i can't wait to get out of here and i never want to leave...
with one week left in this beautiful mountain town i've called home for almost 3 years now it's getting to the blurry panicked stage where i don't think i'm ever going to manage to have farewell drinks.
denial: leaving your packing til the weekend before you move out. waiting til the week you leave to organize your bank account and your phone plan. working til the day before you leave town. training your replacement at work in everything at once, a 2 week crash-course.
anger: resentment at time passing so fast, at the injury that kept me off the mountain most of the season, at the rain and the piles of gravel left when the snow melts away. at my bathroom not being self-cleaning. at getting a headcold and feeling like a heap of crap for the past 5 days. at those things that are completely out of my control.
acceptance: it's been sweet, whistler. good things are coming, new exciting adventures and beer drinking with buddies, sitting in my aunty's garden, reading and writing and breathing. not working for 6 weeks or more! in the 3 years i've been here, my breaks from work have been frantic vacations of seeing as many sights as possible or catching up for tiny increments of time with friends, trying to fit everyone in. i plan to have long and glorious tea-drinking sessions with many many lovely old friends, all everywhere.
if i had the power, i don't know if i'd speed up time so this goodbye, tie-up-loose strings, goodbye goodbye time could be over and done with.... or if i'd slow it down so i could fit in all the goodbyes i'm probably not going to have my time organized well enough to say.
either way, i'm leaving town. and i'll have a lot of time to blog about it... so get excited.
Sunday, 29 April 2012
Wednesday, 25 April 2012
Sunday, 22 April 2012
secret
you play your role, i'll play mine &
we can charge all the spectators a fee to watch the show
we can charge all the spectators a fee to watch the show
Saturday, 21 April 2012
secret
do you ever get that feeling like you've been faking everything the whole time, and all the people who thought you were clever and dextrous at things are about to uncover the evil truth, and you'll have to leave the country and change your name?
treasure: a love song for bobby long
lovely annica, who maybe one day i shall write a love song for, showed me a great movie tonight that i'd never seen before: a love song for bobby long. it has scarlet johansson in it, who i love, and lots of good music.
now, because this always happens to me with such movies, i wish to live in a falling apart house in new orleans with alcoholic writers and failed english professors. i'm a sucker for getting caught up in whimsical daydreams of the sorts of adventures i could have if i had another life. with nothing decided at all for me in the coming months, instead of being scared about it i think excitement is a better option.
oh! the places i will go.
now, because this always happens to me with such movies, i wish to live in a falling apart house in new orleans with alcoholic writers and failed english professors. i'm a sucker for getting caught up in whimsical daydreams of the sorts of adventures i could have if i had another life. with nothing decided at all for me in the coming months, instead of being scared about it i think excitement is a better option.
oh! the places i will go.
Friday, 20 April 2012
secret: the accumulative effects of thursday night
the heart is a funny creature. even the wisest of us cannot abandon ours.
in my life, on this night, sits fabel with the inkling to tidy up his tiny head and the big heart that goes with it, all the way over east.
all the way over west, i sit with my mumford & sons, my incense burning, late april snow falling outside. it's not late- annica and i drove our tentative way back from kate and phill's, where we were spoiled with delicious dinner, and i could soak in the glorious distraction of their company. the snow is unexpected and lovely, if cold and wet as it does tend to be. falling snow makes me happy. the snow will always keep right on coming down, whether or not i can watch it, whether or not i want it.
with the internet as my weapon, no conflict or obstacle is insurmountable. god bless you, internet.
in my life, on this night, sits fabel with the inkling to tidy up his tiny head and the big heart that goes with it, all the way over east.
all the way over west, i sit with my mumford & sons, my incense burning, late april snow falling outside. it's not late- annica and i drove our tentative way back from kate and phill's, where we were spoiled with delicious dinner, and i could soak in the glorious distraction of their company. the snow is unexpected and lovely, if cold and wet as it does tend to be. falling snow makes me happy. the snow will always keep right on coming down, whether or not i can watch it, whether or not i want it.
with the internet as my weapon, no conflict or obstacle is insurmountable. god bless you, internet.
