I think we’ll be getting a couch with the bit that sticks out.

These are the details that will be a welcome relief from paperwork and red tape, packing, giving away, storing, and sorting, and from the endless lists that govern my life at the moment.

Today my home looked like this:
P1010729
and this:
P1010730
and this:
P1010731
as I packed, sorted, sold, and gave things away.

So, I am looking forward to working through a new list, a list for the next chapter in my life. So far it looks like this:

Buy a couch
Get a job
Make some friends
Join a gym
Learn new running routes

Yes, all that to look forward to, but notice that the couch is number one on the list.

When Ben and I stayed at the B and B in Yosemite, I was busy nesting – unpacking and looking in cupboards – and I heard a call out from the living room, “Honey, come in here.” When I got there, Ben was sitting on a big, lumpy, seen better days couch with his arms outstretched. “Look, Honey, we have a couch. Come sit with me.” And I did, and we sat for quite some time on that big, lumpy, see better days couch, enjoying the simple pleasure of snuggling up on it together.

That is why it is first.

Flying the Coop

sandybarker

Today I say good bye to my little mate, Jessie. We have a brief history in the scheme of things. I adopted her from my sister’s brood 2 and a half years ago, and she has been my little sidekick ever since.

In my preparation for moving to the states, I am moving out of my apartment in a few weeks, and Jessie needs a new home. I have spent months asking everyone I know if they would like to adopt her (and a few I don’t know – can’t go back to that petrol station on the corner, because the woman thought I was weird when I asked her if she wanted to adopt an adult cat). No luck.

In a desperate measure I put her in the online classifieds. And today a little girl called Amelia, and her mum Kylie, are coming to meet her, fall in love with her, and take her to her new home. The arrangements were only made yesterday, so last night when I got home, I busily set about packing up all her stuff. Like Barbie, she comes with all her own accessories: toys, bed, scratching post, food stuff, grooming stuff, medical history, cat door, litter tray.

She is an astute little thing. She knew something was up and kept asking me why I was assembling all her things in the living room. “Hey, this is mine,” she meowed as she scratched on her post. She looked from her sheepskin bed to me and back again. “What’s this doing out here? What’s going on?”

Truth is, I am a little heartbroken, and I only realised why this morning, when she was extra cuddly as we lounged in bed a few minutes after the alarm. Jessie is the one being in my life who I see every day. Weekday or weekend, morning or night. She has been someone to talk to, for if you live alone and have a cat, you converse a lot. It is generally a one-sided conversation, but on occasion, she utters a meow in response.

And I don’t know if I am just ultra-sensitive to her at the moment, but I am pretty sure she has been going out of her way to be extra cute today. She has done the whole, ‘How cute am I when I roll on my back like a puppy?’ thing waaayyy more than she usually does.

Putting things in perspective I have thought of two important things. Firstly, in a short time, I will have someone else to tell my day to, to cuddle with and to greet in the morning. It is also likely that this new someone won’t demand dinner the moment I walk in the door at the end of the day. (I hope.)

And secondly, I am only reaping the karma sown many years ago, when I announced to my parents at the wise age of 18, “I am moving back to America.” I meant ‘by myself’, and I also meant at the time, ‘for good’. And no matter how much I know that broke their hearts a little, they supported me through a year and a half of working, saving, preparing and packing. They took me to the airport, and my grandmother told me later that my dad almost fell back against her after I went through the gate. He hadn’t let me see that; he had only waved me off with a smile, allowing me to pretend to be brave, and to have to the support and freedom to do what I wanted.

‘For good’ was actually a year and 9 months. I returned. My family and friends were happy. I lived my life, and then at 26 announced, “I am moving to London.” I meant ‘for good’, and I would be joining my sister who had been there three years already. Again the support came thick and fast, although I am fairly certain there was sadness too.

‘For good’ that time was a year and 6 months. I returned. My family and friends were happy. I lived my life, and then at 31 announced, “I am moving to Sydney.” I meant, ‘for a while, to try it out, to see if I like it’, and I have lived here ever since. My next birthday is 40, and I am leaving again – this time to Seattle – maybe ‘for a while’, maybe ‘for good’. Time will tell. But the pattern is clear. Decade by decade, I need to make a major move (that is a whole other discussion, though).

