Cairns LagoonThis morning I slept in till 8, such luxury. We were out late last night swimming in the lagoon (yes that's it pictured), right up until the life guard blew the whistle at 10pm. It was balmy and languid and every shade of tropical and included a sunset barbecue, and ice creams later in the evening.
While my daughter J slept on, I did some pilates stretches and finally, all the general hoopla of Christmas and New Year behind me, turned my mind towards the coming year, let it roll it's swanky red carpet right up to my toes.
You see I have good news. More than good news. Good news upon good news. First it was receiving great results for my Masters dissertation. Fantastique, no? Followed swiftly by an offer of a scholarship to do my PhD!
And for a creative thesis at that. A proposal which could hardly be more whimsical if it sprouted gossamer wings and flew.
Having delivered J for more swimming with the boy next door, I am sitting here letting the the full euphoric vision of what this will mean just wash over me.
Firstly, goodbye to fulltime work and hello to a part-time job, at a far better rate of pay too due to my new Masters status. And, wonder of wonders, a scholarship to do exactly what I love, that is, of course, reading and writing and setting my fancy free.
A celebration is imminent.
The last year was marked by its discipline. I chopped wood and carried water and thought of enlightenment. I spurned alcohol, coffee and all the naughtiest things for a fridge full of organics and my trusty juicer. I walked and stretched and climbed and swam and I am feeling very grateful to the person I was, the one who this time last year rang in the changes.
It was a year of mulling things over, of great nostalgic jags and long stretches of night-time sat before the screen conjuring up my dissertation. I ate in, and filled any spare time with more and more reading. Friends knew where I'd gone, though I imagine they wondered if they'd lost me forever to the page.
Perhaps I am lost to the page but it's always just for now, isn't it?
Ten years ago, I was touring endlessly (and childlessly) with a band, shacked up, when we weren't on the road, in a cottage in Richmond (Melbourne, that is) with lavender at the front gate and music spilling out of its crooked little windows day and night. Every night I would head out in my boots, with my guitar case slung over my shoulder to some gig or another to sing out my heart, to drink red wine or Guinness, to eat, to listen to music, and then late late homecomings, and the crackle of winter and the changing of guitar strings and Portishead and Tom Waits and Van Morrison's Astral Weeks on the stereo, and risotto on the stove, and white cotton sheets, and he of the pale skin and the long fingers and the darkest of deep pools inside.
Sometimes I think of strolling up that street again, pushing open the gate, crushing the lavender again between my fingers and bringing it up to my nose as I walk to the front door. I miss the familiar weight of my guitar on my back. I don't carry it anywhere anymore. It stays where it is, and I pick it up to play.
So, now, I am in thrall to the page, to words.
Everything changes.
To the New Year then. From here it looks like a blue sky, a forever sky.
I'll enjoy forever while it lasts.
While my daughter J slept on, I did some pilates stretches and finally, all the general hoopla of Christmas and New Year behind me, turned my mind towards the coming year, let it roll it's swanky red carpet right up to my toes.
You see I have good news. More than good news. Good news upon good news. First it was receiving great results for my Masters dissertation. Fantastique, no? Followed swiftly by an offer of a scholarship to do my PhD!
And for a creative thesis at that. A proposal which could hardly be more whimsical if it sprouted gossamer wings and flew.
Having delivered J for more swimming with the boy next door, I am sitting here letting the the full euphoric vision of what this will mean just wash over me.
Firstly, goodbye to fulltime work and hello to a part-time job, at a far better rate of pay too due to my new Masters status. And, wonder of wonders, a scholarship to do exactly what I love, that is, of course, reading and writing and setting my fancy free.
A celebration is imminent.
The last year was marked by its discipline. I chopped wood and carried water and thought of enlightenment. I spurned alcohol, coffee and all the naughtiest things for a fridge full of organics and my trusty juicer. I walked and stretched and climbed and swam and I am feeling very grateful to the person I was, the one who this time last year rang in the changes.
It was a year of mulling things over, of great nostalgic jags and long stretches of night-time sat before the screen conjuring up my dissertation. I ate in, and filled any spare time with more and more reading. Friends knew where I'd gone, though I imagine they wondered if they'd lost me forever to the page.
Perhaps I am lost to the page but it's always just for now, isn't it?
Ten years ago, I was touring endlessly (and childlessly) with a band, shacked up, when we weren't on the road, in a cottage in Richmond (Melbourne, that is) with lavender at the front gate and music spilling out of its crooked little windows day and night. Every night I would head out in my boots, with my guitar case slung over my shoulder to some gig or another to sing out my heart, to drink red wine or Guinness, to eat, to listen to music, and then late late homecomings, and the crackle of winter and the changing of guitar strings and Portishead and Tom Waits and Van Morrison's Astral Weeks on the stereo, and risotto on the stove, and white cotton sheets, and he of the pale skin and the long fingers and the darkest of deep pools inside.
Sometimes I think of strolling up that street again, pushing open the gate, crushing the lavender again between my fingers and bringing it up to my nose as I walk to the front door. I miss the familiar weight of my guitar on my back. I don't carry it anywhere anymore. It stays where it is, and I pick it up to play.
So, now, I am in thrall to the page, to words.
Everything changes.
To the New Year then. From here it looks like a blue sky, a forever sky.
I'll enjoy forever while it lasts.
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