Hoisting the Sails

It was a glorious day today and we headed down to the sailing club for the first time this summer. Club members were coming out of the woodwork. It was a real hub of activity down there. I took my friend, Bree, and my four girls out for a sail for an hour or so. My two eldest mucked around and pushed each other in. I didn’t mind, the wind wasn’t really up and it was easy enough to double back to pick them up. I also caught up with a few of my favorite club members. There is Ant – a young man with a fairly high flying job who is the club trouble maker. He tricked me last year by pretending to give my girls alcoholic drinks. I gave him a foul look and told him, “you have crossed the line”, only to find out it was just water and that everyone else knew except for me. He laughed about that one for ages, “the look on your face, ha ha” (sort of thing). Then there’s Judy – one of the social committee organisers. Every club member is assigned a rostered duty by the social committee. My duty this year is to cater for the entrees for the club’s progressive dinner. The progressive dinner is a new idea and I was pleased to be able to discuss the arrangements with Judy. Everyone is assigned a number upon entry. This number dictates where you are seated and the seating arrangements change after each course. Unlike the traditional progressive dinner where you progress from one venue to another, we will be progressing around the dining room to a different table and a new group of people. There is Grant – who is usually behind the bar. He likes to stir me about last Australia Day when he served me sparkling red from four o’clock in the afternoon. I had been sailing all day in the heat and came into the club rooms quite thirsty to listen to the jazz band we had playing. I had a lovely time on the balcony chatting and enjoying the music, but I hadn’t had enough water during the day and hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. When our pizzas arrived at nine in the evening, I was too green to eat them and had to be driven home by Ant. ”Can I get you a sparkling red Bindi?”, Grant asked me today with a cheeky smile. “No, haven’t touched the stuff since last Australia Day, Grant”, I replied. He laughed. And so it goes. Another sailing season has begun.

I’m sending you a pillow

Dear Possums, I was sent a beautiful text message by one of my students today. It was such a lovely message that I would like to repeat it here and pass it on to you: I’m sending a pillow of happy thoughts to create wonderful dreams, a blanket of care to warm you all and a prayer to protect you all year. Merry Christmas. 

No shortage of things to do

 

There is no time at my place to mope around. Sally and Emma have finished school and the holidays have begun. Kathleen and Rosie have come home from the last carols performance with their choir for the week. The only commitment we have left before leaving for the beach house is a party tonight that the whole family is invited to.  There is no time here to worry about young male teachers who are fickle about women. No, not at all. These diversions are best ditched and filed under “not worth it”. Bindi, file that away as a note to yourself. There are children who need your help to make ginger bread men and to write them lists so they can pack for the holidays. And when you have finished this, phone a friend. Under no circumstance are you allowed to mope about falling out with this particular acquaintance. Good Girl.

Once in a lifetime

I had a brief conversation while out to dinner last night in which I recommended one of my favorite books, The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood. My conversation although brief has caused me to reflect on one of the ways the book affected me. It is written in three threads which eventually come together with a twist. One of the threads is a piece of fiction written by a character in the book. This piece of fiction shares its title with the title of the novel. The Blind Assassin thread is a story of two lovers. It accurately captures the state of being of a young woman experiencing her first meaningful sexual relationship. The Blind Assassin is the story her lover tells her as a serial from one encounter to the next. That someone could capture this state of obsessive love using language completely blew me away. Prior to reading this, it had remained an unspoken yet all encompassing state of being that I had experienced in a similar way at the age of eighteen. It made me realise that my experience was shared. Thinking that my experience was unique I had previously never shared it with a soul. Yet reading this novel, I realised another person had known it well enough to write it. My experience was with a boy I met at university who enchanted me entirely. I had come to university looking for excitement and I found it in him. He was beautiful to look at, half Chinese and half Scottish, an accomplished musician and he was studying medicine. He first made love to me in his bedroom at his family home. We could hear other family members moving around the house (he was the oldest of four children) and eventhough I was scared someone would walk in I was so overcome by the sensation of it that I let it continue. I was amazed what my body could feel. On the bus to university the next day I remember allowing myself to recall the experience, mind and body. I thought I had discovered something no one else knew. He possessed me in a way no one else ever would again. To me it was as though he was “the only person in the world with a penis” (a line from Blind Assassin). We skipped classes to be together. We made love in unusual places: garden beds, ovals at night, in the Law toilets at uni, in swimming pools… He failed his first year in med. His family sent him against his will to live in Tasmania for the year to study first year at another university, billeting with a family friend to keep an eye on him. We wrote everyday. His letters were poetic. I lived the year as a shell of myself. I carried his photo, read and reread his letters. He refused to study and returned to Melbourne a year later having failed that year too. We moved into a flat together against all of our parents’ wishes at the age of nineteen. I was studying third year by this time and working as a waitress to pay the rent. He played music and read books everyday. When I returned home, I cooked and cleaned. In our three quarter size single bed at night we searched until we knew each other’s bodies intimately. He was like a puppeteer or a sorcerer. He played me like an instrument, owned me like a pet. Some evenings he read to me. The first book he read was The Three Musketeers. He used a French accent and different voice for each character in the novel. I remember his laughter over this. These moments were joyful. Our bubble burst eventually. The pain of the previous year lingered, especially in him. Being together was not enough to lift his spirits after failing his course and letting his family down.  I felt the stress of study and his monetary dependence upon me.  We started to fight and I met someone new. I wonder how we would have fared if we didn’t have to struggle under such pressure. Was such an obsessive relationship doomed to failure?  He completely owned me for almost three years. When I read The Blind Assassin five years ago or more I cried. It was an eye opener to realise other people had experienced this too. (But, strangely, this is the first time I have articulated it for myself).

