do we have to stand still?

I haven’t written for over a week. I’ve had time. I just haven’t. There’s plenty to talk about but none of it seems inclined to present itself to me, or you. I suppose this can happen sometimes. That things are just too ‘normal’ to note down, but then often these provide the most interesting and telling information about ones self. Why am I choosing to omit details? Why do I not want to update the people who read this? In fact there isn’t any real reason. You see, the time has come to take up my job, to earn some money and to lie low until such a time that we are able to take some trips to see the beauty of the country we came to visit. Time to put an end to idle remarks on how day to day life is. Now is the time to store up all my energy for when writing will really matter. For when we are once more out, on the road.

Perhaps this is disappointing news. And indeed it is. I don’t just write this blog for people to read, first and foremost I write it for myself, as a memory, so I don’t forget. To reflect. It is an exercise in discipline, creativity and discovery. But it’s slightly hard to do all that when one is simply standing behind the counter at McDonalds. How did I end up here?

* * *

It’s morning as I sit in the park writing. The bustle of summer holidays is drawing to a close and apart from a mum and her boy, the birds are the only other presence beside me. There isn’t a single cloud in the pastel blue sky. The sun is already beating down; the grass almost dry from rain the night before. I am here to think. How much changes in such a small amount of time? It’s only been a month since Christmas and already I have started a job, left it, found a new one and started that. And we’ve been in New Zealand now for two months and away from home for over three. How odd to think it has been so long. 

America is now a pleasant memory. Already sieved free of the exasperation and opinions that made us glad to leave. Instead we are left with only a feeling of fun and ‘good times’. How quickly time pulls us away from the reality of a previous situation, leaving only a vague resemblance of what actually was. But I have the truth hidden away somewhere, I’m sure I do. 

I’m not good at standing still. Neither of us are. Already we are adding up the unearned pay checks to come, planning our next stage and looking ever forward. We do not want to sit and pause. We came here to travel. But as with all things, patience is a virtue and without these static months there will be no ‘next stage’. There is so much to look forward to but when the mundanities of life have to be dealt with I never really want to listen. So my plan to throw myself into as much work as possible to pass the days is now in action. And the next time I open my eyes we will be off on another adventure. And I suppose without the normality's and the content days spent saving, we wouldn’t appreciate the adventures as much. And there are still plenty to be had...

23/1/12

about the one where Amy gets lost, stuck in mud and loses $5...

With my flip flops lost somewhere in the ever deepening mud and cow poo, absolutely no clue as to my whereabouts, I suddenly had the notion that perhaps I was incapable of avoiding disaster when out on my own...

After a morning of job applications and CV pruning (yes I like to think of it in gardening terms!) I was feeling increasingly inclined to get outdoors and enjoy the sunshine. However every time I tried to leave the house,an enormous rain cloud would drop its load over head and I would have to put off my constitutional a little longer. Eventually though I took my chances and wondered off down the road, intent on catching up on some reading.

I headed towards Totura park and the hill walk at the back. As I reached the bench that looks out over the fields and park land, the rain arrived once more and I was soaked. Sheltering under a tree with no leaves didn’t really help. The shower didn’t last long and soon I was sitting on the soggy bench trying hard to focus my attention on the book in front of me. This was a pretty pointless exercise however when all I really wanted to do was sit and have a really good think. I hadn’t done any ‘thinking’ for a while but now, with Ollie work and no one to disturb me I could enjoy some proper thinking. After an hour I felt like walking again but this time I took the path up into the wood. Wondering along through the bushes and plant life I pretended I was in a jungle. But I was missing my machete for cutting branches. 

Half way round the ‘bush trail’ I noticed a small track leading off to the left. My curiosity always at a high I couldn’t help walking ‘off track’ and seeing where this less ‘beaten’ route might take me. After a few minutes I found myself in a huge field, the clouds gone and the sun beating down. Nice! The long green grass and ‘openness’ reminded me so much of home and the countryside I grew up in. It was like I was seventeen again and taking a walk to escape some revision or go over events from a pub gathering the night before. Today though my mind was more on where I would be in five years time and if I would still be stuck in the pigeon hole of work that is ‘hospitality’. Oh dear lemons I hope not!