Thursday, 19 April 2012
lyrics
Give me hope in silence
It's easier, it's kinder
And tell me not of heartbreak
It plagues my soul
It plagues my soul
We will meet back on this road
Nothing gained, truth be told
But I'm not the enemy
It isn't me, the enemy
But I came and I was nothing
Time will give us nothing
So why did you choose to lean on
A man you knew was falling?
Give me hope in silence
It's easier, it's kinder
And tell me not of heartbreak
It plagues my soul
It plagues my soul
And bury me beside you
I have no hope in solitude
And the world will follow
To the earth down below
But I came and I was nothing
Time will give us nothing
So why did you choose to lean on
A man you knew was falling?
It's easier, it's kinder
And tell me not of heartbreak
It plagues my soul
It plagues my soul
We will meet back on this road
Nothing gained, truth be told
But I'm not the enemy
It isn't me, the enemy
But I came and I was nothing
Time will give us nothing
So why did you choose to lean on
A man you knew was falling?
Give me hope in silence
It's easier, it's kinder
And tell me not of heartbreak
It plagues my soul
It plagues my soul
And bury me beside you
I have no hope in solitude
And the world will follow
To the earth down below
But I came and I was nothing
Time will give us nothing
So why did you choose to lean on
A man you knew was falling?
secret: it's like
the ground from beneath my feet
the breath from out of my lungs
the muscles of my little legs lacking oxygen
my brain on a short circuit loop
my favorite song and i can't remember the lyrics
a guitar with no strings
peas without carrots
a comb without its teeth
stopping short of finishing
a teapot full of no more than hot water.
the breath from out of my lungs
the muscles of my little legs lacking oxygen
my brain on a short circuit loop
my favorite song and i can't remember the lyrics
a guitar with no strings
peas without carrots
a comb without its teeth
stopping short of finishing
a teapot full of no more than hot water.
that trick where the magician pulls the tablecloth out from under the set table
except nothing stayed quite where it was.
a breath of fresh air
finding a twenty in the pocket of a jacket you were just about to give away
popeye's spinach
finding some music in the wind whistling through the forest
making a promise to your oldest friend and keeping it
taking off the stage makeup after the play is done
making peace out of pieces
opening the window for fresh mountain air
telling a story that's funny because it's true
showing someone their new favorite band.
treasure: home
firstly, set this song to playing.
i would not claim myself to be anything so glamorous as a gypsy of life, an eternal traveller, nothin' like that. i've not seen a lot of the places i would like to see, but i prefer to sit back and expect in a calm fashion that i shall visit them some day.
there's no rush, no panic, no fear of missing out.
with so many places to visit, the one thing i wonder about from time to time is where i call home. and honestly i couldn't say. the house i first remember living in has since been reclaimed and reorganized by a chaos of cousin's children. that house, if i'd inherited it, i would have loved for its balcony, its view, and its sentimental value: the photos i always looked over as a child from before i was born (because that time is so foreign, especially as a child... the time before me? couldn't be), when my parents were together and just starting out at marriage and adult life. there is a photo i will beg from my mum to take and make myself a precious copy of: my parents, younger than i am now, standing in front of the recently built (and not-quite finished) house. mum is in red gumboots (i think- in my memory they're red) and dad stands behind her with his arms around her. knowing what i know now about the world and relationships and reality, i can see the excitement and apprehension in the photo. a young couple in love on the family farm with plans of kids and chaos of their own.
perhaps it is fitting that my cousin bought the house to build his own young family, after all.
in that house i shared a bedroom with my brother stu- dad, or maybe my grandfather (i never thought to wonder til now) built a unique twist on bunkbeds- and i remember the green curtains and the pattern on them from the hours i guess i spent as a young child staring at them when i was meant to be napping or reflecting upon my bad door-slamming behavior. i remember how the hallway seemed so long and dark, even though mum and dad's room was just next door. i remember our blue bathroom, and how we took all the balloons blown up for one of our birthdays and put them all in the bathtub, then insisted on taking a bath in there.
