A distracting campus

The man behind me is wearing a scent that was worn by the men (boys) in my life twenty years ago. So, were they ahead of their time, or has this man failed to mature? Either way, it is distracting me from my Human Geography text book.

Opposite me sits a slim, trim man in a pale grey suit. He's wearing pink, stripey socks, a shiny silver tie with small pastel flowers. He looks considered, intent, serious, ready for business. He wears a wedding band. His companion wears smart casual cream trousers. Not beige, cream. A white shirt, black suit jacket (too big for him), white sneakers. Bru, white sneakers? With a black suit jacket? Whatever blows your hair back.

This week's university phrase (now that I have 18 year old acquaintances) is: "Hey, don't judge me".

People are sooooo distracting!

on feet

Today I've seen thongs on feet. That's a flip flop, jandel or sandel. Not a g-string. Move on.

Bare feet! It's too cold for bare feet people! Put your boots back on! Don't have boots? Save up... buy some!

Now I do relish a bare foot. Especially mine. I like my own feet a lot. Not too large, not too small, connect me to the earth, support my upright stance. But why, O why, would anyone unnecessarily shorten boot season?

One of the faults of summer is that it is often too warm to don boots.

A bride's foot, enhanced by beautiful foot beads, the day the bride married the Zimbabwean.

Ha! caught you on film afterall

So it turns out that I do have a couple of happy snaps from Venice Beach, California.

There were three areas around LA that I did really like. They were the wide, quiet streets of Pasadena (where I also found an excellent pair of Dan Post cowgirl boots. Alas, I didn't bring them home), the tightly packed but full of life canals of Naples, Long Beach; and the quirky-off the beaten track feel of Topanga.

We could imagine ourselves living in any of these three places for a stint. In Topanga I saw hints of free-living, which we enjoy so much where we are. Naples appealed to me because it is 3 islands in the city... my boys could still sail and kayak and be near water and we'd have more chance of getting around on bike or foot. Pasadena just felt calm and lovely, and lay at the foot of some pretty amazing mountains.

But, for now, it's not to be. And I can't say I'm disappointed. Upon my return, the winds through the spotted gums whispered my name.

Good morning blossoms

A signs of things to come... a reminder that nothing is permanent.

"take these broken wings and learn to fly"

This island has already taught me much about living. It also brings lessons in dying.

Last week a much loved islander died. Yesterday we celebrated the way he lived.

What I saw was a great big community heart. The fireshed overflowed - bursting at the seams - with people wanting to bring their love and respect for this man, and his beautiful wife. I stood on an upturned milk crate at one of the windows. Cobwebs clung to my hair as I tried to get my ears further inside the window. Even whilst on a milk crate I couldn't match the height of the friend beside me. When the kids weren't shouting and the dogs weren't fighting I could hear most of the tributes, and I could definitely hear the band, choir, and the beautiful lone singer singing The Beatles' 'Blackbird'.

The fireshed kitchen was full of homemade goodness: quiches, tarts, biscuits, cakes, slices, sandwiches, pastries, fruit salad, with the smell of the previous evening's curry still lingering.

We have a few weeks of winter left, and when the wind blew I shivered in my Sunday Island best. We stood in the cold, laughing under the gum trees, sharing stories - as usual. Then we sat at the fireshed bar, drinking tea and wine, eating cake and oranges, still laughing. The kids were handed juices and left with big smiles. Chooch tried his luck: "hey Mama, because it's a special day, can I have a coke?" No my darling. Nice try, but still No.

I love seeing islanders in their Sunday Island best. For me that meant brown boots, my favourite new green skirt with a hint of gold thread, black wool vest and a blue and green butterfly scarf. One old-island-timer wore what may have been her best green velour dress. There was also an electric blue, long velvet coat, worn with fish-net stockings and cowgirl boots. Seriously, life here is LIFE.

I left with two empty baking trays and a pot of left-over curry for our dinner.

Today, life goes on, with a blanket of cloud keeping the chill in, the sun occasionally shining through it. I'm down to our last log in the fire, hoping that our final tonne of firewood is delivered today as promised. I have readings to complete for "Geographies of Global Change". Later I'll bake muesli muffins and wait at the wharf for the ferry to bring my boys home from school.

"You were only waiting for this moment to arise"