Irony

We are getting a new heater. Our wood combustion heater was shot and Ashley was not a fan, so we went all out and invested in a gas log fire - so deep is the investment that we have had to pay big dollars to get the mains gas connected to the house. Thursday, the guys came to put the new heater in, and with temperatures set to plummet over the weekend, it seemed to be fine timing.

However, the plan went to pot when the installers found they had a mismatched flue, and so, with regret, the guys informed me there were no spares of the correct flue in the warehouse and they would have to order another in.... which will take another week or so. Great!

Now, along with the rest of South Australia, I have been praying for rain and some cooler temperatures. It rained the whole day yesterday and all through the night; thunder rumbled overhead, hail rattled on the roof tiles above, and the gutters over-flowed in a steady stream on numerous occasions. The temperature dropped to 6.4 degrees.

Unfortunately the installers had also ripped out my old combustion heater, and it lay useless and most probably, snickering with vindictive pleasure, abandoned in the equally icy back shed. I think my house was the same temperature outside as it was in. And on top of all that, the household decided to go into vomit over-drive with the bedding and rugs being the target zone.

I got to bed some time around 2:30 am after cleaning up the majority of mess. Ice block-like I had washed two quilts and quilt covers, shorting a fuse in the process and screaming out loud at all the injustices of world as my daughter knocked over her dessert from the darkened kitchen table, which the dog gobbled up with lusty determination - there was no more, and her wailing (which I truly could have care less about, given the comedy of errors taking place at the same time while multiple phones decided to ring at once) could be heard across the valleys and nearby mountain ranges and was likely recorded on the Richter scale.

With Ashley away in Scotland, my brother came to my rescue with a new fuse he just happened to have lying around in his shed, and a flashlight, which I was also without.

Much later, I went off to bed in the hope of putting the disastrous night well and truly behind me, only to find, to my dismay, that one of the dogs, in their thunder storm induced anxious state, had gone out in sympathy with the kids and decided to vomit all over MY BED. So with that stripped, and all alternative bedding in use in the kids rooms while theirs was being cleaned, I resigned myself to a freezing night, huddled under a couple of throw rugs, alone and longing for the hot sun.

How was your night?

soul soothing

Went to the salvage yard today, in the hope of finding some old roof tiles that match those on our roof - no luck- but the salvage yard itself was really interesting, and proved to be a surprisingly fun place to visit with the kids.


There were all sorted of wonderful things at the salvage yard - old doors and windows, bath feet, old singer sewing machines, "interesting" garden ornaments and relic machinery. There was also an odd collection of archaic advertising sculptures. One piece involved a life size man riding upon a flying fish - the breeze stirring the contraption in a way that caused the fishes fins to move up and down in a flying motion, and the man's legs to turn, as if he were riding a bicycle - quirky indeed!


The kids had a million questions as to what was this old thing and what was that, but were particularly taken by an old fashioned type writer with sticky, clunky keys. Although I can't imagine hacking out a piece of writing on one of those nowadays (spell check... need I say more?), I do like the heavy clicking sound the keys make - there is something deeply satisfying in that sound, as opposed to the quietly industrious and unobtrusive tap of today's lap tops; all hushed and unwilling to disturb or cause a stir. The old type writers seem to punch the paper with determined zeal, as if applying CPR in the hope of giving the words real life, breath and voice, along with an accompanying exclamation mark to accentuate the points raised within the document.


We managed to escape the salvage yard empty-handed, and began to head for home via the coast, but decided to stop when we came to Port Noarlunga. Although Port Noarlunga isn't too far from where I live, I must say, I have never spent much time there. Noarlunga, a nearby 'burb, is a bit shabby and rough around the edges...in other words it is considered a bit feral, but Port Noarlunga is a bit of a surprise, with a gorgeous beach and sand stone cliffs. The day was perfect - a beautiful 25 degrees, so we bought the obligatory ice cream and headed out to the jetty for a bit of a stroll. Many people were out fishing, but most were mumbling about not having caught much, which was evident by the numerous empty pails positioned hopefully and at the ready, foot-side. I dare say the emergency helicopter doing sea rescue training nearby might be considered a glaringly obvious reason as to why the fish weren't biting, but hey, what do I know.


I am not really one for beach swimming, so Ashley took the kids down to the waters edge for a paddle, while I walked along the rocky edge to survey the scene and absorb the energy of the seaside. I actually felt rather renewed by the experience and was thankful that I thought to gather up my camera prior to leaving.


I always find restitude in the seaside. To me, the seaside always has atmosphere, even when I am its sole admirer on a given day. The sea just is. It orchestrates for itself, simply because it is the sea's way. It is rhythmic and always in tune. Simple words came to mind, just through sitting amongst the rocks and observing, words such as LICK - as the tide crept in touching the sands that had been left to dry since the tide last went out. CONGREGATE - to a yacht sailing in through a small gathering of other yachts anchored close to shore. HEDGING -to a line of rods leaning against the jetty railing - one lone guy seeming to be minding them all or tending them all - who is to say. DIAMONDS - to the sunbeams glistening off the water. TEXTURE while marveling at the many and varied materials represented in this one seascape; the clear slick water; the soft wet sand, giving like warm wax; the salt encrusted dry beach sand, cracking under foot; the sand stone cliffs that had been sculpted into gentle rolling shaped; and the granite underfoot, hard, jagged and pot-holed.



I wasn't gone long, but it was enough. I returned to watch the kids happily playing in the sand, already saturated from running and "accidentally" falling into the water. The joy we found that day.......


