Writing more
The other week, I got some good advice and although it was in a work related sense, it kind of relates to the private world too. Get it down and get it out of your head.
So, what to write about? Things I am reading, things I am doing, the fun I am having with my son. He is into hide and seek now. Shouting boisterously. Being more gentle too-at Carrick Hill he spent several minutes gently playing with Annie, stroking her hair and trying to get her to wear his hat. So chivalrous. He also tried to wrestle with her twin brother. We met the mums and babies up there, on such a sunny afternoon, such a civilised place, with it's views over the city. We rested in a shady spot and barely made much use of the gardens, or explored their corners or viewed their animal sculptures, just because there was so much to talk about. Because my son had taken his trike, all the other children wanted to pay attention and see if they could have a turn. Brilliant. Bike buying votes.
My husband has admitted to feeling nervous about the upcoming renovations on our house. The mums were nice, said you can never question whether you paid too much for the house, you wanted it and you HAD to have it and now you have it and can stay there for ever and ever happily. Having bought the house is making the current place seem even more enjoyable. After doing a crazy clean whilst the kid was at childcare, I had it inspection worthy-fluffed up cushions, lovingly displayed pieces, favourite knitted rugs thrown over the couch, all of that. The white walls are stroked by the autumn sun and the views of the parklands, emerging from the dismantled scaffolding, are excellent.
Today we cycled all the way to Thebarton, not quite as far to my work, but it was good preparation to see how I could take the kid to childcare and also cycle to work. It's over 10km each way, for me, but fortunately I only have to drag the kid for less than half of that. We crossed over Hackney Road, travelled along Plane Tree Drive and descended to the river adjacent to the university. I managed to replace the inevitable reminders of university and university days, but focussing on the river system, the parks and pathways that border it, the very busyness of the river on the weekend. There were people fishing, paddling in the boats, walking dogs, cycling, gathering around the various boat sheds and drinking outdoors at the Elder Park kiosk. Then as we made it to Montiefore Hill and entered Bonython Park, it became a little more bushland like. The parks west of North Adelaide, north of the old gaol and bordering Bowden are quite an oasis and I'd only cycled along parts of that Linear Park pathway before. Just beyond the train tunnel bridge, which has a contemporary art/mural, I was passed by Edith Eberhardt, cycling in the other direction. She recognised me too, and we had a funny conversation "I remember you from a long time ago", that we attempted whilst still cycling away from each other and the distance between us growing. She was on her bike, with panniers and I wondered so many things about her. WHere was her kid? How old is he now? Has she had another one (I thought I saw her with a baby in the Rymill Park a few months ago) and is she with the same fella? Because, of course, I'd seen the original baby daddy only the previous day at the markets, whilst The Kid was dancing to the busker. Baby Daddy was having coffee with a woman, a man, a baby in a pram and an adorable blondester, who was too young to be (James? Who must be 7 or 8?) and it was possible the other two people were the couple... but would my husband be out having brunch on a Saturday morning with a family that aren't his??
Also there, as always, I saw the artist couple, the couple that are life and work partners. Anna is one, and her male partner has an improbably sounding name. I love to spot this couple, because they are so Adelaide. They eat brunch with other childfree adults on a Saturday morning at the markets. They go to Barrio during the Festival. They attend free music festivals on the Semaphore foreshore. They always wear vintage threads (leather jackets, wool coats, polyester) and they are part of the fabric of DIY cultural life. But I can't remember their names enough to make conversation with them, though they're known to Rachel. I even spotted her quite recently at something and she smiled at me kindly, but I was probably distracted by the kid. Really, I should just do whatever they're doing, for entertainment.
Reading-Cold Light by Frank Moorhouse. He's got right inside the mind of her. It's good. I like it when someone has done extensive historical research of a period in time that I'd like to know more about (Cold War and the beginnings of Australia's so called intellectual centre at ANU) and then written historical fiction. Nice. Slow to read it though.
I picked up Womens Weekly magazines from 1970 and 1975 yesterday at the St Peters fair and was amused by the home showcased, which belonged to a retired nurse who had relocated there from Darlinghurst to Croydon Park. By relocating she'd been able to afford a 2 bedroom place, and to pay cash and to prove everyone wrong that you couldn't find a 2 bedroom apartment for under $10,000 in Sydney. She'd done everything herself: fitted shelves (instead of paying a handyman the unjust price of $45), put in doors, painted, gardened her own area and was now landscaping the other lawns, she'd even got involved to manage the strata building herself so they were all saving 50cents per week on strata management fees. A very capable lady, I thought, and I wondered of her story, why she was single, what her work life had been like, how hard it was to relocate from Darlinghurst to Croydon Park in the early 70s, what her leisure life had been like before and after the move. Her bathroom was immensely decorated in various pink things, all crafted by herself. The skills to make your own things were well embedded in previous generations. The option to outsource it is great, but not ever knowing how to do it yourself-not so good.