Getting back to Jessie and the highly convoluted analogy I am drawing. Even though it is my decision (she is a cat, she can hardly make these decisions for herself), I know that she must go today. She needs a home here in Australia with people who will love her. And they will. They will love how she is not a morning cat, but gets up anyway to see them off for the day, her eyes half closed and sleepy. They will love how she takes someone lying down as an invitation to lay on top of them. They will love how she rolls around on her back and says, “Come tickle my tummy.” And they will love how she loves them.

She has been a great little mate, and I am grateful to have had the past two and a half years with her.

And importantly, I also want to say I am grateful to the three amazing parents I have, who always let me go and always welcome me home. And I am grateful for the person who waits across the world in the home he is making for us.

Grateful, but sad today.

Block head

sandybarker

My brain is starting to work in a whole new way; I think I am actually accessing brain cells that have been hibernating for the past 39 years. I am now calculating distances by blocks.

Formerly, I used minutes, as in “It’s about 10 to 12 minutes away,” or kilometres, “Oh, about 5 k’s from here.” But in Seattle it is all about the blocks, because Seattle is on a grid pattern. Ben’s apartment, soon to be my home too, is on West Republican (even though I am not one).

From here, it is 3 blocks to the supermarket, 4 blocks to the post office and a cinema, 4 blocks to the gym (other direction), and 6 blocks to our favourite Asian restaurant and the expensive supermarket with the great wine selection.

Blocks do convert to time and distance though, because 12 blocks is approximately one mile, but of course I work in kilometres, so as I walk these blocks I start doing the conversions in my head. “6 blocks is half a mile and a mile is 1.6 k’s, so 6 blocks is .8 k’s and subsequently, 8 to 10 minutes away – at a steady walking pace.” Ben’s work is about 14 blocks away, so 2 k’s and a good 20 minute walk. Got that?

Last night after work, Ben walked further into the city to buy something, and because he is not well, I offered to pick him up (granted, in his car). This is where the whole block thing gets really useful. Driving in Seattle is easy. Downtown is rampant with one-way streets, but unlike Sydney and Perth and even Vancouver, every other street goes the opposite way. In Sydney, if you need to get to somewhere, you may need to drive 8 or 10 blocks out of your way and then cut back. I call that ‘being stuck in one-way hell’. Here, the most you have to overshoot is one block. Max. Now, that’s thinking.

I use blocks for running too. 6 blocks from here, on Queen Anne Avenue, is the steepest hill I have seen since San Francisco. And it is 14 blocks from the flat to the top. 2 kilometres! Oh, yes, that is a punishing hill. I walked it the other day – then ran it – in chunks – a few blocks at a time. Doubtful if I will ever run the whole thing all at once. I am not THAT much of a blockhead.

Compelled

sandybarker

I never do this – post twice in one day – but the first of today’s posts I started last night, and I have just read something that compels me to write again.

Charlotte Otter is a South African woman living in Germany, and she write Charlotte’s Web, which is on my blogroll (check it out – she is lovely and clever). Charlotte, too, is a writer, and in a recent entry she posted a few paragraphs from her novel. Her heroine, Sanet, is a South African woman living in London. She feels displaced, as is understandable when not living in your home country, but there is more to her feeling than that.

Charlotte writes this about her heroine:

What is becoming clear to me is that if you are alienated from yourself, you are alienated from everything, and that will become the core of Sanet’s crisis: she will be offered the opportunity to be true to herself. The question is, will she take it up?

That is the statement that resonated so deeply with me.

Two years ago I was so completely unhappy in my own life. I had moments I enjoyed, I laughed enough that many people would not have really known this about me, but I felt like I was living someone else’s life. When you live that inauthentically, you cannot access any kind of inner peace. As a result, I discovered that I didn’t really like this person that I was. I isolated myself frequently, and not out of the need for ‘alone time’ that I have now, but to prevent others from having to put up with me. I became increasingly disagreeable, sullen, and felt a deep sense of loneliness – even when amongst friends.

I got to a point where I knew things had to change.

Then I went on a trip. A long trip. Across the world to two other continents. Greece-London-Peru and back home. The trip provided so many catalysts for change that my head was spinning by the time I got back home.

It literally changed my life.

I met people who loved life. I met Sheila and Deb and Geraldine.

Sheila is sixty-something, and gorgeous. I met her and her equally lovely twin Sharon, in Peru. Sheila has an insatiable thirst for knowledge, a love of adventure and am unwillingness to succumb to nay-saying. Sheila broke open my heart. She saw through the cracks and just stuck her hands in and pulled apart that hard casing. Then she encouraged me to pursue the impossible.

