Possum Tales

Change, for me, is always slow. Before it arrives, I’m already there in my mind, just waiting for the physical components to slide into place.

When I came to this happy little hovel by the sea, it was like stepping into a well worn slipper.

Common Ringtail Possum

Common Ringtail Possum by David Cook

The oasis, marking with finality an end to years of complicated share house living, long past due.

I didn’t care about the shabby paint job, or the brown brick walls, or the fact that my neighbours could stare straight through my kitchen, into my living room, and out the other side.

It was my home. Where I could be myself, with the only other person on the planet who’s ever seen what that really means. And asked to stay.

Six years on, why am I so restless?

I’d like to blame it on the screaming single mum, and the fact her kids have finally found their voices, too.

Or the retiree who, bless his knee-high cotton socks, still manages to get excessive joy from pruning the wildlife out of the trees.

Or the fact my house is now bursting with skerricks of unfinished things – ointments and clothes and discarded trains of thought.

“This place is too small!” It screams, everywhere I look.

But that’s just an excuse.

Recently, during a rare afternoon spent cleaning up my garden, I heard rustling.

High up above, from within a thorny hideaway, I glimpsed a gleaming bit of tail.

Possum Tail

My little Ringtail Possum has moved house!

That evening, I placed a pear on the fence by Lady Possum Tail’s home. A goodwill offering to the gods.

She took a bite, and hurled it at the ground, I discovered the next day. Shame on me, for insulting her sense of self determination!

A few nights later, when I was washing up the dishes, I spotted her sitting on the fence. A little garden sentry, looking at me, looking at her.

And I realised, it’s not the neighbours, or the house. It’s me.

This home was only ever a holding pattern. A place to go underground a while, to find strength to face the world again, on my own terms.

In her ever gentle way, Lady Possum Tail came to tell me. It is time.

What’s the longest you have stayed in one spot?

Merry Christmas from Melbourne

“Home is where one hails from…but is also the places one has camped, sojourned and lived during the course of one’s own lifetime.

Home is a relationship lived between us…a sense of ‘being at home in the world’ – even as we go our separate ways.”

~ Michael Jackson, anthropologist
At Home in the World

MelbXmas

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Frog GWQ

Thanks to everyone who has travelled with me this year – you mean more than you know. Have a wonderful Christmas. See you in 2014!

Where will you be this Christmas?

She is Infinity

Twelve years ago, give or take some days, two women introduced themselves over the call centre partition that separated their desks.

We both worked ingloriously in the personal loans department of a finance company, and the office had decided to move floors. We’d never met, until that day.

I might have passed her off for your average wedding band toting Indian woman. Except she dressed wrongly. And spoke the Queen’s English too loudly. And exhibited the kind of dark humour that instantly recognised my own.

She might have passed me off for your standard snooty white girl. Except for the book lying on my desk, boldly announcing my current ethical dilemma, The Battle with Beef.

“What’s the book you’re reading?” She asked, and so began a lengthy conversation about my studies, and anthropology, and the general state of the universe.

Then she asked to read one of my essays.

From that day forward, she read every single word I put to paper. And in the course of time, reminded me what it was I once dreamed of becoming. She still does – and a whole lot more besides.

I wouldn’t say her twelve years of belief in me have been well spent. There’s only one thing scarier than having no one who believes. And that’s finding someone who does.

Somehow, despite my flair for self sabotage, she still has faith.

In all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never been able to put into words what it is she means to me. I’d say it’s past time, wouldn’t you?

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Gustav Klimt – Water Snakes II

Seems like a lifetime ago, yesterday
Our names were introduced.
What’s in a name?

It’s a cataclysm
A beginning and an end
A whole new looking glass.

You gave me, me.
You gave me, you.
You gave me, infinity.

Who knew that worlds apart
Together
We would find a home?

Sometimes I think I ruined you
And even as I do
Your eternal hope meets my eternal gloom…

Never too late, you say.
Take my hand, and shed another skin
Of new tomorrows.

Secret lives and
Sacred lies and
Finally we come into the light.

Sometimes I wish time stood still
So we could be who we were yesterday
Today.

Everyday I wish that I could be
The woman you make me want to be
Tomorrow.

The one who turns to You
And says
It’s all going to be alright.

This is not the end.
This is the beginning
Of the Age of Us.

Twelve years to infinity
And not a moment left to lose
Except with you.

Thank you, Aneeta. My Heroine. My Goddess. My Infinity. 😉

If you had to thank someone for the person you are today, who would it be?