new home and holiday home
So I've finally done it. Arranged 6 months off from my regular job, to just concentrate on my study project and being at home and taking care of myself.
Still adjusting. Can't really tell my limits at the moment, when I'm too tired, what is too much, when I might get emotional. I went swimming yesterday and was all geared up to do a drill and had to retire at 700metres-not bad since it had been a while since I'd been swimming. I look forward to a more regular routine. Also attended pilates, which was good. Trying to do as much as possible for mind and body at the moment.
Was encouraged to apply for a full time head teacher position... very flattering but as hard as it was, I declined. I feel as though I have too many loose ends that never ever get rolled up, and this is my time. Plus my dearest friend, who hosted me at her house for the past 7 weeks, strongly advised that I slow down and not start anything new. So I am just trying to sit and be still and be comfortable with that and not let the itchy brain syndrome of trying to change the world worry me. Not easy.
Today I got sucked into watching KAK, and nearly bought a wool doona promoted on an informercial (such a good price and came with extras for the first 100 buyers!!!). I only interrupted this session to answer the door and collect my internet purchases in person (such a luxury having parcels delivered to your door, one of the pros of being at home in the daytime). It has been shivering freezing cold, so much that I wore winter coats in doors on Monday and Tuesday. Now I am at the stage that a winter jumper is sufficient, even for walks to the paper shop. Sadly for me and Mr A, our neighbourhood cafe closed down 2 weeks ago. No sign, no warning. The news was broken to me by a customer at the neighbourhood hairdressing salon. She was probably more disappointed than me (it had lime green walls and sadly I'd never tried it's wares before it closed down, due to that colour scheme).
It probably would have been bad coffee. I probably would have bought it out of convenience and habit, the desire to leave my house and walk a short distance for some neighbourhood socialising, it would have been made by someone who preferred retailing sausage rolls and flavoured milk sold in plastic containers, but it would have been LOCAL! A local scene for me, who still craves city living even though she's been gone from the big smoke for 5 years now.
There is plenty of good coffee in town, though I suspect a bit of ole price fixing going on, everyone seems to sell one size of coffee at $4.50 a pop. This shouldn't be so tragic, except that I realised 5 days before moving, that my local cafe was absolutely the best cafe in the world. Why? It was open 7 days of the week, always early enough for a pre work coffee, it had a good breakfast and lunch menu, sold organic bread, had weekend specials using local produce, they knew my order, they once gave me a coffee on the house, they provided table service that was always prompt and accurate (no-one else in town did this properly) AND they'd just opened a second outlet at the formerly bogan but now on the up and up shopping centre. I find it very hard to talk myself into supermarket shopping at places with awful coffee.
Anyway, that's all that has started for my new life here... it's early days. I have found an art class, I do have some small decorating plans for the house but they mostly start with working with what we have (such a nice feeling to own your own home and have a place to put all your favourite books and art work). I'm not fussed about meeting people-that will happen eventually, it just takes time and opportunity. I'm mostly fussed about taking good care of myself and letting go of the gradual bitterness and tiredness that seeped in over the past 3 years. Not good. I formed good friendships, but didn't have as many lighthearted carefree moments in my life as I needed.
Spoke to my sister, who has sequested herself in chilly Robe to write her thesis. I pictured her in the holiday house, that we have stayed at together and separetly, in winter and summer. Pictured the board games, the body boards, the spring wet suit, the checked table cloth, the side dresser and white plates on display, the wood heater and cane basket holding kindling, the surfing magazines and some desperately early 90s dvds that got left behind, the country style and womens weekly magazines, the left over tins of tuna, the canvas director chairs on the front deck and the country road striped bed linen. Pictured the 80s kids bedlinen on the backroom bunkbeds, the painted cement out the back, the brambly hedges sealing the back street, the very short walk to long beach, and how the long beach esplanade seems in winter. Like a ghost town, a near empty caravan park and one phone booth the only sign of life. Thick coarse grass lines the entire road and borders the sand dunes that block your immediate view of the ocean. The playground still sits there, a few desolate pieces that have never been added to, that have stayed the same since I was the age to use playgrounds. It's not a desolate place, but I find it easy to think myself into treating it like a ghost town whenever I've noticed the signs that summer is over. So different to the signs that summer is about to start, and the season and possibilities are fresh. Then I'd imagine all the types of visitors that might come, or find myself with dripping feet and wet swimmers, wrapped in a towel and writing out postcards in the post office, so eager to share the news of my holiday with that far off outside world. When summer is in full swing and each day promises excitement, this is opitimised by a bright blue sky and the line of the norfolk pines along the main beach in front of the Robe hotel looking towards the bowling green.