NYC for me, UK for my baby.

Hello Possums. Amongst all of the end of year celebrations, I have booked tickets to my next big conference – New York in March! Unfortunately the symposium that my colleagues and I proposed didn’t get up, but that’s okay. Last year in Chicago I didn’t present either and the conference was well worth it. I learnt a lot and had a hoot of a time without the pressure to perform.  I will be free to burn the candle at both ends again for another week. I have never been to New York. People tell me the shopping is great over there. The Australian dollar has gained in strength too. I arrive with a day and a half to spare before the start of the conference, the weekend prior to it in fact. This will give me a little bit of time to suss the city out. I remember April blogging about traveling around in New York. She referred to above ground (as opposed to under ground). Apparently there is an extensive subway system. I wonder if New York will be a bit like London in this sense. I hope so, because I found London really easy to get around and felt very safe there. Always we shared the subway with throngs of other people regardless of the time of day. Are there any must see and must do things in New York? Perhaps a show on Broadway on the Saturday night is in order… I’m blogging about my next trip because Perth was such a whirl wind of adventure that I find myself a bit flat getting back into normal life. I often find that there is a come-down period after being away. It’s hit me a bit late because I’ve been caught up in the Christmas rush of finishing off work commitments and socializing like crazy. Things are winding down now. The work do was this afternoon, I ended up with a cocktail shaker which I’ll take down the beach for New Years Eve. Its the TWATS dinner tonight and then one more party on Friday night. I’m ticking things off my list of things to do. I took Kathleen out to buy her new school uniform yesterday. The school colours are yellow, blue and black. She tried on the yellow uniform and said, ‘Mum I feel like a pineapple’. ‘Well, that’s good, you’ll have more empathy with pineapples in future, won’t you’. She loved the new sports uniform. She looked so grown up and happy. She’s an affectionate mix of teenage indifference and sense of humour. Her life is blossoming outwards in many ways: a new school; performing with a prestigious Acting Ensemble (for which she has just been selected); a singing tour to the UK and Vietnam with choir, all next year (and she is only fifteen). 

The Work Do

Hello Possums. Its that time of year again. The city goes slightly crazy as people organise last minute catch-ups at every restaurant and club around Melbourne. The roads are crazy, shopping centres go crazy, parking is mental, people are nuts. Me? Last week was Layback Club’s break up at a local bar, which I have already mentioned. (Incidentally, I have since found out that the desperate people we watched flirting that night are part of a swingers group!). Last Thursday was my research group’s break up dinner at a lovely restaurant near uni, and on Sunday was a christmas party with our group of friends affectionately called ‘The Gang’. This week I have a christmas break-up or catch up everyday except for Thursday. Last night it was bookclub. We sat in comfy couches in the lounge of a grand hotel, laughed and talked children, renovation, life from a woman’s perspective and chose our next book: ‘Half of a Yellow Sun’ by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Not many of us had finished our previous book, which was ‘Black Swan Green’ by David Mitchell, so we’re saving our chat about that one for next time too (which isn’t until Feb). I’m looking forward to having time for reading over summer. Sitting down on the beach with fiction is when I really know I’m on holidays!  Tonight its parents from Sally’s grade. We will celebrate a successful year with Sally’s teacher at a local Thai restaurant. Tomorrow night, its our ‘Talkative Women At The School’ end of year dinner at a local brazzerie. I’m looking forward to this one! The conversation is usually a scream. On Friday night we have a christmas party at a friend’s home. My work do is on Wednesday for lunch. This is usually not a piss-up, but a civilized affair with a nutty twist. The nuts part is the giving of christmas gifts. Every person brings a gift along of a certain value, wrapped and placed under the christmas tree. Names are called out of a hat. The first person to have their name called selects a gift from under the tree, unwraps it for all to see. From then on, each person has a choice: select a gift from under the tree, or ’steal’ someone else’s unwrapped gift. If someone’s unwrapped gift is stolen they may select another from under the tree or steal.  After a few presents have been opened and displayed there is the possibility of long chains of gifts stolen before someone decides to take one from under the tree. Once a year this is a fun activity. Last year an incident that I remember as surprising and funny was a gift of a book called ‘Sex for Over Fifties’ which was ’stolen’ from our Jesuit colleague by a usually mild mannered, straight-laced older woman (with a wicked sense of humour).