Deb, who I met with her husband Marty onboard the yacht in Greece, is smart, and career-minded. She knows what she wants and because of this, she has the life that she wants to live. She does all this with a broad smile and a hearty sense of fun. She and Marty have a sexy, joyful marriage. When I met them, I knew that it was entirely possible to have what I truly wanted.

Geraldine, our guide in Peru, is the most pure-hearted and kind person I have ever met. Her gentleness and kindness humbled me. When I was sicker than I have ever been before, she looked after me rather than visiting her own family, whom she hadn’t seen in months. Her selflessness made me want to stop being such a selfish, moody cow.

And then there was the cute American guy who stood on the dock of Tinos and said, “I want my life to be bigger.” I thought, ‘Me too’, and I wondered at that early moment in my big trip if I would have the courage to do anything about it.

I had no idea then that we would embark on parallel – and more frequently, converging – journeys that would bring those wants to fruition. And at that early moment in my big, life-changing trip, I had certainly had no idea that I could actually meet someone, a man, whose wants and dreams and goals would compliment mine, and challenge me to live that ‘bigger life’. I was, however, starting to see glimpses of my authentic self.

I met many others on my trips and visits and they all added something unique to my shift in perspective. Jaime and Paul, from Halifax, never want to miss an opportunity. Lara from Vancouver lives with such beautiful hope in her heart. Patrick from New Zealand and Liliane the Brazilian, crossed oceans and cultures to create a life together. And on that trip, I got to see my Little Sis in her natural habitat, London. (It is ‘home’ for her, even more so now that she is loved up.)

I had left home in want of something. Then I had gone around the world (literally), succumbed to illness twice, laughed until I couldn’t breathe, and cried as I said goodbye to new friends and my oldest friend, Vic. I saw lots, I did stuff, and I collected souvenirs from my travels, but the most important thing I brought home from that trip was my authentic self.

I made big changes after that, and some of those changes were painful because they involved breakups with people close to me. Mostly the changes were about shedding heavy burdens, such as obligation, fastidiousness, isolation, and a couple of unwanted kilos. I reconnected with those I had neglected, I moved house, I booked more trips and I took on more responsibility at work, all in the space of months. I took care with the new friendships I had forged, and apologised to those people who had endured my ‘funk’. I learned (again) to appreciate all that I had, especially the incredible people I call family and friends.

The tattoo of a butterfly adorning my lower stomach took on more meaning, as I emerged from my chrysalis and felt truly happy.

I still try to honour my authentic self. Big decisions, and even some small ones, are about the inner peace that comes along with serving that goal. Sure, I have had moments of doubt and sadness, and even fear. But never again will I let myself shelve what I truly want. I want to live a big life, and that’s what I am doing.

Third Date

sandybarker

I have been very candid about my month-long love affair with Seattle dating back to January of this year. We had a rocky start, though. It was a Seattle rain storm that took from me a favourite hat and an umbrella, but we soon made up and I embarked on a whirlwind romance with the city. I loved its restaurants and vistas, its culture and its people. I was smitten.

We had a brief fling in April – 6 days of five-star luxury while Ben attended a conference. We flirted, Seattle and I. I dressed pretty, I let the sunny days kiss my nose, and we drank each other in. Brief, yet passionate.

Now I am back, and this visit is a little like a third date. Now I know I am moving here, Seattle is starting to let its guard down, and I am seeing sides of it I haven’t seen before. Some are delicious, like the nooks and crannies of the Pike Place markets, where Ben and I bought aromatic oils and spices the other day, and some a little too revealing this early into our relationship.

I went for a run yesterday, and waited patiently for the pedestrian signal to change from red to green. The roads are wide thoroughfares – 6 lanes – so this took a while. I didn’t mind. It was a sunny day and I was in Seattle, working out new running routes for when I move here. I eventually crossed and started running at a warm-up pace. I got about two blocks before signs indicated that the ‘sidewalk’ (I read American) was closed and I would have to cross to the other side. SIGH. I hit the signal button, then waited, and waited, and waited. The light did inevitably turn green, and a couple dozen cars waited impatiently – or patiently – I couldn’t really tell as I jogged across the street. Of course, now I was back on the wrong side. And I was in ‘Butt-crack America’.

