A story

My Mum told me the most amazing story the other day. About how her and Dad got married on a Monday. And how they went to the church in Manila and by coincidence, her old theology teacher from college was officiating the marriage. Who she used to have a crush on. And how happy she was to unexpectedly have him there, because he had been such a great teacher.

I think this is my new favourite story.

The spaces in between

So, the 22nd came and went, and 6 postcards failed to materialise. There was only one that I wasn’t really expecting to get back, and they’re ok. I didn’t want to learn how to surf anyway (water is cold, and also wet! Two things I don’t like very much). Another is excused due to the lateness of her inclusion and the fact she had a baby almost immediately. But still.

The whole experiment inadvertently took on an emotional life of its own as I took the rollercoaster ride of checking what the postman had brought each day. For the first few days, nothing. Then one. Then a dribble. Then a swarm. First the postcards from those I knew I could rely on, and the wide-eyed wonder of the challenges they proposed. The warmth in realising how well they knew me. Then those on the outer, who I thought might palm the entire thing off as some outlandish flight of fancy, but humoured me anyway. Delight in their deliberate thoughtfulness. Then the surprises, the people to whom I’d cast a wide net but wasn’t sure they would rise to the occasion; the recognition of handwriting from people long lost and a subsequent stirring of affection.

I guess I’d sort of expected not to get all 29 postcards back, but what surprised me in the end is which ones didn’t come home. Every flourish of childish excitement at the unexpected ones, I now realise is countered with a short sharp pang at those who didn’t deem the project important enough. Who didn’t deem me important enough.

Now the deadline has passed, I will admit that I secretly hoped somebody would ask me to get a tattoo, but oh well. I also hoped I would be given the justification to learn how to drive and learn some skills in the kitchen, so it evens out. Perhaps fortunately, the ever-prepared Jacob Sewell considerately provided me with four challenges instead of one. I’ve really only taken up 3 of them, but that at least takes my tally to 26 challenges.

That leaves me three challenges. For bonus points, I am filling the gaps.
1. Give blood.
2. Learn conversational Japanese.
3. Find out more about my parents.

Giving blood is something I’ve always thought I should do, since high school, but never got up the gall to go through with it. The Japanese sounds like a big one, but I really just want to learn enough to help me figure out where the train station is and how to order some sake when we visit there next July. It’s a flying visit, 4 nights in Tokyo, but I dare say that’s plenty of time to get tremendously lost on the way to the train station and accidentally order octopus brains. Hence, a basic understanding of Japanese would be nice. The parental thing is something I literally just came up with. My Mum and Dad got married late in proceedings and are quite inhibited about their lives before me and before each other. It’s intriguing. I have hints about who they were, but often I feel like I don’t really know them. They’re not big talkers.

I’ve also realised there are other goals I have quietly set for myself – the vegetarian Thursday thing; trying to read all of the books on our bookshelf before going to the store and drooling over more of them; drinking more water instead of soft drinks or cordial; the “no non-essential spending” weeks. I’d be doing these things anyway, so don’t worry, I’m not trying to cheat, but it is just curious the way we make these shifts without giving them too much thought.

I can count to ten

We're off to the country tomorrow for a long weekend of eating my Mum's food, seeing some pregnant ladies, and hopefully wrestling with some dogs on Tracey's farm. It's a bit of a technology dead zone out there so I will not be posting any blogs until Monday. Don't cry! Here's a picture from the archives of childhood amazingness (in preparation for my scrapbooking adventures) to tide you over:

I got a typewriter for my 5th birthday. Is that weird? I didn't know what was inside the package and I picked it up and immediately dropped it on my knee because it was so fricking heavy. Because it was a typewriter. Given to a 5 year old. Incentally, I did love that typewriter after I got past the bruising. As you can see, it spawned the beginning of an outpouring of literary works - after "i can count to ten" there was also the classic "i love my nanna and poppa", but I don't want to peak too soon by giving too much away here.

There was also a drawing of Rainbow Brite waving an Australian flag (?!) on the other side of the page that you can see there too. MAD SKILLZ!!!

Laterz.

Old skool

I've got some postcard cramming to do in the next week. You may notice my 'creative flare' may decrease more as my desperation kicks in... it just happens that the next five are people from my early (and ongoing) years...

Rondalyn & Kimberly


Mum & Dad


Emma


Sister Eileen Mary


Heath


It's a good thing my parents wouldn't know the internet if it crawled into their kitchen and made itself a cup of tea, because they would be freaking out if they knew I'd posted their photo on it (even if it is circa 1982).

Yo. S'up.

You thought I'd gone, didn't you? Yes you did. Well, in a way, I did. I went to North Island NZ for a couple of weeks with Hubby-yo. It was pretty freaking awesome. Who knew that Super Mario Land was there?

So I didn't do much thinking about challenges and turning 30 and all that crap while I was over there. It was more "check out that awesome bird" and "where can I get some more wine?" and "how many more spa baths can we get away with having?" That kind of thing.

I got my craft box out this week and started gluing stuff onto bits of cardboard. I like to pretend that it signals progress. I have the same thoughts every time I hit a wall: namely that I don't have the photographs I need. Some of them I need to get from my Mum. I have a feeling it won't translate so well over the phone, so that involves writing her a letter. And if I'm going to take the time to send her something in the post, I might as well send her some photos from our holiday, since she doesn't have access to the internet or email (I say 'access' but I really mean 'inclination'. If technology was the equivalent of, say, some freakish wild animal pavillion where those with the know-how can indulge in contemporary dance pieces with tigers, my Mum would still be outside the tent hoping a bunny rabbit might hop out and give her a flower. A weird analogy, but it's Friday. Gotta celebrate the end of the week somehow). Anyway that would involve getting pictures printed. Also, many of the photos I need for the immediate project are under a house in suburban North Sydney, probably rotting. That's another story. Either way, I'm finding my 'progress' somewhere between 'just slow enough that it's kind of annoying' and 'just fast enough that I can feel good about myself'. It's a fine line.

Anyway. LCD are about to release a record and are already doing shows, so I better get that one sorted out. Smashton is about to get married. Some of the people on my list I haven't even managed to track down yet. Some of the photos are lost. This postcard thing is sketchy at best. And it is a bit sad that I don't even have any photos of myself with some of these people. Like, how did I get through so much of my life without having my photo taken with Ronda and Kim? It's strange.