Back in Time

A walk around Katoomba brings back memories of another life, of primary-school friends, and sweaty hands and bus-sickness during a school excursion. Of rest-stops and an angry father, resentful of his progeny and their need to pee. Of turn-of-the-century style, federation charm and art deco glamour…The Savoy Cafe, The Paragon Cafe and Cafe Niagara.

And the bush pricks the memory…the heat and an unexpected thunderstorm deluge, car-windows left open and a car full of water, wet car-carpet stench, Eucalypt haze and cold little creeks, giant tree-ferns and scribbly gum.

Backward in time, forward in time; in some places, time, is irrelevant.

Fill them

Let them see everything, let them learn. Fill them with life.

Broken

I sat in the dust on the side of the road, looking back at the broken down car. No point in spilling the tears that had threatened to spill, besides, it would only panic the young ones. It was simply a time to wait, and this was a wait that would not be fruitless…an easy wait. NRMA membership be blessed, along with friendly folk and their land-line.

“I’m hungrrryyyy Mummy,” came a whine from inside the car. I looked at the small dirt-streaked face peering at me from over the steering wheel and slowly pushed myself up out of the dirt. I kicked rocks out onto the newly upgraded road as I walked to the back of the car. Knowing that I had a link to that road somehow eased things too. I opened the esky and made sausage, cheese and tomato sauce sandwiches for the tired-eyed children. As they ate their dinner, so civilised, plates and all, I sat mesmerised by the dust that was slow to dissipate after a car passed by. I let the guilt slide out of my mind and into the scraps as I cleaned the plates, there was no point in should-haves.

A shudder of boards echoing into the river valley alerted me to a car approaching from the property where I had used the phone to call for help. The car, a brand new 4WD, pulled up and the driver smiled as he stopped alongside us. I was distracted by the smell of the new car as I leaned toward it to talk with the driver. Bright, shiny, expensive and new, the thought of the new car suddenly made my eyes sting with tears.

“Do you need any food or drink?” the driver enquires. I avoided his gaze and swiped at my eyes before he could notice the tears.

“No, thanks, we’re right, but thanks for the offer.” I look up and smile at the driver as the kids pipe up,

“I’m bored! Who is that Mummy?”

“I want to see, can I get out of the car?”

The driver’s smile deepens and a short conversation follows,

“If you need it, I’m sure we could sort out beds for you all tonight.”

“Oh no, we’ll be fine, thanks. Shouldn’t be too long now.”

“Oh, and watch out for snakes, I’ve seen a few lately.”

“Will do.”

“Okay…”

“Okay.”

“Well good luck, and take care.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled again, his brown eyes crinkled and he winked a friendly wink.  As he turned his car and headed back to his place, the kids started up again,

“Snakes! Mummy are there snakes?”

“I want to see the snakes! Can I get out of the car?”

I watched the 4WD disappear down the long road back in to the property, the boards shuddered again and soon all was still and quiet, except for the restless kids. I let them out of the car and we started a short walk along the roadside.

“Stay out of the grass, you heard the man, there could be snakes!”

“I want to see a snake!”

“Snakes! No! Mummy, snakes will get us, snaaakkkessss!” they laughed and kicked at the dirt. I smiled at their enthusiasm, kick, kick, kick. Another car passed with a wave of hand, and dust slowly enveloped us.

And it was right there, right at that moment, as I stood in the dust cloud, hand still half-raised, smiling at the small children running ahead of me, that I was overwhelmed by the feeling that I had well and truly fucked up my life. And nothing, I thought, in that split second between thought and ground, would stop the tears. But on my way to ground, as I looked at the blonde-headed scamps stomping along the dusty verge, no tears did fall, and when the kids ran back to me, and grabbed at me with clammy little hands, all they saw was their mother sitting in the dust, on the side of the road that my family had built, smiling for them, because of them, and with them.

Overheard: my parents

“Fred, there are no vacancies at any of the dog-hotels.”
“None?”
“None.”
“What, you’ve called all of them have you?”
“Well no, I’ve called two, but there will be none, I know they’ll all be full. “
“Shit! Why didn’t you book them in earlier? I told you to ring earlier!”
“Oh do shut-up. So, I called the place that Harry has booked Jock into, and the man says he will take them, if they get along with Jock, and they do, because he can put them into a big run together.”
“Wilma, you know they don’t get along.”
“What? Yes they get along, they don’t fight.”
“Right, they might not fight, but you know that Jock ‘gets into‘ Benji.”
“What?”
“Jock GETS INTO Benji!”

A pause.
“Oh, but they don’t fight.”
“Shit, did you at all hear what I just said!?”
“What? They don’t fight…problem solved.”

And, so it seems my mother does not mind her little Benji taking a bit up the arse for the sake of Christ(mas).

It’s moments like these you need Minties

At the precise moment I clicked this photo, I remember thinking,

“Yeah, things are not going too badly, it all might work out.”

Snap.

A walk along the sand, onto cement, laughing, a few minutes of happiness, just me and them, where nothing and no one else mattered. Then we met him on the pavement; a change in demeanor, a cold look in his eyes.

And it was all,

“Where have you been?” and changes of plans and coldness. And finally, it’s up to me to drag out of him just what the fuck was going on.

And so then I knew, at the precise moment I clicked this photo, I had been deluding myself.

Just me and them

My chick

Today my daughter turns 3. That she is my daughter, I thank all gods, wherever, whoever. 3 years of that luminous, kiss-me skin, those spontaneous cuddles, the sing-song little voice. People say she looks like her father, but most people don’t see past her golden curls to arrive at that decision. Because, she is me as a little girl, I know, I was there. Sometimes, I get a sideways glimpse of her through lowered lashes, and I tunnel through time, to that little me.

She has been through a lot more than the terrible twos, this little girl of merely 3, but I know we’ve done, and do, the best we can to minimise the hurt for her. Everyday, I see her strength and determination grow, at 3 she is heart-achingly beautiful, smart as a whip, somewhat uncoordinated (like her dad), a little beach-chick. And she, like her brother, is the biggest love I have ever known. Happy Birthday E.

Sooooooooo Cute