Five am Monday morning. I wake up in the dim light of my bedroom. Wander out. I am cold from the air conditioning being on all night - want to get warm - so I head for Gary's room and his magical duvet (not too hot / not too cold) and see that the weather had matched my mood:
It is foggy, depressing, you can barely see the buildings up river. Of course this burns off in a few hours - there must be a law in Brisbane that declares no ugly days - because I have been here very often and to date - have seen one rain shower (quick - moved on) and this fog - both turning into beautiful days for the most part - it must be illegal to have a bad weather day in Brisbane.
I watch the fog dissipate as the sun rises above the clouds that have fallen to the ground, and wonder - is my mood going to dry up as quickly as the weather? No. It will take a bit more for me to snap out of my mental malaise. You see, I have a problem: Eight days - only eight days to go.
The dishwasher is running, the itty bitty European sized dryer is drying and I have my books out studying the beautiful photos the encompass the country of New Zealand. I have things to do, I have settled into a routine. I get here - make sure Gary's 'bachelor pad' is clean (he usually cleans up before I come - so nothing really to do), and start doing what ever I want / need to do.
It is a different life. A big city, downtown life. I walk everywhere, carry a backpack to put my purchases in. I feel like a bird in a nest when I am home looking down on a beautiful city. I people watch - especially when I am on my computer and can see two different apartment buildings out the window in front of me. People going about their lives, hanging out something to dry on the balcony, smoking on the balcony, watching TV, having dinner out on the balcony - the outdoors seems to be a very big deal for the people that I watch - even when the outdoors might be only a 10' x 10' swatch outside their apartment.
Their lives will continue on - the lady in pajamas will still sneak out at 5:00am and smoke a cigarette crouched along the wall, trying to keep warm, the lady in the other apartment will come out and do her daily Tai Chi - and I will again marvel at her beauty and grace, the messier ones will continue to put laundry out on their lines - marring the beauty of the balconies that I watch - but me? Eight days ... and I will be heading ... where ... home? I don't know what it is, especially when I am over here. A house and a dog and a Jessie who comes home to visit every Sunday ... is that enough to call it 'home'? Gary is here and I call this 'home' and I believe I will always consider where Gary lays his head at night my 'home'. But I have responsibilities - mainly to save L from my dog!! (She has gone above and beyond the duty of friends to watch my Charlie for 3 weeks).
And as I think about it, that is 'home' also - just really my 'lonely home', my 'responsibility home', my 'empty home'. Over here my time is maybe slow and boring every now and again, but that is when I am not feeling well - otherwise I am off doing something. At my 'lonely home' I do things too - but always with a date in mind - the date Gary will be coming 'home' and then it will no longer be my 'lonely home' it will just be 'home'.
So in eight days I head off to my 'lonely home', and pick up my responsibilities. That is probably the biggest difference. Here I don't really have any responsibilities. I wouldn't need to do the laundry or clean the kitchen - Gary makes do just fine - I just do it because I want to help out. But there is something freeing about not having any real responsibilities - I pay all the bills before I go (for the most part), I try to do my newsletter (or like last month - let someone else write it for me) I keep the household running - for no one but me, but well - things just need to be done. Here? Not so much.
Eight days. Not much time - but still - enough time. I will get what needs to be done for our trip to New Zealand. I will get the bedroom I sleep in ready for my parents since the next time I come out, I will be coming with them, I will figure out what we need to see while we are in Sydney - and I only, really have five days to do all that - then it is playtime!
Eight days.
One hundred and ninety two hours.
Eleven thousand, five hundred and twenty minutes.
Better start making the most of each minute I have in my 'home' ...
I watch the fog dissipate as the sun rises above the clouds that have fallen to the ground, and wonder - is my mood going to dry up as quickly as the weather? No. It will take a bit more for me to snap out of my mental malaise. You see, I have a problem: Eight days - only eight days to go.
The dishwasher is running, the itty bitty European sized dryer is drying and I have my books out studying the beautiful photos the encompass the country of New Zealand. I have things to do, I have settled into a routine. I get here - make sure Gary's 'bachelor pad' is clean (he usually cleans up before I come - so nothing really to do), and start doing what ever I want / need to do.
It is a different life. A big city, downtown life. I walk everywhere, carry a backpack to put my purchases in. I feel like a bird in a nest when I am home looking down on a beautiful city. I people watch - especially when I am on my computer and can see two different apartment buildings out the window in front of me. People going about their lives, hanging out something to dry on the balcony, smoking on the balcony, watching TV, having dinner out on the balcony - the outdoors seems to be a very big deal for the people that I watch - even when the outdoors might be only a 10' x 10' swatch outside their apartment.
Their lives will continue on - the lady in pajamas will still sneak out at 5:00am and smoke a cigarette crouched along the wall, trying to keep warm, the lady in the other apartment will come out and do her daily Tai Chi - and I will again marvel at her beauty and grace, the messier ones will continue to put laundry out on their lines - marring the beauty of the balconies that I watch - but me? Eight days ... and I will be heading ... where ... home? I don't know what it is, especially when I am over here. A house and a dog and a Jessie who comes home to visit every Sunday ... is that enough to call it 'home'? Gary is here and I call this 'home' and I believe I will always consider where Gary lays his head at night my 'home'. But I have responsibilities - mainly to save L from my dog!! (She has gone above and beyond the duty of friends to watch my Charlie for 3 weeks).
And as I think about it, that is 'home' also - just really my 'lonely home', my 'responsibility home', my 'empty home'. Over here my time is maybe slow and boring every now and again, but that is when I am not feeling well - otherwise I am off doing something. At my 'lonely home' I do things too - but always with a date in mind - the date Gary will be coming 'home' and then it will no longer be my 'lonely home' it will just be 'home'.
So in eight days I head off to my 'lonely home', and pick up my responsibilities. That is probably the biggest difference. Here I don't really have any responsibilities. I wouldn't need to do the laundry or clean the kitchen - Gary makes do just fine - I just do it because I want to help out. But there is something freeing about not having any real responsibilities - I pay all the bills before I go (for the most part), I try to do my newsletter (or like last month - let someone else write it for me) I keep the household running - for no one but me, but well - things just need to be done. Here? Not so much.
Eight days. Not much time - but still - enough time. I will get what needs to be done for our trip to New Zealand. I will get the bedroom I sleep in ready for my parents since the next time I come out, I will be coming with them, I will figure out what we need to see while we are in Sydney - and I only, really have five days to do all that - then it is playtime!
Eight days.
One hundred and ninety two hours.
Eleven thousand, five hundred and twenty minutes.
Better start making the most of each minute I have in my 'home' ...
3 comments:
You just count your lucky stars that you have two homes - and quit your whining, as my mom would say!
What you and Gary have together is really beautiful. You are an amazing example of what a husband and wife can and should be to eachother.
Thanks Sarah - I really wasn't trying to whine - and I will readily tell anyone that I am spoiled - that two house thing goes with that - but I do miss Gary horribly - I don't know if that is really healthy or a good example or not - just makes me morose every now and again that I am yet again going to have to say 'goodbye'.
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