Tigers eat pretty bunnies
August 8, 2005Byron Bay, NSW, Austrailia
6:19am
Steph and I alternate the wake ups with Hud. Today is my morning to wake up with the little bugger. Note the time. Yesterday I got to sleep in. I woke up at ten to six. A bit hungover. Whatever.
Went to the Byron market yesterday. The sky was as blue as the winter blue we get back home.
The market was a combination Farmer’s market with stalls upon stalls of organic produce. The rest of the stalls were new age therapy and massage tables, second hand clothing, bad art and vegetarian food stands. It was actually all very interesting, but the incense starts to make both Steph and I naseous after a while.
They are big on their organics here. It’s a barker selling point. Of course we had completed our last grocery shop last week. We really needed nothing. So we bought a sawbuck worth of strawberries and an organic doughnut. No, I didn’t make that up.
Hud wanted to be a tiger. The aging hippie with a pierced nose made it so. He looked great. He stared in every mirror we walked by.
Everything was rosy. And then, Hud became grouchy and aggressive. A pattern lately. Very frustrating. He wanted the tiger make-up off immediately. He wanted a toy train. He wanted sugar. He tells us he hates us. He stole our morning at the market with his general disobediance. All we did was rush through each row to at least say we saw everything. But really we could not leave fast enough to hopefully quell the incessant whiny tang of one Hudson Taylor Graham.
At home now, with Hud enduring a timeout for hitting Steph and being a basic jerk. We think we may be spoiling him, and his expectations for treats are due to our need for his love and approval. What a strange trip this whole parenting things is.
We had a nice lunch of leftover curry chicken and pork stir-fry. A feeling of comfortable satisfaction washes over me when we eat leftovers. Food is such a major part of my life. Hence the many chins. Hud calmed down and we started tossing around the theory that maybe its hunger that makes him so wingy. We are just guessing.
Off to the Wategos Beach. Steph’s favourite. It is nice. A quiet cove away from the main part of town. There are small rock formations adding to the already killer scenery. Grey and white rocks lay mixed at the top of the beach. Hud likes the rocks. I use them as a place to lay my head. Steph reads. Hud dump trucks. I revel in the last days of Byron sun.
Swimming is nice. Water a little warmer than cold. The tide is out so I wave to wade far to cover my belly. The waves are small, but still fun to try and ride in. I watch Hud runaway from Steph along the beach. His arms pumping like a steam train. I lay down to dry off, watching a topless woman do a handstand. Down the beach, Hud is buck and running through the ankle deep water.
Smiling so hard it must hurt. I wander over and chase him, kicking water, soaking his laughter. Back to liking him again.
Later on, we eat fajitas in our comfortable triangular seating positions. Hud watches a movie in bed, needing the down time. Us needing the us time. We kiss, gently, closed mouth.
Steph goes to bed after awhile to read.
Too early for me.
I watch crime television.
I slip in bed later, hugging the comforter.
I fall asleep thinking about opening a bar.
Love to all,
J.
August 6, 2005
Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
9:21pm
Aw crud, I hate the bookend entries.
One in the morning so spry and quiet, depressing the keys so lightly so Hud doesn’t wake up to rip through the silence and now, on the balcony, half gunned, hot sausage and cracker crumbs infiltrating the keyboard, prose now active and aggressive, me fish eyed and alert, trying to type the correct letter on to the page. Especially since my beloved sibling has identified that she can identify my moods by the time I am typing. Well I’ve got news for you Spike, maybe I am faking the time, and maybe, just maybe I wish I was cheersing you right now. Or thinking about how bad your farts smell. Or just watching our kids play together. Wondering if they will ever be as good at tetherball. Did you hear that? That was a tear hitting the green tablecloth ya big jerk.
Today was simple. Simple in the fact that all we did was go to small towns and waltz through the markets. Markets are big here in the Byron shire. Every weekend is a different one. Farmer’s markets every weekend, and other markets, the second hand clothing kind, once a month. Today’s was Bangalow’s weekly market, and Brunswick Head’s monthly. The Bangalow market is all fresh organic produce, including vine ripened tomatoes that I could eat like apples. And strawberries that teeter the line between tart and sweet.
We also snarfed down pita crisps baked with homemade pesto. Pretty tasty stuff. It was all stopped short however, by Hudson, and his new found disobedience, and our desire to snuff it at the source. So regrettably I had to tote my screaming son back to the car, with nary a facial expression, and place him in his car seat and ignore him until he stopped lashing out with fists and feet. It was difficult but you have to follow through. Him and I are at a crossroads about who is boss.
And it wavers between him and me daily. Today was my day of reckoning. Feel the wrath of this big bad father with the full beard and soft heart. We made up later with hugs and toy airplanes. He loves me like there is no tomorrow. He wants me to love him back so much it makes him breathless. An indicator of love I hate.
