RAIN

The rain, she comes, she comes, she comes.

She comes in sheets, in big drops, in buckets, in a steady pattering drum. She comes to make the grass green, turn the sky grey, darken the road to black, enliven the reds in the tree bark and turn the creek brown and muddy. She comes to make the frogs croak, the crickets and cicadas sing, the birds chortle and the chickens complain unhappily in their mucky pen. She comes to fill our tanks. To drench my gardens. To soak my fruit trees. To dampen my washing. To turn my dog smelly. The rain, she comes, she comes, she comes.

We knew she was on her way. We knew it wouldn't be long before she would be here. And not just because the weather lady said so. But because she sent before her a sticky heat that settled on our skins. A heat that was wet and moist. A heat that made our clothes stick to us, that sent the insects into a frenzy and made the ants build their homes higher. We knew she was coming because on sunset the cicadas were deafening and the crickets chirped all day long and the kookaburras laughed at noon and at seven in the morning and at three in afternoon and just before the first rays of light brightened the sky. We knew because we knew. Our knees, elbows, fingers, hips told us. Our old bones said rain was on the way. Our hair turned frizzy. The sweat gathered on our brow and the dog languished on the floor. We knew.

But we love the rain. Especially after long months of dry. A long dry that had turned the grass brown and dry and that had made the ground hard and cracked and the plants grey and droopy and the birds seem tired and it gave us air that was thin and prickly and a wind blows hot and we were all on edge and the dog's tongue just couldn't get any longer or the cows more mournful and it made the nights long so that the fan would never stop and we had all had enough and repeated time and time again "we need the rain". We love the rain. I love the rain.

I love the rain because. Because she fills my tanks. She cleans the earth. She freshens life. She makes it restful. She gives us a break. I love the rain because. Because here it isn't the norm. Because here the sun shines more than the rain falls. Because it softens the bright summer colours and gives our eyes a break. Because it changes what we hear, we see, we feel, we taste. It makes our skin feel clammy, our clothes damp, our hair frizzy. It makes the birds sing a different song and the plants jump out of their skins. I love the rain because it makes me want to stay in bed, but I never do. Instead I walk barefoot through the garden with an umbrella. Watch the clouds gather on the mountains. Listen for the rush of water down the gully. And contemplate the softness of the earth and the readiness of the garden for work.

And then the rain, she is gone. And she leaves behind muddy puddles and grass that needs mowing and weeds that are tall. And the heat moves in again. Our skin become sticky, our clothes uncomfortable, the dogs tongue longer. But the chickens are happy because the insects are plentiful and the garden seems to be smiling and the birds are positively buzzing with joy. And the clouds, they are gathering again over the mountains, out to sea. 

And the rain, she will come. 

TOMORROW

If I didn't have to go to work tomorrow.

I would stay up all night and sit and look at the stars. Sit in the cool of the night. Feel the breeze, hear the crickets, listen for the cows.

I would watch the clouds rush darkly across the night sky. Not even think about where they might be going to. Not even think about the insects that gather on my skin to bite and suck. Just sit and sit and be and be.

I would feel the tired of the night settle over me as the darkness had done just hours earlier. Just sit. Not even think. Just sit. Until the seat gets hard and my bum gets sore. I wouldn't move. Just sit and let my bum get sore.

If I didn't have to go to work tomorrow.

I would stay up all night and be there when the farmer brings his cows in for milking. Be there when the chickens come alive, ready for their day. Be there as slowly one by one the night things disappear and the day things start to emerge.

I would feel my body become cold and damp and sore. Feel my eyes sting from tiredness. Feel my mind go fuzzy and dull. Feel my tongue turn furry, my voice croaky and my skin clammy. My hair would stick straight up from the thousands of times I ran my fingers through it in an effort to stay awake.

If I didn't have to go to work tomorrow.

I would stay up all night and watch the sun slowly brighten the sky in the east. Watch the sky turn all colours. Purple, pink, red, orange, yellow, white, blue.

I would watch the stars disappear out of the sky. Track the moon on its way from here to there. Follow the night parade of the celestial bodies as they pass.

And finally, when the sun has done everything it has to do to get the morning going, I will leave my place and go to bed, to sleep. As the day begins, I would go to sleep.

If I didn’t have to go to work tomorrow. 

THE NOT WEDDING

Not quite two years ago my husband, my daughter and myself were invited to attend a very dear young friend’s engagement party. Childhood sweethearts that were finally going to “tie the knot”. Dress was smart casual. The venue, a trendy café slash art gallery in the heart of the city. All very uber cool. We donned our dress jeans and designer t-shirts for an evening with the bright young things. But as we enjoyed our white wines and lamb chops we got a sense that things were not quite what they seemed.

We were ushered inside, into the inner gallery space. We were told the newly engaged couple had something they wanted to share with everyone. But they were nowhere to be found. I leaned over to my daughter, “What’s a bet this engagement party is really a wedding?”. And then the announcement was made. “Tonight we will be celebrating not only an engagement but also a wedding”.

