Green glass, green water, green sky
I'm not really sure what colour water is when it's turning into surf, but it looked green to me, clear and as easy to look through as glass. Yesterday's lazy surf session at Park Beach was followed by a lazy bbq at Bruce and Sabrina's and an even lazier wander along Blue Lagoon. M echoed my thoughts of wanting to pitch a tent and camp out for a few days at the top of the hill that overlooked all the coastline.
Down at Blue Lagoon, years of tide marks had carved back the cliffs into honey ripples of stone, narrow and spiderey like and I noticed that the others also wanted to stroke the ripples, find a space to rest their hands. We sat on rocks, squinted at the sun and I decided to try and make a lino print out of the multi-coloured boat sheds. I love how they are always different colours, they look derelict on closer inspection, but when you first see them they line up in rows of blue and pink and aqua and turqouise and indigo and rust and look amazing.
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Over roast dinner that night I gave thanks again to my friends for being who they are, how each of us made a conscious decision to live in such a beautiful small jewel like city, so close to nature, where each citizen accepts the place of the bush and the mountain and the sea and the river. Each of us had lived in far more cosmopolitan and buzzing cities, with the claustrophobia and excitement you get from a metropole. P had lived on the corner of Russell and Latrobe Street during her inner city Carlton high school years. K lived by herself in Kings Cross and has visited most continents. Budi has lived in three countries and speaks four languages.
I thought of things I miss from a city: Chinatown, late night bookshop outings, shadows that have people in them, St Kilda cake shops, twinkling night lights from near Brownhill Creek, observatory hill. But they were really only moments, and often involved coffee and shopping.
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The best job in the world? M said she worked at the tip shop, which is run as a co-op. There are 20 or so members, who pay themselves a wage and then all the money goes back into the business, and they have a tip shop out-o-town and the city store which specialises in antiques and collectables. She has to do the "on ground" recovery of sellable stuff, and incur the wrath of wasteful people who like to greenie bash, but she also gets to be a part of the gang that finds a use for everything, learns to value old items and organises community events. Such as the upcoming trash queen ball, which I am going to miss! They are having a Saturday workshop of sewing and making costumes, participants pay a donation and then help themself to anything in the shop to make an outfit, and then on the Sunday night above Sirens (my fave vegetarian restaurant, and the upstairs is cool too, old mirrors and small bar, just like a 1950s ballet studio should be, bit of theatre and greasepaint and long dedicated hours etc) will be the ball.
On the topic of social events missed, am also missing Tennis Buddy's bachelor pad party, when he and his male housemates open their 60s King of Kings household. Am intrigued to know what I 'd be missing out on: puffed up males? Princess types with handbags? Debauchery? Midnight shenanigans? The only part that I feel wistful to be absent for is the buzzed up frenzy of when the party peaks and then the small hours when a group gathers together and plays old favourite tunes and grows quiet and companionable together.
Down at Blue Lagoon, years of tide marks had carved back the cliffs into honey ripples of stone, narrow and spiderey like and I noticed that the others also wanted to stroke the ripples, find a space to rest their hands. We sat on rocks, squinted at the sun and I decided to try and make a lino print out of the multi-coloured boat sheds. I love how they are always different colours, they look derelict on closer inspection, but when you first see them they line up in rows of blue and pink and aqua and turqouise and indigo and rust and look amazing.
***********************************************************************************
Over roast dinner that night I gave thanks again to my friends for being who they are, how each of us made a conscious decision to live in such a beautiful small jewel like city, so close to nature, where each citizen accepts the place of the bush and the mountain and the sea and the river. Each of us had lived in far more cosmopolitan and buzzing cities, with the claustrophobia and excitement you get from a metropole. P had lived on the corner of Russell and Latrobe Street during her inner city Carlton high school years. K lived by herself in Kings Cross and has visited most continents. Budi has lived in three countries and speaks four languages.
I thought of things I miss from a city: Chinatown, late night bookshop outings, shadows that have people in them, St Kilda cake shops, twinkling night lights from near Brownhill Creek, observatory hill. But they were really only moments, and often involved coffee and shopping.
************************************************************************************
The best job in the world? M said she worked at the tip shop, which is run as a co-op. There are 20 or so members, who pay themselves a wage and then all the money goes back into the business, and they have a tip shop out-o-town and the city store which specialises in antiques and collectables. She has to do the "on ground" recovery of sellable stuff, and incur the wrath of wasteful people who like to greenie bash, but she also gets to be a part of the gang that finds a use for everything, learns to value old items and organises community events. Such as the upcoming trash queen ball, which I am going to miss! They are having a Saturday workshop of sewing and making costumes, participants pay a donation and then help themself to anything in the shop to make an outfit, and then on the Sunday night above Sirens (my fave vegetarian restaurant, and the upstairs is cool too, old mirrors and small bar, just like a 1950s ballet studio should be, bit of theatre and greasepaint and long dedicated hours etc) will be the ball.
On the topic of social events missed, am also missing Tennis Buddy's bachelor pad party, when he and his male housemates open their 60s King of Kings household. Am intrigued to know what I 'd be missing out on: puffed up males? Princess types with handbags? Debauchery? Midnight shenanigans? The only part that I feel wistful to be absent for is the buzzed up frenzy of when the party peaks and then the small hours when a group gathers together and plays old favourite tunes and grows quiet and companionable together.
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