This is my affectionate term for those parts of the states – here in Seattle, or anywhere – that do not exactly show the country off at its best. That stretch of road, just three blocks from home, with its cracked pavements and warehouses, its homeless wanderers and youthful loiterers, is almost certainly the butt-crack of Seattle. I kept looking ahead to see where the pedestrian bridge Ben had promised was.

Like a beacon in the distance it stood proud and beautifully constructed, unaware that it was in the midst of decay and mess. I hit my third little round button of the day, and waited, and waited, and waited. “Oh, come the F@*k on!” I was losing patience. So far my run had consisted of two sprints and a lot of waiting. FINALLY the light turned. I headed up and over the bridge which traverses the railroad tracks, and started my ‘run proper’.

It is hard to marry the waterfront parkland with the street parallel, because they couldn’t be more different. On the other side of the bridge are tracks for pedestrians and cyclists, lush green grass, and park benches. On clear days you can see across Puget Sound to the Olympic mountain range in the west. The frightfully large seagulls of the northwest, duck and weave along the shoreline, and fishermen lazily dangle their lines in the water.

Once I actually started running along the waterfront, my tetchiness eased and I hit my rhythm. The air was salty and clean, and the sun hot on my shoulders. I glanced at the scattered few who were lying on the grass and soaking up the late-season sun. They had the distinctive look of ‘locals’ – comfortable enough in their environs to casually lounge around in public. I wondered when I will start to feel like that, but this being only my third date with Seattle, that is a little way off yet.

I hit a natural ‘turn-around’ point, and started running back towards the footbridge. I had already decided to overshoot it and find another way home. I knew that if I kept running and passed the apartment, I would get to another crossover closer to downtown.

Running back towards the city lends a spectacular view. The skyline has its distinctive icons, but there is so much I have yet to explore I wandered with my eyes, taking in as much as possible. I am starting to place myself within this city. I am learning street names, shortcuts and landmarks.

Just before the crossover to the other side of the tracks, there is an outdoor sculpture gallery. It is a favourite spot in Seattle, because it is a junction of sorts. The waterfront, downtown and our neighbourhood converge there. It is 5 minutes from the apartment, 5 minutes from Ben’s work, and right on the waterfront, where cafes and storefronts jut out over the water. Oh, and the sculptures are kind of cool too.

Not long afterwards, I made it back to the apartment with the sense of satisfaction I have after a long run, but also with something else. I am getting to know this city, much in the same way I got to know Sydney when I first moved there and discovered its many delights and frustrations.

At the moment I straddle two cities. I curse the Sydney traffic as I crawl along each afternoon, and think about living in a city where traffic is much lighter, and ostensibly we will likely live without a car. However, I know I will miss the coastal walk between Coogee and Bondi beaches, because there are few views in the world more beautiful. I will enjoy living in a city where there are literally 100 restaurants serving the cuisines of the world, but am mindful that the minor frustrations will reveal themselves soon enough.

No place is perfect to live in, but there is always more to learn about, more to appreciate and more to love. I think I am ready to ‘go all the way’ with Seattle.

P.S. Check out Ben’s FLICKR page for some more recent shots, including views from our roof.

Do what you love

sandybarker

I have a few mantras that I bandy about, depending on my mood, the situation, or how I am being affected by the constellations. One mantra, which forewarns everyone to ‘get out of my way’, is ‘People Suck’. I do not indulge in this mantra too often, because it is a little negative, and tends to alienate even my most loyal friends.

Another mantra, one I have mentioned here, is ‘Traveler, traveler, traveler’ which reminds me to have a positive mindset and to see people, places and situations with untainted eyes. It is, I suppose, the anti-thesis of ‘People Suck’ because it elicits empathy and patience.

But the one mantra that guides my current path with a firm hand, is ‘Do what you love’. I mentioned this here a little while back, when I was talking to a group of students about their choices for the future, and I had another taste of it the other night.

My senior students were showcasing the work they did for their external exams in Drama. We collated their monologues and short plays into a showcase for family and friends, and they performed under lights and on the stage, the way theatre is meant to be. At the end of the night, they offered some thank yous to staff and students who had helped them this year, and then my seniors acknowledged me. I walked up to accept their gift of flowers, and I started to say a few words, but some of those words caught in my throat. “These are your girls, and I know you must be proud of them, but they’re my girls too, and I love them and will miss them…” and it about here that my voice broke and I finished my thoughts through tears.