Unbeknownst to both families, the bride and groom had secretly planned to swap the engagement party for a simple wedding ceremony. There was a quick change of outfit for the bride, the adding of a flower to the groom’s shirt, the families were notified of their intent and the ceremony was underway. It was, without doubt, the coolest wedding I have ever attended.

As a guest, an innocent bystander, I had the privileged position of watching the excitement that was going on around me. In particular, the mother of bride’s reaction to this sudden change in plans. A woman I had known and respected and had enjoyed the company of for many years. Someone I called a very dear friend. I watched her, and wondered how she felt that her only child, her only daughter, had made this choice to be married in such a modern, non-traditional manner. I watched as her face conflicted with itself by beaming with joy and pride, only to change suddenly to a crashing sadness and confusion, then just as quickly replaced by smiles and laughter and love. I thought, “What an emotional roller-coaster you are riding right now”. But not once did I sense that she was anything but thrilled that her daughter was so obviously truly happy.

oOo

In February, our daughter invited us to lunch. She has known this man for a while now but they have only just recently voiced their affections for each other. She met him on the internet, in a chat group she had joined. He is coming to meet her face to face. He lives in LA. He will be here next week. “Will you have dinner with us? He would like to meet you. He has written you this letter.” She is very excited. She doesn't know what this means. “It could be nothing”.

It wasn't nothing. It was something.

In June, the commitment is real. He flies her to LA to meet his parents, to see where he lives, to spend time together, and to propose. She can barely contain herself when she tells us. Hoping from one foot to the other like she is six again. “I’m engaged. I’m getting married next year. I’m moving to LA next year” she gushes “I’m moving to LA”. We are so excited for her. There are issues around emigration. Strict laws about getting married in order to get a “green card”. Neither of them wants the fuss and hassle of a formal wedding, a decision has been made. No wedding. Just the signing of the paperwork. A marriage but no wedding. “I’m confused. Don't you want us there? Can't we celebrate with you at the civil ceremony? What does thing mean?” I was crushed.

It felt like my daughter had washed her hands of her family, her life up to this point. It felt like my daughter had decided that because she had a new life, in a new country, that this life, and the people connected to it, no longer existed. If felt like she had wiped the slate clean and had wiped us out in the process. It broke my heart.

For three months I struggled to accept my daughter’s decision. I had no choice. I had to accept her decision. She is not a child but a woman in her thirties and I have no right to expect anything less. It hurt. It deeply hurt.

In November an uneasy calm settled on our lives. After four arduous years our daughter finally finished her thesis and her degree. With more space in her life, and in her head, she was ready to think about the next step she was taking in her life. “Mum it’s time to tell me what you really think”. So I told her. I told her "I am hurt". I told her "It's hard to let go with nothing more than a wave at an airport." I told her "I don’t understand why there has to be just… nothing." “Mum I don’t want a wedding but I would love the chance to say to goodbye. For everyone to meet him. To let you all know 'why'. Let’s have a party.”

After a day of planning, three weeks of preparation, the Not Wedding was born.

In January, on a steamy summer afternoon, with saris blowing in the breeze, brass dishes full of  Indian curries and nan bread, plates of fruit and nuts and Turkish delight and baklava, whilst drinking French champagne, honey beer and pear cider, our daughter’s family and friends gathered in our garden to celebrate. To celebrate her completing her degree. To meet the fiancé. To congratulate them on their engagement. To wish her well with her new life in another country. To toast to the upcoming nuptials. To have the Not Wedding. 

oOo

When you have a daughter, who is also your only child, there are so many hopes and dreams and promises. Things that you want for her but also for yourself. Selfish I will admit but when you have a child your lives are connected forever and there is no way to separate them.

My friend, whose own daughter had the surprise wedding, would have had her own hopes and dreams and promises. Without realising it, on the day of the Not Wedding, my friend gave me a gift by reminding me that both of our daughters were never going to do things that were traditional or main stream. We hadn't brought them up that way. And that was a good thing, because they were happy in their own skin.

There will be no actual 'wedding' and I’m okay with that. My daughter will travel to America by herself and her and her fiancé will marry on a day of their own choosing, and I am okay with that. I am okay because my daughter is happy in her own skin. 

On the day of the Not Wedding my daughter gave a speech to our family and friends. A speech that was full of love and respect for the people who had taken the time to be there. A speech which provided a glimpse into the loved and respect she and her fiancé have for each other. A speech that shared not only their joy but also what was important to them. It was eloquent, it was honest and it shared with her guests exactly what it was they needed to do. How it was right it was right for them.  

I was so very proud of my daughter at that moment and I wanted to share with you part of that speech. 

