tales from an ordinary world

2002-04-22

I remember other days, sky so blue you could touch it, piling into a Volkswagen for a drive to the beach, where we'd try and dig ourselves a hole all the way to China, despite the obvious error in that theory when you're in this part of the world. Later, I'd inevitably get my ice-cream all over my face without even trying. I remember her talking about compounded chocolate as she drove us home, and what a cop-out it was.

I remember the Saturday night I sat nervously in a fish 'n' chip shop in Melton, my father waiting in the car - the wheelchair not lending itself to frivolous excursions, and I suppose it was his way of letting me learn how to do stuff. After an interminable wait, my order hadn't arrived. I'd already handed over his money. In frustration, and being too young to know what else to do, I ran out of the shop and back to the car. I think the guy had misheard me ordering, and I hadn't picked up on it.

I remember playing with old golf clubs in my grandparents' back garden, where the huge lemon tree held court in between the house, the radio shack, and the garage. We'd take turns climbing the aerial, although I can't remember what the view was like back then.

I remember walking, just walking, anywhere would do, when I needed to think, to get away, to feel the pavement under my feet as I worked my agitated mind over any number of internal issues. Up the hill, to a view of the bigger hills, or over by the freeway, in the unclaimed area of land near some tennis courts, where I could sit and watch the scrub and listen to passing traffic and feel like I'd gotten away from it all without really trying.