Tradition vs How Things Should Be

ANZAC Day

In the pale light of the Dawn Service I thought of my Grandfather’s medals from World War I

As a child I always wondered why I couldn’t march with them like other kids did

I never did know my grandfather. He died years before I was born

It was only later I realised

My parents only came to Australia in the 1960’s- Ten Pound Poms

My grandfather fought as an Englishman

This morning I wondered if this “difference” between countries and belonging wasn’t what brought us into those wars in the first place

It’s been a hard week

Work hours have dragged on

I got my car to the petrol station well past empty

I settled my Superannuation account with the bank, only to be told a debt that does not exist hung over my shoulder

I cried. It felt like everything I’ve worked so hard for these last months

All that I’ve paid off and ahead so patiently was gone

I am starting to put money away towards building or buying my own place

But the debts still come

Then I heard Living on A Prayer on the radio as I shopped in Coles

The worst never does come

I felt exhaustion to the point of nausea

But then I laughed with my friend’s granddaughter, staying up far too late

I helped a friend retrieve her dog from the pound

I felt so deeply how hard it was and is to be alone; I know how much my pets mean to me

It feels good to have that little bit extra in me that I can use to help others

I found a picture in my phone, just over a year old. I look so dead inside, so pale and thin

A brave face you might call it

I wonder at the difference a year has made

I have always hated having my picture taken and know well the “I have been told to smile” look I have on my face. But I also know I look a lot healthier a year later

I still struggle to know how much I have gained. But in reality I don’t really know. I don’t use the scales. Mostly I have gained health and a stillness and happiness I never knew before

I am getting ready

To be myself- truly

I feel such a closeness with people. I can let them in

Finally.

My parents came to visit yesterday. I felt the tension

So visceral

As they arrived. It didn’t stop there

When we stopped by my house the intrusion was severe

They even walked through my bedroom

I feel so…..

They know about Simon too. A visit from a friend and they “overheard”

Their anger was palpable. Their disappointment

But then they said his contribution was never equal

I told them it never mattered when he was the person I first met. But now he is not

They want me to tell them everything. Let them know everything

But that is not my way. I was firm with that

They left

As I found how deeply they had intruded; things they had touched

It answered something I had wondered for a while. I won’t be able to let them close when I am doing foster care. It is bad enough that I cannot trust them. I cannot let them talk to my friends because I never know when they will change and dig into my life, like it is theirs to know. They judge so externally

I cannot inflict that on the potential of such fragile relationships

And I took my frustration out on the garden

Tearing away weeds gently

Adding fertiliser and mulch

Talking with Bella all the while

Gardening is so often “our” time

It feels so good to make things grow again

I feel alive too

As I should

 

Waiting: A Fragile Vastness

It frightens me how low I can let myself burn with barely a second thought

There are places you can still go

If you take out too much

There will never be enough of you for that

It’s the end of seven days straight of work. I thought I had my strength back, but lying on the floor of the spare room with my hands shaking on Tuesday I wonder if I can I can ever have as much as I want to. To me that can only mean greed. But I want to keep going because I can never do enough. Need to walk as far as I can from this week though there were enough small blessings to keep me afloat

It’s a wonder what a Moon Calendar

A crooked smile

An untuned piano and the friends to help you move it can do

Still this unsettled wanting and uncertainty are my enemy

Yesterday I woke with strange feelings I couldn’t settle from dreams I don’t remember

Monday I realised how deeply ingrained the emotions of memories become

It takes so, so little to take us back there. It is a strange feeling. I do not have the shadows of A-Rex. I remember so clearly when those first thoughts came

The filth to cover, and the fighting I heard through the walls most nights

I used to watch shadows form on the pine boards above my bed and wish I could disappear into them

It always seemed so dark and wild in those knots and whorls

This fight was not the same fight I remember

But the bitter taste it left behind was equal

We continue in this eternal circle

Twisting patterns

I wonder if we get more skillful in the end

Or just develop more craft to hide our flaws?

Our knowledge certainly spreads, a fragile web

How Relics Never Come To Be

I spoke with my parents today. Mostly lots of small chat

Our weeks; work; our gardens and the weather

A few weeks ago when my parents were cleaning out their I asked them if they could keep the dolls house I had quite carefully stored away from my childhood. Garabaldi the rocking horse too!

The dolls house is gone. I remember the foil picture frame and the picture of two mice in one of the rooms, the red gloss roof. I’d hoped to keep it away for myself. I remember all the hours of imagining and rearranging I spent with it. My father made it just for me

I know with how he is now there will not be another

I remember the gloss on the red roof

I wanted to pass it on

It was important- but by the architecture of my parent’s thoughts there was no cost. They did not think of intrinsic value

It’s such a small thing

But as I leave behind the memories of my childhood Room it was one of those few corners of good and peace. I built things there….

More memories this week of fights and fear

This was not all there was, but the anxiety stayed trapped inside me

It is only now I can begin to let people close, now the feelings have changed

But they still were- and so was my red-roof house of dreams

I never wanted fear and disappointment there and though I played through it, I found ways to build other thoughts

It was like the thunder I watched in the mountains where beauty could be made in it’s strange light

Today I went to my doctor to have a medical check completed in working towards being a foster parent. I’ve wanted that too since those dollhouse days

I remember the Institution episode of Call The Midwife- the broken ones. But perhaps we all see things differently for I rarely see people past repair

To me the cracks are rarely fatal

And like my dollhouse gone

The pieces I did manage to keep and save

These pieces are a part of each of us

Every one worth admiration

Home

I was collecting the mail this morning when a car stopped outside my house. On so many days I might not have said anything but today I asked the ladies inside if I could help. It turned out that the house had belonged to a relative of theirs. Thirteen brothers and sisters and their parents here once lived here. Her relative, Ivy Cunningham was born in 1895- fifteen years before my landlord dated the building of the house. She asked for a piece of the pottery I had found in the garden. I tried to remember which ones I had dug up here specifically. Perhaps they had belonged to her relative.

I asked her if she would like to look inside. It looks as though the front and back of the house were added in. I told her I often wonder about the layers of history in this place. It makes me sad to think how many repairs have been done in such a temporary way. One day I’d love to restore an old place like this. She said it was nice, the way I’d done up the house. Homely. It felt like a lot of things came together then

A feeling I’ve had lately has been hard to describe. I’m not sure it’s solid enough to trust

I’m not used to trusting. It’s something growing in me

I was reading through the papers Pathfinders left me. They talk about complex trauma. What they describe suits me better than the whispers of Aspergers my mother had after reading The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. But they are not me now

It’s as though when I left that Room inside many things stayed there

I remember the hours I spent in dark college rooms trying to unravel this

I remember before then. It was almost a wildness. I had so few words

Last year I spent an afternoon drinking tea and talking with a friend. He showed me poems he had written in high school. I used to write then too, but even then I couldn’t find words for the wildness

I told him I write now. He does not now. We are all prisoners of our own circumstances

My world has changed so rapidly

Most of all I am not so totally immersed in terror

I have a basic rhythm

I visit friends; clean; cook; work; study

I have my pets

I watched Life of Brian and ate chocolate with my new housemate on Eater Sunday

More than anything the filth I once was

I am not

People say I have changed

I am clearer, calmer

More confident

More than anything I trust

Things are very unsettled as they are

I’m not quite sure how everything will turn out

But perhaps for now I just need to be ok with this

I have a doctors appointment planned to fill out the forms for Pathfinders

I have work tonight, and time to work on my assignment

I have Muse, Truffles, Bella

I have so many people I can now let in