Still adjusting. Can't really tell my limits at the moment, when I'm too tired, what is too much, when I might get emotional. I went swimming yesterday and was all geared up to do a drill and had to retire at 700metres-not bad since it had been a while since I'd been swimming. I look forward to a more regular routine. Also attended pilates, which was good. Trying to do as much as possible for mind and body at the moment.
Was encouraged to apply for a full time head teacher position... very flattering but as hard as it was, I declined. I feel as though I have too many loose ends that never ever get rolled up, and this is my time. Plus my dearest friend, who hosted me at her house for the past 7 weeks, strongly advised that I slow down and not start anything new. So I am just trying to sit and be still and be comfortable with that and not let the itchy brain syndrome of trying to change the world worry me. Not easy.
Today I got sucked into watching KAK, and nearly bought a wool doona promoted on an informercial (such a good price and came with extras for the first 100 buyers!!!). I only interrupted this session to answer the door and collect my internet purchases in person (such a luxury having parcels delivered to your door, one of the pros of being at home in the daytime). It has been shivering freezing cold, so much that I wore winter coats in doors on Monday and Tuesday. Now I am at the stage that a winter jumper is sufficient, even for walks to the paper shop. Sadly for me and Mr A, our neighbourhood cafe closed down 2 weeks ago. No sign, no warning. The news was broken to me by a customer at the neighbourhood hairdressing salon. She was probably more disappointed than me (it had lime green walls and sadly I'd never tried it's wares before it closed down, due to that colour scheme).
It probably would have been bad coffee. I probably would have bought it out of convenience and habit, the desire to leave my house and walk a short distance for some neighbourhood socialising, it would have been made by someone who preferred retailing sausage rolls and flavoured milk sold in plastic containers, but it would have been LOCAL! A local scene for me, who still craves city living even though she's been gone from the big smoke for 5 years now.
There is plenty of good coffee in town, though I suspect a bit of ole price fixing going on, everyone seems to sell one size of coffee at $4.50 a pop. This shouldn't be so tragic, except that I realised 5 days before moving, that my local cafe was absolutely the best cafe in the world. Why? It was open 7 days of the week, always early enough for a pre work coffee, it had a good breakfast and lunch menu, sold organic bread, had weekend specials using local produce, they knew my order, they once gave me a coffee on the house, they provided table service that was always prompt and accurate (no-one else in town did this properly) AND they'd just opened a second outlet at the formerly bogan but now on the up and up shopping centre. I find it very hard to talk myself into supermarket shopping at places with awful coffee.
Anyway, that's all that has started for my new life here... it's early days. I have found an art class, I do have some small decorating plans for the house but they mostly start with working with what we have (such a nice feeling to own your own home and have a place to put all your favourite books and art work). I'm not fussed about meeting people-that will happen eventually, it just takes time and opportunity. I'm mostly fussed about taking good care of myself and letting go of the gradual bitterness and tiredness that seeped in over the past 3 years. Not good. I formed good friendships, but didn't have as many lighthearted carefree moments in my life as I needed.
Spoke to my sister, who has sequested herself in chilly Robe to write her thesis. I pictured her in the holiday house, that we have stayed at together and separetly, in winter and summer. Pictured the board games, the body boards, the spring wet suit, the checked table cloth, the side dresser and white plates on display, the wood heater and cane basket holding kindling, the surfing magazines and some desperately early 90s dvds that got left behind, the country style and womens weekly magazines, the left over tins of tuna, the canvas director chairs on the front deck and the country road striped bed linen. Pictured the 80s kids bedlinen on the backroom bunkbeds, the painted cement out the back, the brambly hedges sealing the back street, the very short walk to long beach, and how the long beach esplanade seems in winter. Like a ghost town, a near empty caravan park and one phone booth the only sign of life. Thick coarse grass lines the entire road and borders the sand dunes that block your immediate view of the ocean. The playground still sits there, a few desolate pieces that have never been added to, that have stayed the same since I was the age to use playgrounds. It's not a desolate place, but I find it easy to think myself into treating it like a ghost town whenever I've noticed the signs that summer is over. So different to the signs that summer is about to start, and the season and possibilities are fresh. Then I'd imagine all the types of visitors that might come, or find myself with dripping feet and wet swimmers, wrapped in a towel and writing out postcards in the post office, so eager to share the news of my holiday with that far off outside world. When summer is in full swing and each day promises excitement, this is opitimised by a bright blue sky and the line of the norfolk pines along the main beach in front of the Robe hotel looking towards the bowling green.
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