i'm certain i have romanticized that time, but it truly seems in my memory that that house was the time we were closest and maybe happiest. us kids anyway, oblivious to the havoc we were creating daily for our beloved mother to clear up behind us. i think those years are the reason that me, stu and hugh love each other. in my mind, that house is pure childhood goodness.
we moved into the bigger house when i was maybe 10. we all had our own rooms, spare rooms besides those. the homestead houses a lot more for me. it soaked up my teenage angst, depression and artistic woe. holy crap, the bad poetry i wrote in that house. that house tied me to my dad's teenage years, my aunts, uncles, grandfather and beyond, all the way back down the line. there is history that i didn't appreciate at the time, and now i simply wonder about the sort of people my family have been, so many generations back. i don't think so much of their quiet, well-mannered adult years of wisdom. i think of all the times they felt like yelling and slamming doors and all the times they didn't.
because that house was always cold i always felt the ghosts. it's not to say i didn't continue with my joyous existence of oblivious childhood and teenagehood. i lived a blessed life as a daughter in my parents house, and i realize the treasure of that as an adult; that which my parents worked so hard to give us, doing the very best they could.
since i left the safety of a house with parents in and went out into the world (not for a second pretending they weren't there right behind me if and when i needed them), that family homestead has been host to more angst and doorslamming, and i am glad to know (in a way that ignores the trouble this causes parents) that my newer family have kept on with my legacy. i am always welcome in that house when i'm home, and i love to be there. i love the new pieces added on to the house and the changes. they feel right to me. but that's not to say the ghosts aren't still there. the house is too old not to have ghosts.
a newer place for me to stay is the warm mudbrick house that jon and louise built. this is a little oasis and a refuge for me, finding peace in the sun, on the armchair closest to the fire, at the dinnertable with candles and red wine, soaking up in the deep bathtub with the water luxuriously up to my chin. it's a place to hide and a place to gather my thoughts, which always serves me well.
since leaving new england, my houses have been in melbourne and in whistler. between one thing and another, i don't have a house i call home.
edward sharpe and the magnetic zeros offer up their sweet sentiment that home is the person you love. i love the idea of that certainty and aspire to feel that way about somebody. i would love to travel with home in my heart and holding the hand of the person who made me feel that way.
i would not claim myself to be anything so glamorous as a gypsy of life, an eternal traveller, nothin' like that. i've not seen a lot of the places i would like to see, but i prefer to sit back and expect in a calm fashion that i shall visit them some day.
there's no rush, no panic, no fear of missing out.
with so many places to visit, the one thing i wonder about from time to time is where i call home. and honestly i couldn't say. the house i first remember living in has since been reclaimed and reorganized by a chaos of cousin's children. that house, if i'd inherited it, i would have loved for its balcony, its view, and its sentimental value: the photos i always looked over as a child from before i was born (because that time is so foreign, especially as a child... the time before me? couldn't be), when my parents were together and just starting out at marriage and adult life. there is a photo i will beg from my mum to take and make myself a precious copy of: my parents, younger than i am now, standing in front of the recently built (and not-quite finished) house. mum is in red gumboots (i think- in my memory they're red) and dad stands behind her with his arms around her. knowing what i know now about the world and relationships and reality, i can see the excitement and apprehension in the photo. a young couple in love on the family farm with plans of kids and chaos of their own.
perhaps it is fitting that my cousin bought the house to build his own young family, after all.
in that house i shared a bedroom with my brother stu- dad, or maybe my grandfather (i never thought to wonder til now) built a unique twist on bunkbeds- and i remember the green curtains and the pattern on them from the hours i guess i spent as a young child staring at them when i was meant to be napping or reflecting upon my bad door-slamming behavior. i remember how the hallway seemed so long and dark, even though mum and dad's room was just next door. i remember our blue bathroom, and how we took all the balloons blown up for one of our birthdays and put them all in the bathtub, then insisted on taking a bath in there.