So, what to write about? Things I am reading, things I am doing, the fun I am having with my son. He is into hide and seek now. Shouting boisterously. Being more gentle too-at Carrick Hill he spent several minutes gently playing with Annie, stroking her hair and trying to get her to wear his hat. So chivalrous. He also tried to wrestle with her twin brother. We met the mums and babies up there, on such a sunny afternoon, such a civilised place, with it's views over the city. We rested in a shady spot and barely made much use of the gardens, or explored their corners or viewed their animal sculptures, just because there was so much to talk about. Because my son had taken his trike, all the other children wanted to pay attention and see if they could have a turn. Brilliant. Bike buying votes.
My husband has admitted to feeling nervous about the upcoming renovations on our house. The mums were nice, said you can never question whether you paid too much for the house, you wanted it and you HAD to have it and now you have it and can stay there for ever and ever happily. Having bought the house is making the current place seem even more enjoyable. After doing a crazy clean whilst the kid was at childcare, I had it inspection worthy-fluffed up cushions, lovingly displayed pieces, favourite knitted rugs thrown over the couch, all of that. The white walls are stroked by the autumn sun and the views of the parklands, emerging from the dismantled scaffolding, are excellent.
Today we cycled all the way to Thebarton, not quite as far to my work, but it was good preparation to see how I could take the kid to childcare and also cycle to work. It's over 10km each way, for me, but fortunately I only have to drag the kid for less than half of that. We crossed over Hackney Road, travelled along Plane Tree Drive and descended to the river adjacent to the university. I managed to replace the inevitable reminders of university and university days, but focussing on the river system, the parks and pathways that border it, the very busyness of the river on the weekend. There were people fishing, paddling in the boats, walking dogs, cycling, gathering around the various boat sheds and drinking outdoors at the Elder Park kiosk. Then as we made it to Montiefore Hill and entered Bonython Park, it became a little more bushland like. The parks west of North Adelaide, north of the old gaol and bordering Bowden are quite an oasis and I'd only cycled along parts of that Linear Park pathway before. Just beyond the train tunnel bridge, which has a contemporary art/mural, I was passed by Edith Eberhardt, cycling in the other direction. She recognised me too, and we had a funny conversation "I remember you from a long time ago", that we attempted whilst still cycling away from each other and the distance between us growing. She was on her bike, with panniers and I wondered so many things about her. WHere was her kid? How old is he now? Has she had another one (I thought I saw her with a baby in the Rymill Park a few months ago) and is she with the same fella? Because, of course, I'd seen the original baby daddy only the previous day at the markets, whilst The Kid was dancing to the busker. Baby Daddy was having coffee with a woman, a man, a baby in a pram and an adorable blondester, who was too young to be (James? Who must be 7 or 8?) and it was possible the other two people were the couple... but would my husband be out having brunch on a Saturday morning with a family that aren't his??
Also there, as always, I saw the artist couple, the couple that are life and work partners. Anna is one, and her male partner has an improbably sounding name. I love to spot this couple, because they are so Adelaide. They eat brunch with other childfree adults on a Saturday morning at the markets. They go to Barrio during the Festival. They attend free music festivals on the Semaphore foreshore. They always wear vintage threads (leather jackets, wool coats, polyester) and they are part of the fabric of DIY cultural life. But I can't remember their names enough to make conversation with them, though they're known to Rachel. I even spotted her quite recently at something and she smiled at me kindly, but I was probably distracted by the kid. Really, I should just do whatever they're doing, for entertainment.
Reading-Cold Light by Frank Moorhouse. He's got right inside the mind of her. It's good. I like it when someone has done extensive historical research of a period in time that I'd like to know more about (Cold War and the beginnings of Australia's so called intellectual centre at ANU) and then written historical fiction. Nice. Slow to read it though.
I picked up Womens Weekly magazines from 1970 and 1975 yesterday at the St Peters fair and was amused by the home showcased, which belonged to a retired nurse who had relocated there from Darlinghurst to Croydon Park. By relocating she'd been able to afford a 2 bedroom place, and to pay cash and to prove everyone wrong that you couldn't find a 2 bedroom apartment for under $10,000 in Sydney. She'd done everything herself: fitted shelves (instead of paying a handyman the unjust price of $45), put in doors, painted, gardened her own area and was now landscaping the other lawns, she'd even got involved to manage the strata building herself so they were all saving 50cents per week on strata management fees. A very capable lady, I thought, and I wondered of her story, why she was single, what her work life had been like, how hard it was to relocate from Darlinghurst to Croydon Park in the early 70s, what her leisure life had been like before and after the move. Her bathroom was immensely decorated in various pink things, all crafted by herself. The skills to make your own things were well embedded in previous generations. The option to outsource it is great, but not ever knowing how to do it yourself-not so good.
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