Tuesday, 2 August 2011
Not Dancing But Trooping
... view of St Clair beach from Swell cafe
"It's all very complex," M. said as she drove me home after our coffee.
I agree. It's all so middle-class, working class, no class. I'd asked her for a ride back. I'd walked, "Which darn near killed me," I said and made M. laugh. Must've been the way I said it. I love how I can make M. laugh. I love how she gets me.
... pretty peppermint tea
"It's a good day when you hear from all your children," Robert said last night. Email, Facebook message, Skype and a then to top it off, a visit (in the flesh) to my daughter. Who always makes me laugh. She is someone who really is funny, unlike myself who obviously isn't all that funny, otherwise my friends would laugh more at the things I say; like M does.
Today, I believe, was also a good day. As I sat with M. making her laugh, I was also thinking as I looked out at at the ocean looping in its blue-and-white high-tide dance and rush, how lucky I was to be free of commitments and expectations, enough to go for a coffee in the middle of such a glorious day like today. How lucky to live in a country like ours with freedom of choice. How lucky.
... looking towards St Kilda
Once one of my aunties described me as a free spirit. When I think about that, I tend to chase the thought down with, "Yeah, I wish." I see myself as more earthbound, grounded. Maybe I perceive a free spirit as someone who is flitting about in rarified air. I see myself as more of a trooper.
... in Dunedin people surf all year round, wearing wet suits. This either says something about how hardy they are, or what the weather's like here in summer ...
Certainly as I walked to the cafe to meet M. for the cup of coffee, I was thinking of myself as not dancing, but trooping. Free spirits don't wear Nevadas bought from the men's shoe department. (Now you'll either laugh at that, or rush to my defence. Depends whether you think I'm making a joke, or feeling sorry for myself).
... my desk in my own room - glad to be back here again after a spell of using the corner of our 'sunroom' as writing space. While it was pleasant enough in its own way, a 'room of one's own' cannot be beat ...
As M. said, life is complex. Layers and levels. One of my favourite angles on life, when trying to nail things down, is to respond with,"But it's all realtive." Pretty much solves everything. Compared to my mother, I'm not old at all. Compared to one of the street artists our son and daughter-in-law recently met while in Nepal, we're millionaires. Compared to a soldier in Afghanistan, I am a free spirit.
... the sky at dusk, as seen from my writing room window today
Right about now is where I need my daughter-in-law Kate, wearing her funny beanie and antique dressing gown, to wander in with one of her gems. She'd say something like, "Guess what I've been thinking about all day?" And I'd say, "I couldn't hazard a guess." She'd give me one of her quirky looks, plonk herself down in front of the fire, sigh, and say," I've been thinking all day about how space is full of nothing".
And I'd say, "Of course you were."
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