i'm certain i have romanticized that time, but it truly seems in my memory that that house was the time we were closest and maybe happiest. us kids anyway, oblivious to the havoc we were creating daily for our beloved mother to clear up behind us. i think those years are the reason that me, stu and hugh love each other. in my mind, that house is pure childhood goodness.
we moved into the bigger house when i was maybe 10. we all had our own rooms, spare rooms besides those. the homestead houses a lot more for me. it soaked up my teenage angst, depression and artistic woe. holy crap, the bad poetry i wrote in that house. that house tied me to my dad's teenage years, my aunts, uncles, grandfather and beyond, all the way back down the line. there is history that i didn't appreciate at the time, and now i simply wonder about the sort of people my family have been, so many generations back. i don't think so much of their quiet, well-mannered adult years of wisdom. i think of all the times they felt like yelling and slamming doors and all the times they didn't.
because that house was always cold i always felt the ghosts. it's not to say i didn't continue with my joyous existence of oblivious childhood and teenagehood. i lived a blessed life as a daughter in my parents house, and i realize the treasure of that as an adult; that which my parents worked so hard to give us, doing the very best they could.
since i left the safety of a house with parents in and went out into the world (not for a second pretending they weren't there right behind me if and when i needed them), that family homestead has been host to more angst and doorslamming, and i am glad to know (in a way that ignores the trouble this causes parents) that my newer family have kept on with my legacy. i am always welcome in that house when i'm home, and i love to be there. i love the new pieces added on to the house and the changes. they feel right to me. but that's not to say the ghosts aren't still there. the house is too old not to have ghosts.
a newer place for me to stay is the warm mudbrick house that jon and louise built. this is a little oasis and a refuge for me, finding peace in the sun, on the armchair closest to the fire, at the dinnertable with candles and red wine, soaking up in the deep bathtub with the water luxuriously up to my chin. it's a place to hide and a place to gather my thoughts, which always serves me well.
since leaving new england, my houses have been in melbourne and in whistler. between one thing and another, i don't have a house i call home.
edward sharpe and the magnetic zeros offer up their sweet sentiment that home is the person you love. i love the idea of that certainty and aspire to feel that way about somebody. i would love to travel with home in my heart and holding the hand of the person who made me feel that way.
Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my Ma & Pa
Not the way that I do love you
Holy Moley, Me-oh-My, you're the apple of my eye
Girl, I’ve never loved one til you.
Man, oh man, you’re my best friend,
I scream it to the nothingness
There ain’t nothin’ that I need
Well, hot & heavy, pumpkin pie,
chocolate candy, Jesus Christ
There ain’t nothin’ please me more than you
Ahh, Home
Yes we are Home
Home is wherever I’m with you (2x)
I’ll follow you into the park,
through the jungle, through the dark
Girl, I’ve never loved one til you
Moats & boats & waterfalls,
alley ways & pay phone calls
I’ve been everywhere with you
That’s true
We laugh until we think we’ll die,
barefoot on a summer night
Nothin’ new is sweeter than with you.
And in the streets we're running
free like there's only you and me
Geez, you’re somethin' to see.
“Jade?”
“Alexander?”
“Do you remember that day you fell out of my window?”
“I sure do, you came jumping out after me.”
“Well, you fell on the concrete and nearly broke your ass
and you were bleeding all over the place and I rushed you off to the hospital.
Do you remember that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, there’s something I never told you about that night.”
“What didn’t you tell me?”
“While you were sitting in the backseat smoking a cigarette you thought
was going to be your last, I was falling deep, deeply in love with you
and I never told you ‘til just now.”
“Now I know.”
Home
Let me come Home
Home is wherever there is you
Ahh, Home
Yes, I am Home
Home you are me and I am you.
Not the way that I do love you
Holy Moley, Me-oh-My, you're the apple of my eye
Girl, I’ve never loved one til you.
