Dirt in my Cup

A woman with power - and I don’t mean spiritual or economic power,  I mean actual electricity - can do anything.  Such as, make a cup of tea, and feel like it will all be ok.

I have arrived in Quorn, done a lap of my house and unpacked my small but very reliable car. Now I wait for the kettle to boil, and the removalists to come. Just like yesterday, but 330 kilometres north on a map. Little things about a house I forgot – how sticky the front door is, how the knob comes off in my hand when I pull it open, how the fireplace handle does the same. How awesome the floor tiles are in the kitchen, and what a cool kitchen it is.  How down lights make everything look glamorous.  How I love the bathroom’s groovy green, and didn’t he do a great job painting that door? Yes, I remember where the hook is for the mirror. And I see how the house has aged a little, the rain swelling the French doors and the cracks in the soft, damp walls.

How I always need to piss so bad when I get to Quorn as I don’t stop north of Lochiel, and trying to open the door with foreign keys while hopping around with my ass sticking was an unconsidered but memorable first impression for the neighbours, slowly driving by.

I filled the kettle up with rainwater – straight from the tap and feeling very Goode Life  ( 1970s TV show, not the gourmet pizza place) and set it to boil. Went to pour a cup of tea and it came out brown from the jug - gross! Is this my water? Brief panic sets in. What am I going to do without someone to tell me what to do? Runs through my mind. No landlord, no boyfriend/builder, no neighbours who I know, no strata title, no housemate.   

Who will I ask about ‘country things’ like what switch to flick to go over to mains, and who has a bobcat and where can I borrow a lawnmower or will I have to buy my own? She who can’t bring herself to buy a decent vacuum cleaner – yet.    Eek! City Slicker Panic Sets In!

Notice in the Quorn Trader reads, “Unemployed single female homeowner seeks experienced country person for brief liaisons about essential regional matters. Reply by homing pigeon due to no network coverage at present.”

Some saner more wise part of me, I’ll call her ‘Country Sue’, (no relation to Sue Ellen or Suzie Beth), lets the water run til its clear – fucking genius, eh? And start again. Moral of the story; if you say you are going to love the country, you have to be prepared to get a bit of dirt in your cup.

Memories and Dreams

Daylight savings says it's one time but my body says it's another. The morning light is clean and new and I'm sad about saying goodbye to the little things, now. The way light spills through the lounge room window in the morning, giving everything a glow. The sounds of neighbors getting up and into the day with slams of dustbin lids, back doors and shuffling along the back fence we three neighbors share.

Empty Henley Square at 5.30pm Grand Final Day

I've awoken with my dreams still lingering as memory, rising like the curls of steam from my morning cup of  tea. A dog barks blocks away. I don't want to miss a thing in these last 48 hours in this my neighborhood of 2 and a half years. I dreamt about walking around a large outback lake with other walkers following us. Becky Hirst was leading the way and I was worried our friend Katie wouldn't find us because we were so far 'back up the track'.

In the dream, it was hot. I had peeled old colourful paint off the side of an old 19th century building, I wondered if it was a film set? And then I was laying long pieces of stripped paint on the floor wondering about outback trade across Australia 200 years ago, and would 300 yards of muslin really cost six shillings to transport across to Perth, as the writing below me said?

Back in Somerton Park, through my front window I see a walker waiting for his dog wait at the end of my street, deciding which direction to go in. They turn and walk away from the beach. A girl rides by chattering to her dad, enjoying the morning's adventure.

I'm grateful to be alive, to want to get into every minute of every day. I'm nervous about the unknown, of course, but hope I can hold onto this love for life and a sense of belonging in a neighborhood. It amazes me how a life can fit into boxes sealed up with sticky tape - I expect them to burst open and get on with living the way this move has taken 4 weeks to happen from an idea to a reality.

This move is sponsored by Lenswood Apples

It is amazing what a person can get used to.