Friday, October 15, 2010

Wind-swept bay:

Today I turned in an essay I've been bothering around with for a fortnight. Once it was done, I felt that sense of finally-at-last-and-I-should-probably-catch-up-on-other-things. But the day is grey and the air is stuffy -- and I felt fractious, like all I really wanted to do was curl up on the couch and sleep but there was no legitimate reason to. I kicked about grumpily for an hour, having found an excuse to call my mother and both my sisters -- and finally I decided I had to get out of the house.

Ostensibly, I went out to fill up the car, but I grabbed my literature readings for the week as I went, and after getting the fuel, I bought a drink and drove out the Point. I parked the car facing the bay, where the water was swirling angrily under a grey sky. It was storm water, that strange mix of brown and grey, with scrappy white where the furious ripples would leap at the mangroves and then recede, never quite getting where they wanted to go.

I wound down the windows and folded myself into the passenger seat, paper in one hand, drink in the other. The brisk collision of that damp-earth rain smell and the thick salt of ocean air made me feel more awake than I'd felt all day. I sat there with faded folk music coming low out of the car radio and rain hitting the windscreen while I watched jet skiers wrestle their machines to shore and read some of Five Children and It (yes, I get Edith Nesbit for uni homework; I know!) -- in between staring out at the water. It hit me suddenly that this was a movie moment. I don't know how else to describe them, those snippets in time where you get to slice through the fabric between your life and someone else's, and look down on things as if you were not part of it all, to -- just for the moment -- see your life for the story it really is.

For me, those moments usually only happen when something is different, when there's a little rift between the humdrum ritual of every day. It somehow provides a breathing space to actually notice. I'm always thankful whenever it does occur. It's good to be reminded that this is all a script in the hands of an amazing writer.

* * * * *


Asea -- I haven't yet had a chance to dip into the delicious archive of Russian children's literature, but I'll be sure to post an update when I do.

Katie -- absolutely yes! Me and that handbag are practically married.

Staish -- and I love you! Haven't started Route 66AD yet; you wanna read it first cos I might be a while?

Samantha -- secondhand bookstores have so much promise!

Mothercarey -- I had not noticed the sheer number of mouth-centric products! I guess mouths are important to me?


  1. You write so well! I just wanted to tell you that! And yay for the amazing Writer who oversees all our lives!

    Bunches and bunches of hugs! :)

  2. I know exactly what you mean. These moments add joy and depth, the reality that every little detail matters. A reminder that as 'players' in this life, we are truly deeply loved with a purpose.
    I really enjoy your writing. (Our family were former one time subscribers to Whatsoever...)

  3. You write so well. I have a very strong liking to the last phrase of your post.

  4. Oh, how beautiful! Love the view you had. Moments like these are beautiful... I can picture you there; just enjoying it all! Yayness for getting out of the house!

  5. Moments such as those are amazing. I only wish they happened more often but if they did, maybe we wouldn't appreciate them as much.


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