As many times as I say, “I have to get out of teaching,” I am really only ever referring to the mountainous piles of paperwork, politics and pandering that comes along with it. The stuff that happens in the actual room, the interaction with these young minds and spirits, I love that. It is just a shame that the profession comes with so much negative accoutrement, because the JOB, well that is something special. I do love to teach, and maybe I will be a teacher when I move to Seattle. Maybe I will find some other way of ‘teaching’, and working with young people. They are, after all, extraordinary. It has been my great pleasure and privilege to teach many of the students who graced my classroom in the past 14 years.

As I pack for my next trip to the city I will soon call ‘home’, I am more mindful than ever of this mantra. I will need to find work there in January, and I am starting the ground work for that next week. I know that it is a big move, and I am not sure what sort of work will be available, but the move is about ‘doing what I love’. And right now, that is being in the same city as Ben. A great job will follow…

Spring has sprung

sandybarker

Today is the first day of spring. And in Sydney, spring is my favourite time of the year.
Wisps of white
Dark mornings of drizzle give way to pink and orange sunrises, and the midday sky turns a vibrant blue. The air smells fresh, like grandma’s house when she throws open the windows and gives it a good airing. And in spring, I forget about all those winter afternoons I arrived home after dark to a cold house.

I fell in love with Sydney in spring. I had come here for the Olympics. I was a volunteer, so spent several weeks dressed in daggy chinos and a hideous, over-sized polo shirt with bright yellow sleeves. Nevertheless, it was easy to forget how ridiculous I looked in my white straw hat and bright blue bum bag, because the city of Sydney put on a bloody good show.

Each day was perfect. 28 (82) degrees, a light breeze and the aforementioned blue skies. Every day! It was as though the organisers had placed their order for optimum weather, and nature had delivered.

I was utterly seduced by Sydney in the spring of 2000.

I flew back to Perth post-Olympics and announced to anyone who cared (and some who didn’t) that I was moving to Sydney. Three months later, I lived here. I arrived on the 30th of December, because I liked the symbolism of seeing in the new year in my new city.

But here in my new city, in the middle of summer, reality bit – hard! Gone were the blue skies, and the gentle breezes. Gone were days of 28 perfect degrees, and in their place were the brooding, heavy skies of the Sydney summer. I had been duped.

You see in my hometown, Perth, summers are my favourite time of the year. The days are hot, yes, but the skies are clear, and the heat is dry. I love summer in Perth, but when I tasted spring in Sydney, and expected more of the same only hotter, I was being naive.

No, the summers in Sydney are grey-skied and humid. Sticky, hot days are threatened by low-hanging thunder clouds. And just when the air gets so dense you can feel it pushing down on you, it pours: fat, hot drops of angry rain that make the streets steam and the air smell like grease.

And indulge me for a moment while I mention my hair. A Sydney summer is the natural enemy of naturally curly hair. Mine grows so big in a Sydney summer, it needs its own postcode. Honestly, if I had wanted to live in the tropics, I would have moved to Queensland.

So, how do I cope with this abomination of summer?

I leave.

Ever since that first summer, I have actively avoided being in Sydney from late December to the start of February, which is fortuitous, because that is when school breaks for summer holidays. I cannot really see my principal being sympathetic to tales of woe about my afro. “But I simply cannot stay. You see, it is summer, and I cannot deal with that many bad hair days in a row.”

Summer is no fun when you look like Donna Summer.

I have spent many of those summers back in Perth. Ahhh, Perth. Perth is where summer was born, raised, and will never die. The beaches are powdery white, and the surfers deeply tanned. The air is briny, and the sky is so brilliantly blue, it is almost iridescent.
Cosy Corner
Stunning!

So, why has a girl so in love with summer agreed to live in Seattle? Isn’t Seattle the home of, well, rain? And isn’t rain the opposite of summer? Ah, yes, these are all valid questions. But you see, Seattle hides a secret. I does not actually rain there nine months of the year as often reported. It is more like eight months, but those other four…sigh…are beautiful.
Seattle Waterfront
See?

So, when I move there in late December (that whole ‘new year – new city’ thing), I will take my umbrellas (plural, ’cause you never know when one will be sucked into traffic by a gust of wind), and I will look forward to the Seattle summer of ’09. I am promised blue skies, gentle breezes, and about 28 degrees. Sound familiar?