(In answer to the question why no wedding) 

“Just like today there will be no aisle, no celebrant, no vows and no bouquet. (We) are far more dressed up today than we will be when we sign the paperwork. When our untidy signatures land on the paperwork they will probably be with a chewed up biro I have in my handbag, not a fancy fountain pen or over the top feather quill. We will leave the courthouse, high-five each other, then go for a beer at the nearest bar. All in all, it will be remarkably similar to any other day. And I guess that’s what traditions are; they are days that you decide will be different. That (we) will legally become Husband and Wife isn't going to stand out as an important day to us. Our important days are the day we first told each other how much we liked each other. The first time we met in person. The day I’m landing in America and moving into our home permanently. The day my permanent residency comes through. And today, the day we share with you.”

I know my daughter. Never for one moment did I imagine that if she married her wedding would be traditional or main stream. She just doesn't ‘do’ traditional or main stream. I taught her that and I would expect nothing less of her. I will confess that I did have hopes and dreams and promises of how my daughter would marry. And they were that it would be in our garden and that it would be simple, with only family and a few close friends. I got my wish. 

BLANK SHEET

First Breakfast for 2015

A new year is about to start. A blank sheet. A time to start afresh. Begin anew. Clear away the old and bring in the new. Make resolutions.

But do we really start anew? Aren't we just carrying the old into the new? Do we really have a blank sheet or we just trying to erase the old stuff from the past. Trying to make that old sheet, with its tattered corners and imprints of the past, just look new.

I don't believe in New Year resolutions. Lose weight. Quit smoking. Exercise more. Drink less. Spend less. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. They're just social conventions. The world trying to be your 'mother'. Wash your face. Clean your room. Eat your vegetables. Don't hit your sister. We are all adults. We know that we probably need to lose weight. We understand the health implications of smoking. We know the benefit of exercising more and drinking less. We know. I know. Why do I need to make it a rule in my life? Why do we, I, have to make a 'resolution' to change the way I am?

I don't make resolutions. They are a waste of my time. This year, though, The Year of the Chicken, I'm doing something different. This year, 2015, no resolutions. This year, 2015, only solutions.

1. Laugh - Laugh, long and loud and often and with friends and with family and with strangers. Laugh when it is appropriate and, sometimes even, when it's not appropriate. When something is funny. When I’m in a good mood. When it feels right. And when I am asked to be quiet, to stop laughing, I’ll just ask them to join in. No one has the right to change my mood, my feelings. So I will laugh.

2. Acceptance, grace, humility - Understand what is within my power to change. Because it is my choice to instigate those changes. And, it is my right to make those changes. However, I should also understand and acknowledge where I do not have the right to expect change and I will accept this with grace and humility.

3. Feel nature – I will lie on the grass. Feel the sun on my face. Taste the rain on my tongue. Squish mud between my toes. Smell the sweetness of soil. I will embrace the stillness of the night. Watch the sky, the clouds, the birds, the insects, the leaves. Feel the seasons. Enjoy the movement of the year through nature.

4. Cry - Embrace the release of a good cry. Feel the stickiness of my tears in my eyelashes, taste their saltiness on my lips. Feel the wetness around my nose and mouth and the tightening across my forehead. I will cry until I am spent, until no more tears will come, until all the sadness has flowed from my body and emotional exhaustion has replaced it. I will then find a loved one, my husband, my family, my friends, and hug them until I am full again.

5. Eat and drink and enjoy - Eat chocolate. Drink wine. Eat peaches. Drink strong tea. Eat. But I must not forget to savour them. I won’t gobble them down. Or slurp them up. Or forget to taste.  I will nibble and sip and suck and lick and let it sit on my tongue for a minute longer. I will let it dissolve, melt, swirl around my mouth. Taste it, like I am eating for the last time.

6. Think, plan, daydream – I will make dreams. It doesn't matter if they don't come true. I will make them anyway. They will be outrageous. And they will be big. They will be bright and coloured and fantastic. If just one comes true, then I will celebrate. If none come true, I will celebrate anyway. Then start again.

7. Write - I may not be great. I may not even be good. But this belongs to me and it cannot be taken away. I will recognise when to start and know when to stop. And I will know when it helps and use it to sooth and calm and comfort.

8. Plant a seed - watch it grow. I will plant seeds, lots of them. Then watch them grow. I will repeat this often. Repeat this everywhere. Repeat this forever.

9. Fill in the holes - Colour in the blanks - Stitch up the cracks - Smooth over the lines. Take time to heal and grow and flourish and breathe and smile and surf and dig and travel and plan and write and hug and sleep and eat and ...

These are my solutions, not resolutions. Designed to be cherry picked when they are needed. Not to be used as instructions or as a schedule. For they will be at their best when they just appear, in a spontaneous moment.

2015 is not a new year, it’s a different year. A flow on from the last year. It can't but help to pick up some of the flotsam and jetsam from the previous year. To deal with the residue of 2014 I don't need resolutions, what I need is solutions.

Because 2016 is coming and it also won't be a new year.