Sunset, Back Beach, Bunbury, Western Australia
Letter to Steve
Grief torched my life in the years before I met you. You helped me refocus. You helped me find my voice, my creativity and a sense of purpose. Five years later, I lost it all in one fell scoop. The light you brought into my world was too bright. The memory of your vibrancy made me flinch for years. I averted my gaze whenever I drove alongside Back Beach. I buried myself whole into work. Last night I walked along where you once jogged. It was magnificent at sunset as it often is. As I walked I realised you were meant to come into my life for a reason. I am where I am, because of you. Today, this is my reality.
I looked for a relationship unsuccessfully with another academic in the years that followed. It was a natural thing to do, after all, I had been married to one and then met you. Life is either crazy or just plain contrary. What followed was so not what I thought it would be.
It was 17 years after your death when I found photography. It helped me see the world around me in new ways. What was familiar was unfamiliar, and then familiar again. I found shapes, patterns, colours and movements. A rhythm. I started to write again. I looked for clouds and rain, because, together, they meant rainbows and not a banal weather report that dictated my work schedule.
My work life is nothing you and I could ever have envisaged. I don’t present papers around the world like you did but I do spend more time at an airport. It has become an office. I find a quiet spot in the lounge and get work done. This is where life started to get strange.
Had it not been for my camera I would not have noticed the imperceptible glint in the gaze. The casual look that is exchanged between strangers, and maintained for a fraction longer. You did not know the logistically challenging rostered world of FIFO workers, if you did, you would have grinned and said, what followed was meant to be. The gaze turned into a conversation and my dormant heart found a beat again.
He is no academic. He barely finished high school and so proud of his TAFE achievement because he makes a good living from it. His nails are not manicured. His hands are rough and stained from hard work. He barely reads the news headlines, let alone a book. His views on politics are succinct, and expressed in the vernacular of the region, “Effing wankers, the lot of them!” End of story. There is no malice in his reference, “Miss Fancy Pants!” as he curls his finger around pearls. He is sensitive and sensual for a man who works with earth on his hands. Nor do I feel what I do is diminished by his inability to understand it when he says, “what is it that you actually do?”. What you see is what you get with him. He travels light. His values can be endearingly old fashioned, at times. We admit to nothing. The unsaid, saying it all. Things are just what they were, at first ignite. Alive. Unfinished. Unended. It makes pick up where we left off, easier. I like what this gives me. There are no tomorrows or happily ever afters. I searched for those for far too long. For me, they were an unfortunate myth. I live in the moment now. It’s a happy place to be.
He is no blinding light in my life, like you were. He lights up my world for a moment, much like seeing a shooting star, and when we leave, the eternal hope, it will happen again.
Where ever you are, here’s to another morning … shine bright. What was, and what is, is meant to be.
a dawn bird
In response to Word of the Day Challenge: Virtual
The sunrise was glorious. I sipped coffee while tucked in bed and watched the sun melt the meringue mist that hung over the town. I still felt exhausted and unwell and wondered how I was going to function in a day that was fully booked. Then I remembered reading an article on a flight about ‘forest bathing’, a Japanese therapy, Shinrin-yoku, that developed in the 1980s when people were dying from working too hard. The concept is simple as it is complex. Essentially one is among trees, among nature, in a mindful way. I decided to try it. It was cold this morning so I dressed in layers and headed to Foxes Lair.
The reserve is lush in winter green. It was quiet and I was the only one walking around. My steps were slow. My movements slower. I took it all in. The kookaburras chortle grew more distant as I walked away from it. The parrots flew in and when they left, the honeyeaters and silvereye swarmed high above my head. I wanted to do nothing but just absorb the energy of the moment. I walked around for half an hour. I was rejuvenated and renewed. I returned to my hotel, completed half a report and then headed to work.
It’s Mother’s Day today and I’m making a late start after a quiet morning. As a family we are taking a rain cheque and will celebrate the day at another time when everyone is at home. The quiet time today has also given me the opportunity to think about what this day means to me. Like all parents, over the years, I developed my own views on being a mother.
First published some seventy years ago, The Chef was written by my grandfather and considered ‘a cooking bible’ by some Indian women of a certain generation. He lived with us for some years in his later years but I don’t remember him ever cooking. I do recall him hanging about the kitchen much to the annoyance of our cook. He could develop a recipe by smell alone. I have his instinct for cooking. I love to cook and often make adjustments by smell rather than taste. I’m not sure how I do it, but, like him, it comes naturally to me. Sadly I rarely cook these days but some of the meals I’ve taken are memorable. 
Indian street food, called chaart, is a new trend that has caught on in Perth. The ingredients are generally the same (fresh coriander, green chilli, red onion, plain yoghurt, sweet and tart tamarind sauce) over crispy mouthfuls of tiny discs and sometimes stuffed in balls the size of a communion host, eaten in one bite. My family loves this and we eat this at least once a fortnight.
In Bunbury I enjoy buying dinner from the Indian food truck. His meals are made fresh and tastes authentic. A hot curry on a winter’s night with the wind blowing a gale beach side is a treat I look forward to when I’m there. He makes the best pistachio kulfi, an Indian ice cream.
And when he’s not around, my favourite room service pasta, is my comfort food.
I recently discovered Fish Face in Esperance. A gourmet fish and chips place. I had a delicious meal of Queen Snapper, pippi (a tiny clam) and steamed potatoes with lemon butter. I had not eaten pippi in over 40 years! They were a taste from childhood.
You travel light
The stickers and giveaways were funny and made by your talented artist friend. 
I was confused and could not envision what C had planned for the centre pieces. Each table centre piece was a theme from childhood favourites – Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland, Winnie the Pooh, Frozen, Beauty and the Beast etc. It was such fun that the guests went table to table to check them out instead of staying seated. All made by C herself, sourcing items from vintage shops. They were better and more fun than the baby’s breath and peonies I had envisioned.
It was a joyous occasion. The best thing I did was step out of the picture and let the night be what the young couple envisaged for themselves. By all accounts, it was everything and more what friends expected of them. There were no dramas as seen in ‘reality TV’. Just a lot of laughter, at times chaos, and oh yes, the rings were left on the bench at home. There was a quick reaction from others who offered theirs, and most guests thought it was part of the lighthearted fun! It wasn’t! The celebrant (a friend of the couple) covered the gaffe with aplomb!
There were tiny personal touches like the confetti made from cut out fallen leaves.
Much like me, she believes fairy tales can come true, so the theme of her dress was princess. She bought a vintage dress, handpicked it and created a dress she always dreamed of. She floated down the grassed aisle like she walked on clouds.
And, yes, there was cake! Also made by the bride. 
My daughter was part of the group made up of “best people”, not gender specific of best man and bridesmaid. It was a special night that included their father and his current partner. I’m sure he felt as proud of them, as I felt. I was even more proud of my son for acknowledging his father’s partner because she has been a presence in their lives for over ten years. For a brief moment, we were family again, the boundaries set years ago, made seamless by the joy of the occasion.
As the tide left shore
A Shared Space 
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