Walking in syrup
September 12, 2005Onemana, New Zealand
8:32pm
I miss television. There. I said it. I get three channels. All not very clear. One has a constant whir in the background so you almost have to lip read to get what anyone is saying. Maybe I should get one of the many hard of hearing neighbours to pop over and read lips for me. We could do some quilting and natter on about the oddness of some of the neighborhood residents. Then we could have a cuppa. Then we could learn how to tie nooses.
Sunday it was miserable for the first time since arriving. Foggy, really windy with a thick misty rain spitting across the ocean. It was the first day I skipped my morning regiment. I did not feel that guilty, although at one point, standing and staring out the sliding glass door, I almost went. It’s only rain you big pussy. It’s only mist fruit cup. Then I lit a fire and made banana pancakes for my little sleepinners. They melted in our mouths. And yes I played the Jack Johnson song while I made them. I am so not cool. As the syrup dripped down my chin and puddled on the glass coffee table, I thought to myself, this is so much better than climbing Mount Onemana in the pissing rain.
It’s like my heart is one shoulder saying…c’mon..do it…it will hurt…you will get wet...but I promise to pump for four more days at the end of your life….and there is the ol’s stomach, green, festering like a boil on the other shoulder saying….fuck it…have another pancake tubby…you’re funnier when you’re fat…fat is the new skinny.
Such is life as me.
Later on Tina and her son Zach came over for a little impromptu play date. Zack is five and just a little bit taller than Hud. Within minutes they were playing with each other, or playing beside each other, which is fine. Tina sat and had tea and filled in some of the blanks on some of the empty and occupied houses on the block. So basically we gossiped. Next door to us is a welfare mother, whose teenage daughter ran away and is set to come back, this time with a fetus in her 15-year-old womb. The father is bipolar and last summer was taken to a home after a screaming outburst that was the talk of the town. Tina herself seems like a cool chick. She is a older than me and claims she was once the black sheep of her own family, going over to Europe for a supposed six months and coming back two and half years later. There are stories there, and eventually I will pull them out. She is going to teach Steph to knit. So needless to say, with her two kids and her new job as a midwife, she has settled down quite a bit.
It was great watching Zack and Hud play and then watch a movie together. I sat with them, stealing their popcorn, poking them both in the stomach for a cheap giggle. I do not get the opportunity to see Hud interact with other kids this intimately, so I was eager to be involved, and support his communication. He seemed fine. He is going to be shy big kid. Nothing wrong with that.
Last night’s dinner was Taranaki, a white fish cooked with lemon and onion and served with green beans and carrots. I avoided the rice as I am trying to keep any bad carbs before noon. We were a little bad on the weekend, but it felt good, and I will suffer the gaining back of a half-pound if I can lose three during the week. Last night we watched an Irish thriller in bed. It kept us both awake until the end. That’s saying something.
Today, back to the routine. Did the walk in record time. The clouds were so low it looked like the horizon was hiding under the covers, peeking out to see if Mother Nature was coming. I sucked in the ocean air. I watched my feet collect wet sand, weighing them down. I touched the red wooden box housing the life saving tube. I smiled at the small waterfall near the place where I turn around. The halfway mark. In distance, but not in effort, as the return is one kilometere directly uphill. I swing my flabby arms to assist as the pace slows, like I am walking in the syrup I am trying to burn off. I get to a mild break in the incline and it relieves me. My legs burn and feel hot to the touch. Water streams off my forehead in huge, salty beads. My new sweatshirt feels soft against my slick skin. I am almost there. One more chorus of The Strokes song on my Ipod. I am there. The house is still silent. I make coffee. I light a fire. I check e-mails. I check sports. I shower. I sip. I watch the fire dance. I sigh. I feel great.
Rest of the day included:
I wrote 1840 more words. Made a grilled cheese sandwich for Hud, which I took a bite of and spat back out a la Lorraine. Steph went out for some solo time. Hud and I went to the beach traveling back down the morning hill I conquered. I pushed him on the big boy swing. Such a big boy now. He went swimming in the river near the ocean. Water cold as bejeezus. Steph picks us up. Peanut Chicken for dinner. I let Hud play in the bath for a long time. Read his new Vesuvius Poovius story to him, Steph leaning on my leg, all of us cuddled up on his single bed, Wiggles poster on the door.
Kiss. Hug. Goodnight.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 2:12 AM
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