Aussie Aussie Aussie Oi Oi Oi

sandybarker

My barrista is Slovakian.

I know this, because I went in for coffee today, and I asked where he was from. The Olympics was playing on the huge flatscreen suspended on the wall, and I wanted to know who he was rooting for – so to speak.

“Hey, you guys just won a bunch of medals, didn’t you? In the kayaking?” I have no idea where I pulled that fact from, because I haven’t really watched the kayaking much.

He smiled. “Yeah. Three golds, in the paddling.” We chatted a bit more about that, which was far more interesting than our usual patter about the weather, and I could see that it made him very proud to talk about his country’s success.

I totally understand. Last week, I stood in a crowded classroom at lunchtime, surrounded by students and fellow teachers, and staring up at the giant TV screen on the wall. We were shouting “Come on!” to Stephanie Rice, as she swam half a body length behind the American girl. In that last 20 metres she surged forward and touched first to win her second gold medal and break the world record. The room erupted as we celebrated her win with all the other Aussies around the world who were within sight of a television. I was so proud – of her, and of Australia.

Last night I had tears in my eyes as I heard the Australian anthem yet again. We won gold in the 470 sailing – men’s and women’s – and as the young Perth women stood on the podium, grinning their faces off, I grinned with them – so proud. Then came the women’s triathlon result – Gold and Bronze! Brilliant! And that feeling is compounded as the medals keep coming.

Yes, there is little like the Olympics to inject a shot of national pride in even the hardest of hearts. Having said that, I do have one small confession. On the 18th, when Michael Phelps and the U.S. relay team were competing against us, I quietly hoped that we’d get Silver. I just wanted Michael to get his 8 medals. At any other moment I would have been screaming at the television, willing our guys to win, but the 8 medal thing transcends borders.

And we did win silver in that race, which is still incredible. You see, we are just a tiny country population-wise, so our pool of talent is much smaller than the U.S or even Great Britain. Yet we are hovering between 3rd and 5th on the medal tally. China has 61 times our population, but only twice as many medals. (I did hear yesterday, that if Michael Phelps were a country, he’d be 6th on the medal tally).

Australia has medaled in kayaking, diving, equestrian, sailing, triathlon, track, swimming, shooting and rowing – so far. We have much to be proud of.

So, when I hear the chant “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie” coming from the Olympic stands, I can’t help but reply, “Oi, Oi, Oi!” We’re noisy buggers, but it’s ’cause we’re bloody proud to be Aussies.

The Second Drawer

sandybarker

So, here’s the thing. Having made the decision to move to the states at the end of the year, I am kind of already there in my head. I look around my apartment, and mentally take stock: to get rid of, to store, to take with me. The latter of the three lists is growing. “I’m going to have to buy a cheese grater,” I exclaim to a baffled Ben. “You could just bring it with you,” he responds, hoping he is being helpful. Perhaps he is. Perhaps, emptying the second drawer in the kitchen (you know the one – the one with all the utensils and weird kitchen gadgets) into one of the packing cartons I am shipping, is the smart way to go. It might just cost less to ship all those odd little gadgets, than to replace them. And I can hardly expect Ben, who is a self-professed non-cook, to understand my need for a honey drizzler, a citrus reamer, and the little battery operated whizzer that makes hot chocolate in a jiffy. And there is my dilemma: Store or Ship?

Perhaps these frivolities amongst the giants on my ‘to do’ list are merely a distraction. I am obsessing about the citrus reamer, but seem to think that selling my car won’t be a problem at all. Nor will selling, giving away, or lending permanently all my furniture. No, I am up at night wondering which shoes to take, and which to keep here. I informed Ben today that I have ‘quite a few pairs of shoes’. He referenced ‘Sex and the City’ when he asked, “Have you spent $40,000 on shoes?” “No!” He re-phrased the question, “If you had spent $400 on each pair, would you have spent $40,000 on shoes?” I had to think about that for a second, but I was confident when I replied ‘no’ a second time. He is right to be nervous. The stuff from the second drawer here will presumably fit perfectly into the second drawer of our Seattle apartment’s kitchen. The clothes, shoes, coats, bags and accessories currently residing in my 12 foot long closet, I may have to pare back a little.

All of these things, these thoughts, concerns, worries, and reasons to spend hours online researching, are actually an indicator of something bigger, something amazing. I have made a big, happy, wonderful decision, and I am champing at the bit to bring it to fruition.

