Sunday, September 18, 2016

The (Gol)"F" word

When you live on the edge of a golf course people have two questions:

1) Do you play golf?
2) Does your house get damaged by golf balls

My answer to both is no. I played golf last century when I was in high school. It was quite fun as a non-team sport activity, but I have not had the time or the inclination to play since. I remember attending an event at the Bowraville Golf Club in my capacity as a cadet journalist with the local paper and I locked the keys in my car. I went into the clubhouse and made an announcement and had about 20 volunteers able and willing to break into the car to retrieve said keys.

When I was moving from Murrumbateman into Canberra I was concerned about moving from a village where there was a horse paddock across the road to suburbia. I would stand at the front door of houses for sale and cross them off the list before going inside, because of the aspect. Seeing 20 other houses from the front door was not what I had signed up to do.

By serendipitous events I found my new place and it sits on the edge of a golf course. This is mostly quite fun with the drama of golfers using the "f" word generously to commentate on their lousy ability. By way of position, we do not ever have any golf balls hitting the full-length windows that overlook the course. The golfers tee off from out the front, at right angles to my place. Only a couple of times have I seen a golfer searching for his (always his) ball and it has landed in my garden.

Tonight, having been away overnight, I went outside to call the cat in from her 10-minute wander and wondered why I couldn't see the reflection of the glass table top. I put my hand where the glass should be and realised there had been an incident.

Let there be light and lo and behold, there was a golf ball centimetres from the door and the glass tabletop shattered into thousands of pieces.

As I said to one of my neighbours, the golfer has to be really crap to be so off point.

And there I was an hour-and-a-half earlier looking at the rainbows guiding me home, as I drove along the Hume and Barton highways, thinking of Mystic Medusa's encouragement to look for signs from the full moon eclipse. The rainbow has always been a sign of enlightenment and guidance for me. Then I get home and the illusion is shattered.

Haha. I look forward to whatever is coming next. It can only be better after the five life events of 2016 ... All the love

Monday, September 5, 2016

Seat 8D

Gum blossom, from a special place

I flew home from MEL last night, after driving to MEL yesterday, with a purpose that was fulfilled. A big day out. On Saturday I checked in online and chose to sit in row 10, by myself, then something made me change the booking to sit next to an occupied seat.

And so I found myself sitting next to a man who is going through his fair share of family shit. I'm the biggest instigator of conversations on planes with strangers. If someone paid me to do that every day I would. Qantas? Virgin? He's about 10 years younger than me but has been thrown out of the marital home where his wife still lives with their two children. These are the children both vowed to never have, until 10 years into the marriage and he was given an ultimatum by her: I have decided to have children and if you do not want to be the father move out now.

He chose to be the father, thinking that if that is what she wanted, she would be happy. Fast forward seven years and she has thrown him out to take up with her lesbian lover. There's a whole lot of mess being flung about but he only wants what is best for their children. His wife, however, has not revealed the real reason for the marriage breakup to her Christian parents. So they treat the SIL as a pariah.  He's lost the couple's mutual friends, but regained many of his friends from years ago. How often does this happen?

It gets better. The new lover has taken on a command and control role and is out-advising the lawyers, so it's all descending into a bit of hell for him. But by gosh he is a nice man. Turns out we have a fair bit in common, family wise, and he was able to give me some advice and comfort.

I'm not a fan of the cliche, but I told him that time does heal wounds. It's hard to imagine that when your world has been upended, but now that I am a few years down the track of life-changing-turmoil, I am beginning to see clear air.

We left each other with a handshake. I felt like giving him a hug, but a handshake was good and appropriate.

When I woke very early this morning I wrote down this line: You are so much more than one half of a broken relationship. Of all the things I said to my plane friend, I wish I had said this. But in the hour-and-a-half conversation we had, I know I said things that he will remember and in these tumultuous times ahead, he will take heed.

He has the opportunity to embark on a revitalised career and is tossing up all the pros and cons of that.

I love talking to people about their lives and presenting options for them. I have my own stuff to sort, but I seem to be quite good at helping others sort their stuff. Perhaps that is where I am heading. I'm not sure. I'm a bit lost, truth be told. I have so much experience in media and politics, but no one is interested in that. No one wants to employ me, so I'm employing myself.  I'm loving my art. But I am lost. And astonished that the bullies and the incompetents I have met continue to have jobs. There is some part of the plan that I obviously do not follow. And if one more person tells me that all I need is to get a foot in the door, I will rip their bloody arms off

All the love xx

PS most saddened to hear of the death of Richard Neville. I've always been a big fan.