Man, oh man, you’re my best friend,
I scream it to the nothingness
There ain’t nothin’ that I need
Well, hot & heavy, pumpkin pie,
chocolate candy, Jesus Christ
There ain’t nothin’ please me more than you
Ahh, Home
Yes we are Home
Home is wherever I’m with you (2x)
I’ll follow you into the park,
through the jungle, through the dark
Girl, I’ve never loved one til you
Moats & boats & waterfalls,
alley ways & pay phone calls
I’ve been everywhere with you
That’s true
We laugh until we think we’ll die,
barefoot on a summer night
Nothin’ new is sweeter than with you.
And in the streets we're running
free like there's only you and me
Geez, you’re somethin' to see.
“Jade?”
“Alexander?”
“Do you remember that day you fell out of my window?”
“I sure do, you came jumping out after me.”
“Well, you fell on the concrete and nearly broke your ass
and you were bleeding all over the place and I rushed you off to the hospital.
Do you remember that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, there’s something I never told you about that night.”
“What didn’t you tell me?”
“While you were sitting in the backseat smoking a cigarette you thought
was going to be your last, I was falling deep, deeply in love with you
and I never told you ‘til just now.”
“Now I know.”
Home
Let me come Home
Home is wherever there is you
Ahh, Home
Yes, I am Home
Home you are me and I am you.
Home, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
Wednesday, 18 April 2012
on "why tattoos?"
i have 3 tattoos. the most recent one is new; fresh ink from yesterday.
they are not a secret, but i have not announced this one this time. i'm verging on a guilty conscience because my mum does not like tattoos, and i never ever want to make her mad. she says the same thing whenever i tattoo or pierce: "you have such a beautiful body, why would you want to change it?".
i've been working on my argument, because i'll be home soon (in australia) and i will inevitably have my mum to answer to (don't we always have to answer to our mums at some point?).
my first tattoo, right shoulder, is an owl, and i got her as my whistler souvenir. she is inspired by a drawing i saw on a book cover, drawn by an artist local to British Columbia, which is the province of Canada i live in. an owl is a powerful female symbol, as well as being a symbol of wisdom and connected to books and reading. these are my things. well, i'm working on the wisdom.
my second tattoo, left shoulder, is a girl with a red umbrella and red boots, with snow and rain falling on her from a dark cloud, and puddles at her feet. i loved the image when i first saw it, and it fits in with the idea "love will keep your feet warm and your head dry". i'm a girl so i do believe in that sort of stuff. love stuff i mean. i do also believe in umbrellas, but normally forget mine on buses, trams and trains.
my newest beauty is a bit more of a commitment. it's on my hand. but really, for me, that's the only place it could go. i have a white feather quill pen, with a red nib, and some splashes of red ink on the knuckle- one is the shape of a rough heart (more love; gross, right?). in writing this blog for the last 2 years, i've realized how much i love to write- i've written stories to myself since i could string an alphabet together, but i kept them to myself (possibly a wise decision considering the tomes of teenage angst i churned out- thanks to the instincts for that call). i may not be a great writer, and i may never write a classic, but i do like to write, and i intend to keep on it for the rest of my life. and to be as much myself and as genuine as i can in what i write. so perhaps i shall steer away from scripts for unscripted infomercials.
so, why? they're permanent! god help us all, no amount of scrubbing is going to get me out of this mess. honestly though, i think everything that happens to you in your life leaves a mark of some kind, and i don't just mean "remember that time you cut your leg open really deep and needed stitches".
for me, tattoos are about collecting beautiful things. i think both dave petko and lacey jean, who tattooed their works onto me, are amazing artists. i love having artwork as permanent parts of me. i love all my tattoos. i like the process, the ritual, i like seeing a master at work (hangin' out with lacey yesterday reminded me how much i like to see tattoo equipment being prepared, the ink, the needles of various sizes, the care and carefulness), i don't like the pain but i do like knowing i can sit through it (haven't done anything seriously hardcore yet, not like ribs, i hear those set you up for some hurtin').
to my mum i might say that i don't believe a tattoo will change my body, nor does my wish to get tattoos mean that i need to look different to be happy. and, honestly, this body of mine, i'll have it to do things with for another 55-60 years tops, and a tattoo will not hinder any part of phyiscally living my life. it's not political. it's self-decoration, souvenir. they're mine.