This is not to say that I do not love those people in my Aussie life. (I am especially enjoying time spent with my Irish friends who have recently moved back to Sydney after two years away – I say that they have moved back ‘home’.) It just means that at the moment, my heart is in two places. I am mindfully enjoying the things (and people) I love about Sydney, while looking ahead to my life in Seattle with Ben.

“We’re going to have to make friends,” he said to me, not long ago. I have thought about that. I would love to pack everyone I love from here into those shipping cartons, to be unpacked into this new life, but…

Instead, we will make new friends, and when they come for dinner I can dazzle them with culinary delights I have whipped up in our new kitchen with my old kitchen gadgets. Yep, I think the second drawer is coming with me.

36 Things

sandybarker

This meme comes from Charlotte’s blog, and Helen’s before her. Helen got it from Lilian, who took it from Jennifer. It had 40 things on it, but Lilian didn’t really like three of them, so then it became 37 things. I could go through Jennifer’s 40 Things and seek out the three that Lilian didn’t like, but 37 is enough. In fact, there was one I didn’t like about paperclips, so now it is 36.

And just so you know, a meme is not ‘cheating’ of ‘slacking off’ for a serious blogger like myself.
It is more like a pianist flexing their fingers before they sit down to play, or a tennis player bouncing the ball a few times before a serve. A meme is a warm up for more strenuous writing; it helps to get the creative juices flowing and sharpens the mind. So there.

1. My uncle once: peed on a giant moth that was sitting on the urinal, and the pee-soaked moth then flew into his face.

2. Never in my life: have I peed on a moth.

3. When I was five: I had a pet chicken called Martha.

4. High school was: where I learned to stand up to bullies.

5. I will never forget: the moment I knew it was love.

6. Once I met: Hugh Jackman.

7. There’s this girl I know: who has beaten cancer, started her own company, is mum to two fabulous girls, and has a great marriage to a great man.

8. Once, at a bar: I sand ‘Mustang Sally’ on stage to a crowd of 500 people.

9. By noon, I’m usually: regretting how thoughtlessly I made my lunch that morning.

10. Last night: I killed a headache with strong medication, made a ‘not-half-bad’ stir-fry, and watched two mediocre dvd’s

11. If only I had: a literary agent – but I am working on that.

12. Next time I go to church: will be later this month with school for the graduation mass.

13. What worries me most: is that I will forget what is really important in life.

14. When I turn my head left I see: a leafy outlook and sunny blue sky.

15. When I turn my head right I see: my pussy cat sleeping in a ray of sun.

16. You know I’m lying when: well, you won’t, because if I need to be, I am a good liar.

17. What I miss most about the Eighties is: dancing – all the time.

18. If I were a character in Shakespeare I’d be: Titania – passionate, magical, and on occasion a little mad.

19. By this time next year: I will living in a new city, with my darling, and I will be a paid writer.

20. A better name for me would be: well, I used to want to be called Felicity, but you want strange things when you’re six. I am happy with my name now.

21. I have a hard time understanding: complacency.

22. If I ever go back to school, I’ll: spend more time learning about technology, and less time worrying about boys.

23. You know I like you if: I am affectionate with you.

24. If I ever won an award, the first person I would thank would be: Mum and Dad, because they constantly encourage me, and always have.

25. Take my advice, never: make decisions without input from your heart.

26. My ideal breakfast is: al fresco with a great view, and has many courses.

27. A song I love but do not have is: hard to answer, because I don’t know its name or who it is by. It is a sexy song, with the chorus, “I need love, love, love, love…” Must track it down for my gym playlist.

28. If you visit my hometown, I suggest you: hop a ferry and spend a few days chilling out on the stunning Rottnest Island.

29. Why won’t people: learn how to merge.

30. If you spend a night at my house: we will eat, drink and laugh ’til it hurts. In the morning, breakfast will be served al fresco and it will have many courses.

31. I’d stop my wedding for: um, tricky, ’cause I have crushes on a celebrity or two (Hayden Christensen), but would only really put off a wedding to have the honeymoon first – a year-long trip around the world to exotic and beautiful locations (of course).

32. The world could do without: drawn out U.S. presidential campaigns.

33. I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: spend the night with a spider in my room.

34. My favourite blonde is: my auntie Candyce, who is one of the funniest people I know.

35. If I do anything well it’s: teach.

36. And by the way: I really need to get to the gym.