Anyway, about ten minutes into my field adventure I saw, just in the corner of my left eye, a small heard of cattle, and they looked like bulls! Having always suffered a terrible fear of cows, ever since my dear mother left me behind when she ran to get away from a stampede, my attention turned immediately to finding an exit. All I could see was field and a large fence in the distance marking out the back of the park woods. At a slightly hastened pace I marched off at a diagonal hoping with all my fingers and toes crossed that New Zealand had such a thing as a ‘stile’. And indeed they do! I happened upon the largest stile I have ever seen! And I was about to hop over it too when all of a sudden I felt this squelchy liquid speeding through my toes. I looked down and to my horror I couldn’t see my feet. They had disappeared. Down into a large patch of stinky mud and cow poo! I had forgotten a golden rule of field walking...‘where there is a stile, there is always a huge mud pool surrounding it’.

Trying my best not to panic whilst having flash backs to my younger years of being banned from the mud when I was ten and then almost sinking to my death in a mud pit at a WW! exhibit in Belgium a few years later, I tried to step onto the wooden planks just in front. I pulled hard with my feet but they wouldn’t budge. When they did...they were both flip flopless. Determined not to loose the only footwear I have worn since I got here and knowing Ollie would be furious if I had to replace them, my feet returned to the quagmire for another attempt at releasing the shoes. I absolutely refused to put my hand in so all I could do was a kind of lunging tug that looked as if I was walking on the moon. WIth one flip flop safely back between my toes and on the stile I continued to pries the other out. Finally and with a great sucking gulp sound I saw my left foot for the first time in two minutes. I would have kissed it if it hadn’t have been covered in the thick brown gloop. 

Free of the mud I now had another challenge to face. Walking in flip flops is nearly impossible with slippery feet let alone ones with clumps of mud and slime all over them. As I staggered down through the wood looking as if I had defecated in my shorts I suddenly realised how much people would stare if they saw me. I HAD to find the small stream and wash myself clean. Not only could I not see my feet but the mud was splattered all up the rest of legs and as I guessed correctly, on my back and neck too. As the first couple approached me I panicked. I’m not usually one to get embarrassed but I did look so dreadful and really wasn’t in the mood to answer anyone’s bemused questions. Wading into a bush I bent down and covered my feet with dead leaves. Then, I knelt down and pretended to be examining some sort of invisible wildlife on a tree stump. ‘Hi there,’ the two women sang as I used my pretend magnifying glass to get a better look. ‘Hi’ I croaked, looking up them like a lost troll creature. Feeling utterly foolish I continued my decent looking desperately for the ruddy stream.

I was stopped short by a steep set of steps leading downwards. After stepping down the first one I realised I now had a serious problem. My feet, now also littered with bits of leaf, were still so sloppy that if I tried to take a step downwards, when I placed one flip flop below and put pressure on it, my whole foot would slide super fast into the toe hold and I would jerk forwards. I had never had the thought ‘I could fall and brake my neck’ before but I was certainly having it now! After a couple more steps I almost gave up and sat down. Not only did I look like ‘Bambi on ice’ but I was now in quite a dangerous position. I didn’t want to completely degrade myself but I could see no other option than to sit down and bum shuffle! Luckily my senses came to me just in time and i agreed with myself to just take each step slowly and tentatively. During this time I also constantly swore at the huge chunk of a book that in holding was putting me entirely off balance. 

Ten minutes later I was at the bottom. And even better than that, i had found a break in the stream where I could wash. Holding on to a branch, I dipped each foot into the cool water and got my hand down there to help too! It took a while to find the actual colour of my feet and flip flops but eventually they looked sort of back to normal. Now any sensible person would have been grateful not to have a broken leg or neck at this point and would have headed home. But not me. Not Amy. I quite fancied hopping over to the other side of the rocks and sitting on a sunny tree stump I could just make out through the trees. In order to get to such a place I first needed to cross a slightly wider stretch of rocks and water. I had to be careful not to get swept along and down the sharp drop to my right but I figured the place I had chosen was pretty flat and besides, I used to do this all the time at Barleston Downs! 