At around three, Steph left me in town because I was done with fathering, and husbanding for that matter, and wanted a cool pint and some new Ellroy words that I bought at the market. Steph left me with the bowed grin and glare of a woman wary of her man slipping off to drink in the vast unknown. Fair enough I thought as I rubbed the bridge of my nose, wishing there was a scar.
Well six pints later, no one talked to me, so I snatched a bottle of white and took a cab ride home. Half lit, I ate the pizza and salad and wrestled Hud back to loving me like a friend and not just his father. Steph and I played rummy and she won, amidst the scathing sarcasm and liquid love of yours truly. And now, here I sit, smoldering smoke eeking up my nostrils, and white wine soothing all that ails me.
What ails me?
Pure numb nothing.
Love to all,
J.
August 6, 2005
Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
6:50am
The problem with bouncing around from different location to different location, is right about now, you start looking forward to the next location. You get in an alternate mindset. That something better is just around the corner. Something better than poking around interesting small towns, lying on empty beaches with your son watching whales and dolphins swim by, eating new and different tasting dinners with your family, having dream filled naps and afternoon quickies, waking up early and drinking strong, black coffee and writing in a journal. What could be better?
The unknown could be better. It also could be worse.
No no, I am not about to fall into another pit of who am I and what am I doing with my life. I have abandoned that thought process until at least the money runs out. I have become comfortably settled with the notion that everything is going to be ok. And as long as I have the love of my family and friends and the comfort of their various pull out couches, things will work out.
So the last couple of days were pretty full. Full of finalizing our plans right up until our first two-month place in New Zealand. Full of new beaches and ocean front cafes serving really good beef curry and just ok steak sandwiches. Full of watching two whales, either humping or just simply playing in the water, about 100 feet off the coast. Full of watching Hud run along the wet sand in his tighty whiteys, looking back every thirty steps or so to make sure I was there. Full of 100 metere waterfalls with paths through the forest where wiry plants reach out to slash your fingers.
I finished American Tabloid, by James Ellroy, (Dad, you would like it. Very raw, rich writing. Not for the politically correct). He also wrote The Black Dahalia and L.A. Confidential. I liked it a lot and now have moved on to American Pastoral by Phillip Roth, which, if I am not mistaken, my father told me about earlier this year. The luxury of having time gives you the luxury to read books. I am enjoying it very much, and am comfortable in my selection so far. I will continue to alternate between the banal and the beautiful to keep my own writing voice inspired by both spirit and commerce.
After Byron we are staying in six different places in the next two weeks. The locations are as follows:
• Two days in Bellingen, a small town near Coff’s Harbour that Nikki from Fiji told us about.
• Two days in Hunter Valley, a wine region two hours northwest of Sydney.
• Two days in Sydney, right in the heart of Chinatown.
• Three days in Otago Bay, outside of Hobart, Tasmania. This is where we will spending Hudson’s 3rd birthday, probably at the Cadbury Chocolate Factory.
• Two days in Stanley, right at the Northwest tip of Tasmania (look at a map, holy isolation)
• Two days in Coles Bay, near the Freycinet National Park in Tasmania.
• One night back in Sydney, fly out to NZ the next day.
• Five nights in Auckland and surrounding areas. (yet to book)
And then finally to our cottage on the Coromandel Peninsula for September and October.
Phew.
Love to all,
J.
August 4, 2005
Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
7:13am
Happy Birthday Alice. You are five today. 35 in human years. We are the same age.
A day does not go by where I do not think of your droopy eyes and the way you shuffled your paws with impatience because I had yet to give you a bite of my salami sandwich.
Every time a dog barks on this trip I hear the trail of howl in your bark as you sat on the green couch, watching the world go by from our front window.
I think about your bitchy groan if I had to move you in the middle of the night so I did not have to sleep on the side table.
I think about your paws pinning my shoulders down so you could manically lick my face before I could even get my tie off when I came home from work.
I think about the way you would sneak off and lie down at the dog park, tennis ball very close to you, when you were tired, because you knew if you brought it back to me, and I threw it, no matter how tired you were, you still would go get it.
Mostly I think about those rare times when Steph and Hud were away, and the house would be just a little lonely, but there you were, cuddled into a ball on the red couch upstairs, right beside me, one eye always on me, waiting for the intermittent affection.
I know you are safe and having an adventure on your own with Andy, Tara and especially Ike. But I miss you very much.
We can say it to each other, but I truly believe only a dog knows unconditional love.
Happy Birthday my sweet pretty bunny
My beautiful beautiful dog Alice.
posted by Jason @ 4:38 PM
<< Home