Space and Time

Lying under the flight-path, I like to listen to old, heavy planes rake across Sydney, this one at ten-thirty pm, half an hour before curfew. Some come later, in bad weather - you pity the pilot, egg him on to his landing strip via tantrummy clouds. The growl of engines taking their time across the sky, big and slow, travelling in an alternate universe it seems, time slowing down.  I think of them from my bed.  The old ones sound different, probably it's the props or the weight of them. Coming in from the desert or some map-dot of a place where things are run differently - places that don't have a curfew or runway lights. They must see Sydney from a hundred kilometres away, a huge hub of light, even at this late hour.  In that glow the Pope is here, somewhere, awake - are his rooms full of 'groupies', post-mass on this Sunday night?

Sydney mums sigh, everywhere, with both relief and sadness. School holidays finish soon, the last day of freedom tomorrow - we'll fork out some goodies for the last time and make sure the uniforms are clean, bananas & ham stockpiled for lunches. Baby siblings say goodbye once again to your playmates. Be ready to rise for the school bell everyone. The roads will clot once more with cars full of kids heading towards ABCs/123s.  Families return from all corners of Australia, from far-flung relatives, spare rooms, the snow or the farm, back home tonight by air or road. The rain falls for the first time this sunny, quiet week they were gone. We are always the ones to stay in town whilst others leave, left to enjoy the empty streets.

The sewage pipe is still broken, the real estate office is useless, all these holidays we've had our waste spilling onto the lower lawn and down into the earth-sponge and sadly, to the swamp I love.  Nobody cared, nobody came when we asked, all were off somewhere.

Me and my children, my husband occasionally wafting in from the world of men. What did we do apart from play imaginatively, roam in pyjamas, make snacks, watch DVD's and read laying in the sun, crawling all over each other?

Fast Paced World

Being a parent has its perks, like holding the purse in the toy shop, and writing letters to the teacher why your child was absent, and you don't even need to forge your mum's signature.

This morning we had to get our first late pass organised at the school office. When it came to filling out 'Reason for Lateness?' I wrote:

'Fast paced society'

(as in trouble keeping up with).

After shoving my late daughter into an already filled classroom, I disappeared over the horizon to the seaside with my son who at two, has no concept of time nor lack of it.

His main objective for the morning was to do a poo on the beach. Luckily for me (or unluckily) an elderly couple were cruising by, trying to tear their minds away from the enormous pollywaffle gracing the sands. I embraced the truth and asked for a spare tissue (old ladies are famous for carrying them) - she gave me two. Bless her. I vow to carry a box in my purse from now on. 

We marvelled at the beautiful, empty(ish) Sydney harbour beaches in the Autumn. 

At 3.20pm when school was due to finish I bought up the 'Slow Movement' with another waiting school mum (not to be confused with the earlier one).

She seemed nice, normal, maybe even more feral than most, and even admitted to only putting her sons through swimming and some other extraneous hobbie slash improving activity (I started to drift off). I noted her eyebrows rising when I mentioned the Slow Movement. It obviously rung some far off bell for her. Why do parents insist on swimming lessons in the Autumn? For god's sake - it's fucking cold. My child enjoyed cavorting with his pants off, but when I washed his dirty bum in harbour water, I tell you, he wasn't happy.

I used to be the A student, the overachiever, and look where it got me.

Today's excitement came in the form of a 244GL Volvo, powder blue, driven by the octengenarian owner of KHE XXX (best he remain nameless - you know who you are), we were both doing 10 kph over the speed limit, and STILL, we had people on our arses. Is it the coffee they grow these days or what?????

Folk don't believe me when I say I don't suffer road rage, I love tormenting other drivers. Especially tailgaters. But like old ladies hogging isle four of Coles supermarket, you can't just shove us into the honey section, you've got to wait till we decide to actually move. That's what it's like with the Kombi. Heh heh.

So me and the Blue Volvo are growling along River Road, we are holding up all the traffic in the race of the turtles. I'm not sure who won. Me probably. We took turns. Winning is for losers. We both won. We both got to drive slowly, at 10 am, the road ours. If you are late or early for the peak hour, that is your fault not ours. Hmmmm, maybe I'm passive aggressive road rage.