Strutting out with my right foot I started to make the crossing. No sooner had I done this, I immediately regretted my decision. The rocks were as slippy as hell! Instead of my right leg staying where I had put it, it suddenly launched off at an angle and I was left doing the splits and flailing my long arms to try and regain balance. My book went crashing into weeds and gunk as I tried hard to get my lost leg back. Finally after some pro shuffling and muttering to myself I was back on safe ground. It was then I decided to have another go. But as the same thing happened, only this time with both legs sliding, I agreed to listen to Mum in my head. She was calmly yet with obvious hidden hints of panic saying ‘Now Amy darling, I don’t think that’s a good idea’. 

Now to be fair I had had Oliver’s voice in my head saying ‘Come on Ame don’t be daft you’ll only slip over’ ever since I had had the plan to cross the stream in the first place. Mum and him are the two main voices of advice in my head and I often take their words, but I always chose to listen to the one that lets me get furthest into my idea first! You might be wondering why my Dad isn’t one of the voices? That would be because he’d be ahead of me, probably trying the same thing and getting told off too!

It was about time I was heading home so I found my way back onto the bush trail and soon I was back in the centre of Totura Park. I was just on my way back up the hill and home when I remembered the $5 I had put in my back pocket for some Malteasers. Feeling around and finding nothing, I realised, I had lost the note. Of course I had, I’m Amy, this is what happens to me. Angry at myself and refusing to accept I’d lost not only the money but also my chocolate fix, I turned around. I decided that the note must have wriggled out while I was sitting on the bench earlier so I walked as fast as I could back up the track and the big hill. Not surprisingly really the $5 was nowhere to be seen. I doubt anyone had taken it, more likely it had been caught in the wind and flown off to get eaten by a chicken on someone's farm. 

By the time I got back to the house I was tired, annoyed, very hot and very smelly. I walked into the garage. Charlotte sniffed ‘What’s that smell?!’ and then laughed as she caught site of my muddy frame. And i did stink. Getting undressed for the shower, clods of dirt fell off me and the bathroom filled with that farm yard smell. When Ollie got home I told him what had happened. He laughed, but he wasn’t surprised...

11/01/12

wasn't the world supposed to end around now?

The New Year never fails to bring with it a sense that one has another chance at a ‘new beginning’. As if the past year or years perhaps have instantly been swept away with the falling ashes of midnight fireworks. As Auld Lang Syne bellows about the room, one’s mind is an internal whisper of promises to stick to resolutions made half asleep the night before, and convincing itself that this year will be more significant than the last. It seems we are never satisfied with what has gone before and always fall into the dream that what’s to come will be better, only to do it all again twelve months later. If this isn’t you then you have obviously read a book or heard a rumour I haven’t. If so an email detailing such a remarkable truth would be greatly appreciated. 

Is there really such a thing as another chance or a new start? If the ability to erase memories was a real possibility then perhaps such a thing could work but while nagging regrets or irritating mistakes still play about in your head, starting a fresh is near impossible. There will always be that memory of yesterday, what should have been, what could have been. You can start again sure, but you’ll be carrying a massive backpack of past and it is this that you really want to get rid of but can never shift. The past is here to stay. 

I myself began the Christmas holidays with this notion of change. I took my first sip of alcohol in eighteen months on Christmas morning. Why? I suppose I was tired of clinging onto past mistakes and punishing myself with the memories every time I refused a glass of wine. I had given up alcohol to try and improve myself but all I had really done was locked myself in a time that was long past. What was I achieving now? Eighteen months is an impressive amount of time and of course I felt better for it but if it was happiness I was looking for I certainly hadn’t found it. I needed to prove that I could be trusted not to abuse alcohol and the only way to do that was allow myself to try again. After all I thought, I’m 25 I should be able to handle this. So it was with these sentiments I picked up the glass. Oh I have missed the taste, the warm feeling in the pit of my stomach as my mind relaxes. Suddenly. I was able to think again. It will be a slow process, already I am aware I haven’t changed. I’ve grown stronger, maybe even a little wiser but I will always be me. Those ways so twisted into my being that instead of hiding from them I must now confront those inconvenient truths and admit. They are me, I am them and there is no other way. It’s not easy admitting that I am not all that I seem but honesty is better than denial. 

