I met Sarah Toa. What a woman. She took me to Fremantle and we put our feet in the Indian Ocean. She showed me the only building in town that could be the one from Winton's Eyrie. Sarah also showed me some beautiful spots outside Albany. We went caving, ate oysters fresh off the rocks (she had a pocket knife, of course, like a good bush-woman), swam, talked about sharks. I hugged a perfect-sized rock and it was sun warm and broad. I was feeling a bit homesick by then. I saw Grass Trees for the first time (formerly called Black Boys) and they were like something out of a book. A Dr Seuss book called The Lorax. At one beach we met a man Sarah knew who 'doesn't really do people' but who wouldn't stop talking to us, we had to pull away to get going again (I think he had about 2 years' worth of words stored up) and also William McInnes, whose chest Sarah tried to bite.
I kept finding myself talking aloud even when I was alone. 'Fuck, how gorgeous' and 'god, so beautiful.' It is a stunning part of the world.
I'm happy to be home, because even though I thought I could sneak across and not miss much here - quiet time of year and all that - it turned out I missed a bit. P had her prefect induction; she also had Art camp. Then Ali arrived, and there was a murder that my sister and bro-in-law were loosely connected to. She texted me the first Saturday I was away, and told me about it, amongst other things (also wanting to ask for more details about a thing our dad was caught up in 30 years ago, which I blogged about here before in my Bad '80s Diaries, now in drafts. Not sure if anyone will remember/have read about that.) I was spurred on in my homesickness too because Ali arrived Thursday and while P handled it, by the time I got back he'd been here, had gotten her keys from her, spent time here getting rugs out of the garage and spread them all around the back yard to air them out. Today he put some up on the flat roof part of the back of the house. I don't mind about the rugs, they are his, but to get keys to our house?
To complain that we'd put a couch in front of his rugs and therefore stopped the air circulation, which was starting mould.
To complain that I'd 'let the bank close his account' (because he hasn't been here three years, there was zero balance.)
And to ask me for a secondary card on my visa account. Because he had one before. When we were married.
As my husband said: he's got some balls. Seriously, I think the man is all testicle.
But at least he has his gf here, and at least I wasn't here to pick them up from the airport. So, all good.
Haven't been writing, have been struggling to read. P and I are re-watching True Blood. There's no publisher news to report, and while it's not killing me as much as this time last year, it's still a bit tough, the waiting.
We shall see. We shall see.
So I'll probably lie a bit low here for a week or so I think, as I catch myself up with real life, after my amazing time away. I'll be back a bit later. What's your news?