as my closing argument, i offer up the sentiment below. i know for a fact i will not be laying in my deathbed, struggling with my last breaths to say "i wish i never got that tattoo".
amen.
they are not a secret, but i have not announced this one this time. i'm verging on a guilty conscience because my mum does not like tattoos, and i never ever want to make her mad. she says the same thing whenever i tattoo or pierce: "you have such a beautiful body, why would you want to change it?".
i've been working on my argument, because i'll be home soon (in australia) and i will inevitably have my mum to answer to (don't we always have to answer to our mums at some point?).
my first tattoo, right shoulder, is an owl, and i got her as my whistler souvenir. she is inspired by a drawing i saw on a book cover, drawn by an artist local to British Columbia, which is the province of Canada i live in. an owl is a powerful female symbol, as well as being a symbol of wisdom and connected to books and reading. these are my things. well, i'm working on the wisdom.
my second tattoo, left shoulder, is a girl with a red umbrella and red boots, with snow and rain falling on her from a dark cloud, and puddles at her feet. i loved the image when i first saw it, and it fits in with the idea "love will keep your feet warm and your head dry". i'm a girl so i do believe in that sort of stuff. love stuff i mean. i do also believe in umbrellas, but normally forget mine on buses, trams and trains.
my newest beauty is a bit more of a commitment. it's on my hand. but really, for me, that's the only place it could go. i have a white feather quill pen, with a red nib, and some splashes of red ink on the knuckle- one is the shape of a rough heart (more love; gross, right?). in writing this blog for the last 2 years, i've realized how much i love to write- i've written stories to myself since i could string an alphabet together, but i kept them to myself (possibly a wise decision considering the tomes of teenage angst i churned out- thanks to the instincts for that call). i may not be a great writer, and i may never write a classic, but i do like to write, and i intend to keep on it for the rest of my life. and to be as much myself and as genuine as i can in what i write. so perhaps i shall steer away from scripts for unscripted infomercials.
so, why? they're permanent! god help us all, no amount of scrubbing is going to get me out of this mess. honestly though, i think everything that happens to you in your life leaves a mark of some kind, and i don't just mean "remember that time you cut your leg open really deep and needed stitches".
for me, tattoos are about collecting beautiful things. i think both dave petko and lacey jean, who tattooed their works onto me, are amazing artists. i love having artwork as permanent parts of me. i love all my tattoos. i like the process, the ritual, i like seeing a master at work (hangin' out with lacey yesterday reminded me how much i like to see tattoo equipment being prepared, the ink, the needles of various sizes, the care and carefulness), i don't like the pain but i do like knowing i can sit through it (haven't done anything seriously hardcore yet, not like ribs, i hear those set you up for some hurtin').
to my mum i might say that i don't believe a tattoo will change my body, nor does my wish to get tattoos mean that i need to look different to be happy. and, honestly, this body of mine, i'll have it to do things with for another 55-60 years tops, and a tattoo will not hinder any part of phyiscally living my life. it's not political. it's self-decoration, souvenir. they're mine.
as my closing argument, i offer up the sentiment below. i know for a fact i will not be laying in my deathbed, struggling with my last breaths to say "i wish i never got that tattoo".
amen.
Saturday, 7 April 2012
top ten reasons kate is awesome
- her dance routine to "single ladies" by beyonce
- her re-wording of several hiphop classics including "ice ice baby", all in aid of improving her work environment
- her lasagna
- her appreciation for the finer things in life, like cheese and clever lines in movies
- her banter. witty, thought-provoking and relevant to our modern times
- she reads my blog
- her enthusiasm for activities: skiing, riding, hiking
- the way she sings along to james taylor (i grew up listening to james taylor)
- that one time when she wore predominantly purple clothing
- her patience, generosity and love... not everyone will get out of bed to rescue somebody at 2am.
- (i lied about there being 10 reasons) if you be really good, sometimes she'll let you feel her boobs.
love you kate.
Friday, 6 April 2012
lyrics
Missed the last train home.
Birds pass by to tell me that I'm not alone.