Reaching my birthday was difficult. I have always been petrified of time, its passing, its inability to go backwards. When I was seven I stood in the school play ground jumping on and off the number one square of the hopscotch that was sprayed in front of me. With each jump I told myself ‘You will never get that jump back again, you will never get that moment back.’ Depressing, but it was the start of a minor obsession that has stayed and grown with me. Twenty five, I know, is by no means old but it certainly isn’t twenty one. Ahhh to be twenty one again. It is a quarter of a century and half way to thirty though. I can easily try and pacify my worries by telling myself ‘look how much you have done,’ ‘how much has changed,’ etc. but these are only temporary plasters. Fears are often irrational and I know this one is irrational at its greatest but by the very definition this knowledge gives me little comfort. 

Who makes the wish as you blow out your birthday candles come true? Is someone given the job of making those wants happen? I know it’s bad luck to tell so I never have. But I can’t say anything I ever wished for actually has come true. I know my last two have probably been the same. Humans are so odd, the lies we tell to make life seem that little bit more hopeful. Like Father Christmas. The Toothfairy. God? Although at least the last of those three is based on more than just an image supplied by Coca - Cola, and is perhaps the only one many people vehemently cast as a lie but may just turn out to be our greatest truth. See, Humans are odd. So with a giant grin and a mouthful of chocolate cake I ran my mind away from all those awkward questions and fears to take delight in the present and the thought that at least I had made it to twenty five!

* * *

If you haven’t experienced one, you might think a Christmas Day in the Summertime would seem utterly wrong. Well that’s what I though until I was lucky enough to be part of one. Admittedly the build up wasn’t perhaps quite as ‘exciting’ as back home, mainly because there weren’t very many lights around. But of course there isn’t much point in having them when it doesn’t get dark until near 10P.M! But the actual day, no matter where you are still has that same ‘Christmassy’ feeling. The copious amounts of food and treats, family, cracker pulling, random presents and that awkward time between the excitement of the morning and preparing Christmas dinner. What does one do between those two main events?! I like to find somewhere quiet to sit, think and reflect for a moment. A past time I learned when I was young and would have to do to stop myself being sick again from all the excitement zooming around my body. It is a very calming activity and is as much a part of Christmas Day for me as Danan’s Christmas cake (Which I was very sad to miss this year!).

The weather was warm and even a little sunny. A big change from the past three weeks of constant rain. Eating outside on Christmas day felt amazing and as turkey has never been my favourite, indulging in fresh salmon, a giant ham and all sorts of salads and vegetables was my perfect meal! Of course we had Christmas pudding (much to the disgust of the Kiwis at the table) and a trifle to follow, of which I had numerous helpings. I must admit I did miss my giant family but being away wasn’t at all as bad as maybe I had dreaded. This family Christmas was just as loving and fun and I couldn’t have been happier to be a part of it. I must note though that there was NO food fight, not that I didn’t try and persuade! 

Boxing Day was spent on the beach and in a boiling hot beer garden. Not quite the same as watching Bognor Regis lose at home again and learning a few new swear words but both have their own merits. New Years was a garden party at a friends, consuming many cocktails and being told by Ollie that roaring in company new to me was not appropriate at any stage of the evening. We returned home at around nine so the children could go to bed and then Ollie, Char, Nige and I saw the year end together. I heard the news reporter say 2011 had ended but I’m not quite sure at the time I believed him. It had all gone by so quickly, I’m not even sure I got chance to actually feel right about it being 2011. You know when you have to say it over and over in your head until it sounds right? Being one of the first countries to make it to 2012 was weird. Everyone else was still behind us and the time fiend in me was descending into confusion as other people still got to be in the past. I went to bed alone. Perhaps in the morning the New Year would sink in. 

When I watched London come alive beneath amazing fireworks, when I heard Big Ben chime it’s twelfth, then I was ready to move forward, then it felt right. I guess even though I’m thousands of miles away, deep down I’m still running on English time and it’s only 2012 when Greenwich says it is! 

* * *

After a short blog holiday I am ready to get back down to work, to make sure 2012 begins as literary feverish as 2011 ended. More blogs for 2012! That is my promise to you. There may not be genius in the words but I will offer a handful of paragraphs every now and then that may just mildly entertain.

4/1/12