While we spent the entire afternoon jetty-side, there are other walks that one can do at Port Noarlunga. One I would like to do another time, leads over a river and winds through the dunes, opening up onto the beach perhaps 600 metres south of the jetty. From the road that meanders far above the board walk, one could see kayakers paddling down stream, and pelicans cruising the waters sage-like. Nevertheless, I leave a couple of pictures captured from the day's visit.

Cogs going around

Yesterday an unsettledness grew in me that I could neither explain nor contain. It sparked and ignited into a smoldering agitation that ate away at the contentment I had previously been feeling on the second day of the school holidays.

It wasn't anything to do with the kids. In fact we have had a great week thus far, and I have truly enjoyed their company. No. This was something else. This was something I have felt before; a kind of festering that bounces off my insides like a moth smashing itself against a glass door in an attempt to fly toward the light.

Today, I tried to arrest the feeling; send it away; forbid it to pester me any longer, but it remained and distracted me, forcing me to analyse its origins.

In my minds eye I was an awkward bird, with broad wings like those of a pelican. The bird rose from the dry red earth; dusty, bedraggled and bewildered. Inwardly I acknowledged the image with an sub-conscious whisper - "Ahhh, Phoenix rising", though I knew not what it all meant.

When Ashley returned home from work, he noticed something in me and asked what was wrong. I didn't know and therefore, didn't want to talk about it. I needed time to reconcile the restlessness with words and rationale, but it was to no avail and I could not look Ashley in the eye.

Later that night, after the kids were in bed, we talked. "I feel like I am in the wrong place", I said. In truth, I had been struggling or more to the point, I had been missing Canada. I keep finding myself harking back to useless thoughts of "this time last year..." and this time last year the blossoms were out and there was a sense of relief that the long dark nights of winter were almost over; the promise of long summer nights; the rhythmic ping of baseballs connecting to bats and the low hum of neighbourly lawn mowers that, to me, is strangely comforting, for it signals a time for flourishing and for growth.

I miss Canada. I REALLY miss it. Having returned to my homeland, I understand that this place, this country, the earthy essence in which I was born, bred and breathe, well it courses through my veins where ever I am in the world and I will never lose it. It is in my blood and I carry it with me with each heart beat and in each breath, and now there is a longing for what I have given up; that place in the north, with its tranquil watery beauty; its healing green hues and earth toned birds that glide silently and serenely upon those chilly arctic winds.

We left Canada for reasons to do with work. Ashley was terribly unhappy and his work was consuming him in such a way that it was affecting our daily lives and our ability to connect as a couple and as a family, but while Ashley was longing for Australia, a place where he had known peace, I think, in hindsight I had found mine in Canada. Our respective Canadian experiences were not the same. Being at home with the kids, as isolating and as lonely as that was on most days, I did have a freedom that he did not. I was able to connect with the land and with nature. I loved nothing more that pulling on a warm coat and strolling along the beach alone, or getting down to the bird sanctuary with the kids or driving to a favourite spot with my little family and having a moment of perfection; present in Gods beauty anew. I miss that. It wasn't yet embedded in my soul. At the moment I am going there in my mind and I see it clearly, but I just feel a longing. I have had these underlining feelings for a while, but reconciled that I was here, not there, so get over it.

We are also still trying to do this house up. We are onto our bedroom and more painting is just not exciting me. There are lots of things that I am not happy about with the house, but hey, Rome wasn't built in a day, so I just have to gain perspective, be patient and slug away at it. We tend to be a bit gung-ho when it comes with renovations and the like, as if it should have all been done yesterday.

I need to get back into the fitness. I haven't had the time to do a whole lot. My window of opportunity is very small 6:30 am - 7:15am and it has to be before the kids get up - that just ain't happening at the moment and with Ashley going overseas for work, as of Monday for three weeks, I am going to have to cut my losses, continue getting my walks in with the kids and dogs and wait until school goes back when Missy enters full time kindy, so I have kid free time to devote to the gym and to fitness in general. And then there is the big one....DA DA DAAAAAA - work.

I have not been in proper paid employment of any serious nature for 12 years! Sure I worked in my Dads bakery while studying at uni. I did prac. work while finishing my social work degree. I have done volunteering here and there, but even still, over the past six years, my primary role has been Stay At Home Mum. I am not dissing that role at all. In fact I feel lucky that I have been able to stay home that whole time. I know many women aren't in a position to do so, and may otherwise have liked that choice. I am happy that I have been there for my kids and helped instill a solid foundation for them, but in the meantime, I have totally lost touch with the working world and I just feel completely overwhelmed with the idea of trying to hack out some semblance of work place experience of the type that an employer would actually find useful. Anyway, this is it. Despite all the other side distractions I have mentioned, it is the desire to work that is stirring in me like dragon awakening from a centuries long slumber. Next year Missy will be going to full time school and I am really feeling the pull to consider my options in what I want to do. I even dared scan the employment websites yesterday, and got excited by a trainee position for an international recruitment company - I reckon I would love doing that type of thing, and think I would be well suited to it. Then today I went into the bank and was served by an older gent who was wearing a tag that said "in training" on it. My first thought was "oh, they were hiring." My second thought was "I could do that. Imagine the possibilities...". My third thought was a jealously misguided "Bastard".

The good thing in all this is the fact that I am considering what I want. I haven't done that in a very long time. The passion I felt for the old direction in my life (prior to children) is forever changed; snuffed out by circumstance and time. But I now feel that search for passion stirring once again. I don't know where this will all lead, but the possibilities are endless and that in itself is exciting.