Over pushing myself to finish this part,
I can handle a lot,
But one thing I'm missing is in your eyes.
In your eyes
Birds pass by to tell me that I'm not alone.
Over pushing myself to finish this part,
I can handle a lot,
But one thing I'm missing is in your eyes.
In your eyes
Have you seen this film?
It reminds me of walking through the avenues.
Washing my hands of attachments yeah,
land on the ground,
one thing I'm missing, is in your eyes.
In your eyes.
In your eyes
secret: preparation (deep thoughts on a thursday night)
it's a month now til i leave whistler. i'm not entirely certain how to prepare for it. there's the logistical stuff, like packing up my things, passing on the treasures i can't keep. there's a checklist: phone, bank account, tax return. that sort of stuff is easy, mundane but easy.
it's trying to soak up every little bit of this town that i love. it's the possibility i mightn't be back, for who ever really knows when they'll see a place again once they've left it? the places i love, the foods and drinks (mopsy's pork pizza at creekbread, double caesar and warrior burger at dusty's, wings and pints of lion's winter ale at crystal, banana bread on the mountain, waffles at crystal hut, pulled pork at bbq bobs, roll combo at samurai sushi, latte and breakfast wrap at lift coffee co., brie apple caramelized onion panini at cracked pepper, tuna salad sandwich at burnt stew cafe, breakfast bagel at moguls, and many more), the places (the re-use-it centre, kate and phill's house, the walk from creekside to home, home itself... and the many homes i've made for myself here: hugh & cam's couch, the tiny 1bed studio with hugh at the vale, the floor in the vale at mitch, kirsty, steve and andy's place, the crazy alpine party house, the mellow alpine summer house, bayshores house, bayshores bitches mansion and now the vale again). all the spots on the mountain. the people. my little whistler family who i love so dearly. the familiar strangers i walk by on the valley trail who smile at me because they know i'm a regular, even though they don't know who i am.
it's trying not to squeeze the life out of whistler, trying not to make every experience over-done as "the last time i'll...". i'll be back in australia just 2 weeks sort of 3 years since i left. in the grand scheme of things, it's not a long time, but at this point of my life, it's been huge. it's been forever. i'm wrapping my head around the fact that there will be a morning soon that i'll wake up, look out the window, and realize there are no more mountains to be seen. i won't lie, it's going to be a tough day.
it's making peace with the fact i won't see the person i love for more than 2 months. that next time we see each other, we'll be in a different hemisphere. that we just have to hope whistler is not the only thing we have in common.
i was so different when i arrived in town. i'm happy with who i am these days. i hope i'm wise enough to be this same person, alive and confident and a little bit silly.
i'm trying not to think ahead too hard. i want to just soak it all in, to have later as memories to laugh at with the friends i've made here. they're stuck with me now, for life.
i know i will look back as i leave this town.
it's trying to soak up every little bit of this town that i love. it's the possibility i mightn't be back, for who ever really knows when they'll see a place again once they've left it? the places i love, the foods and drinks (mopsy's pork pizza at creekbread, double caesar and warrior burger at dusty's, wings and pints of lion's winter ale at crystal, banana bread on the mountain, waffles at crystal hut, pulled pork at bbq bobs, roll combo at samurai sushi, latte and breakfast wrap at lift coffee co., brie apple caramelized onion panini at cracked pepper, tuna salad sandwich at burnt stew cafe, breakfast bagel at moguls, and many more), the places (the re-use-it centre, kate and phill's house, the walk from creekside to home, home itself... and the many homes i've made for myself here: hugh & cam's couch, the tiny 1bed studio with hugh at the vale, the floor in the vale at mitch, kirsty, steve and andy's place, the crazy alpine party house, the mellow alpine summer house, bayshores house, bayshores bitches mansion and now the vale again). all the spots on the mountain. the people. my little whistler family who i love so dearly. the familiar strangers i walk by on the valley trail who smile at me because they know i'm a regular, even though they don't know who i am.