The Flying Machine

Hello Possums. Sally came into my study yesterday in her pyjamas. ‘Mum do you want to have a look at the flying machine I invented?’. ‘OK’. I swivelled around on my ergonomic desk chair to see Sally standing there with a small teddy bear that had been attached using two hair ribbons to two balloons. She proceeded to blow up the balloons one by one. The second one burst. Her little face fell. She was close to tears as she explained the mechanism of her invention and how it would have flown. ‘Don’t worry’, I said, ‘I have a balloon in my handbag. I saved it for you when I went on the excursion with Emma last week but forgot to give it to you’. I produced a green balloon with Go Green written on it. ‘Thanks mum’. She used more sticky tape to reattach the balloon. Here she is with the finished product, getting it ready for launching:

It feels weird. It shouldn’t but it does.

Hello Possums. Tonight I have been invited out by my dancing buddy V to partake in tapas with a group of mutual friends before kicking on to a nightclub for some African music. I invited the hub. And he said Yes. Normally he wouldn’t come. He would use the excuse of looking after the kids - especially on a Friday night. Usually he prefers to sit in front of the telly with a bottomless glass of red. After a busy week, he needs to unwind. This is his normal line. And during footy season, television on  Friday night is a sacred ritual. This is why Friday nights are often girls nights for me. If I need to catch a movie or a play or go dancing with girlfriends, this is the night. It should not feel weird that my husband is coming to watch African drummers with me. But it does. It really does. I am not unhappy about it, just weirded out. I think its great that he’s making an effort. How he fits in could be quite an interesting social experiment.  Yesterday I had a conversation with a friend and colleague about mid life crises. I told her mine was over and she laughed and laughed. Yes, it is, I confirmed. Now the marriage difficulties on the other hand, these are not solved. Its just that the crisis aspect is over. I met an older man who I thought was wonderful and this has made me less panicky. I now feel that I am able to put time into the marriage, and even after five years if it still fails then there will be no resentment. There will always be hope and someone out there for me. There is no hurry. Before I thought I had to make a decision quickly, otherwise it would be too late. She thought about what I had said. Hmm, she deliberated, why is this the case that so many marriages are going through difficulties? Mine too! Why is it that our husbands no longer interest us? Take my husband, he is beautiful, a lovely person. He would be a great partner, but for someone else! But I’m not interested any more.  He bores me. Maybe it is a stage, I said. And she agreed. A stage in a long term relationship. Like stages our children go through, that are obvious to us in hindsight. Maybe this is a stage for women in their forties?  

Tradition

Hello Possums. Its getting close to christmas. Already my eldest two children have broken up from school. We are all starting to get excited about six weeks of summer holidays. We traditionally spend Christmas and the whole of the break at our beach house. We pack up here in Melbourne and head down as soon as the primary school kids finish. For the last two years we have had big family gatherings at Christmas time. My brother and his family of four from Queensland joined us for the week including Christmas last year. The year before we were joined by my favorite cousin from Brisbane and his family of five and my brother in-law from the UK, who also has a family of five for two weeks. Every year my friend Bree joins us for at least a week on Boxing Day and at least two extra families join us for New Years Eve. On New Years Eve down there the head count is usually 35 children and 20 adults. We decorate the children with glow sticks when it gets dark, so they are easy to find, and walk into town along the beach to watch the fire works.This year our Christmas gathering will be much smaller. Just the three remaining grandparents on the actual day and my sister and her hub on Christmas Eve. However, with my four girls and the beach nearby, its always a good day regardless of the social scene, or lack of one.The Yacht Club are having a party on New Years Eve. I suggested to the girls that we might go there instead of hosting our own this year. “No!” and “Now way!”, was the outcry. “We want to have our own party and walk to the fireworks along the beach – its family tradition!”. So there you have it. Kids rule at our place. I am out numbered. After all, how many traditions do we actually have?Strangely enough, I was thinking of my summer rituals as old news. We have had our place there for eight years, prior to that we stayed at my fathers place down there and prior to that when I was a kid we stayed in caravan parks in the same spot. I have been going to this beach spot since I was eleven years old. But then, I only started blogging in February. So you, dear reader, haven’t spent a summer with me yet!

Freewheeling

Hello Possums. I am in a great mood. I have had an extremely busy semester, mostly working five days a week. But today I finished teaching for the year! It was my last day out at the Primary School where I have been teaching science. It was a really fun day because I was able to share it with my two eldest daughters. I brought Kathleen and Rosie with me as helpers.

I taught the final of a serious of four chemistry lessons for grade one and two students and the final of four lessons on sound and the sense of hearing for the preps. Both Kat and Rosie did excellent jobs distubuting equipment, helping the grade one and two students decide whether or not sugar crystals had dissolved in hot and cold water and helping the preps make pan flutes. At recess and lunch time they spent time in the yard with the children, where they were treated like celebrities. Kathleen laughed as she explained that at one stage she had so many children wanting to hold her hand that they had grabbed her wrists and arms as well just to be able to hang on and keep contact. Rosie spent lunchtime giving piggy backs.

Finishing my teaching for the year means I can now relax and concentrate on my studies and christmas arrangements. I also have quite a few social engagements to attend as the year draws to a close.

I feel as though I’m on the down hill run. Tomorrow I’m booked in for a hair appointment with Amy. Bliss, bliss.