it's trying not to squeeze the life out of whistler, trying not to make every experience over-done as "the last time i'll...". i'll be back in australia just 2 weeks sort of 3 years since i left. in the grand scheme of things, it's not a long time, but at this point of my life, it's been huge. it's been forever. i'm wrapping my head around the fact that there will be a morning soon that i'll wake up, look out the window, and realize there are no more mountains to be seen. i won't lie, it's going to be a tough day.
it's making peace with the fact i won't see the person i love for more than 2 months. that next time we see each other, we'll be in a different hemisphere. that we just have to hope whistler is not the only thing we have in common.
i was so different when i arrived in town. i'm happy with who i am these days. i hope i'm wise enough to be this same person, alive and confident and a little bit silly.
i'm trying not to think ahead too hard. i want to just soak it all in, to have later as memories to laugh at with the friends i've made here. they're stuck with me now, for life.
i know i will look back as i leave this town.
Sunday, 1 April 2012
How come you never go there?
How come I'm so alone there?
How come you never go there?
How come I'm so alone there?
I went up to a window
Lightning banging on the cymbals
I ripped into the night
Came storm into your eyes
My horse had worked the fields too long
My bear had lost its innate calm
It's true enough we're not at peace
But peace is never what it seems
Our love is not the light it was
When I walk inside the dark I'm calm
Where we look for where we went
It's only echoes in the melody
How come you never go there?
How come I'm so alone there?
How come you never go there?
How come I'm so alone there?
We waste time on blame and weak revenge
Waste energy and projections
We're living proof, we gotta let go
And stop looking through the halo
We carry on as if our time is through
You carry on as if I don't love you
And so we find the way is out
To cut the heart out of the doubt now
The room's full but hearts are empty
Like the letters never sent me
Words are like a lasso
You're an instrumental tune
How come you never go there?
How come I'm so alone there?
How come you never go there?
How come I'm so alone there?
Feist: How Come You Never Go There?
goodbye to maria
i farewelled another one tonight: one by one they leave me, until i leave them...
i met maria first as 1/4 of "the swedes", as they were known to us in the winter of 2010/2011. i have to say i didn't get to know her so well or rest so easy in her company that first season, but i am so happy that i had another chance to get to know her this time around.
she has been generous, open and friendly, and i have learned a lot for which i am grateful. she is wiser than i would have given her credit for. maybe she has recently learned this wisdom, or perhaps i'm just better at listening now.
however we leave it, maria, i wish you safe travels and lots of love meeting you wherever you may be next. we'll see each other soon.
x
i met maria first as 1/4 of "the swedes", as they were known to us in the winter of 2010/2011. i have to say i didn't get to know her so well or rest so easy in her company that first season, but i am so happy that i had another chance to get to know her this time around.
she has been generous, open and friendly, and i have learned a lot for which i am grateful. she is wiser than i would have given her credit for. maybe she has recently learned this wisdom, or perhaps i'm just better at listening now.
however we leave it, maria, i wish you safe travels and lots of love meeting you wherever you may be next. we'll see each other soon.
x
listening (an entry to the RMOW poetry competition)
sit quiet and hear it:
the mountains are ours if we want them (but not to own them)
a cut away from the sky to keep from clear days,
a breath to hold if they hide behind the clouds.
sit quiet and hear it:
you, yourself might be a rock (if you are still and say nothing)
held dark and silent in your mind
a piece of earth, a piece of mountain.
but, sit quiet and hear it:
your breath (makes you human no matter your serenity)
as you take in piece by piece,
and your mouth is filled with breaths that taste of rock and stone.
sit quiet to hear it, and be sure.
the mountains are ours if we want them (but not to own them)
a cut away from the sky to keep from clear days,
a breath to hold if they hide behind the clouds.
sit quiet and hear it:
you, yourself might be a rock (if you are still and say nothing)
held dark and silent in your mind
a piece of earth, a piece of mountain.
but, sit quiet and hear it:
your breath (makes you human no matter your serenity)
as you take in piece by piece,
and your mouth is filled with breaths that taste of rock and stone.
sit quiet to hear it, and be sure.
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