Funerals

I never know how to behave at funerals. It's quite an odd custom really, do you go there to be sad, or do you go there to remember the good times and be happy? And when people want you to be remembering the good times, why do you always feel so miserable? It's interesting, that funerals are entirely for the benefit of the living, rather than the dead. Dead people don't care if you are playing photos of them or their favorite music. People do these things so they, as living people, can preserve memories. I'm not saying I disagree with it, I just think it is interesting.

At the funeral I was at the other day, there was a eulogy given that I thought was absolutely brilliant. It went something along the lines of "I wanted to share with you one of Dad's most prized possessions, his lawn. At a young age, we were given responsibilities, taking out the grass clippings, sitting on dads shoulders watching and learning as he mowed his beloved lawn. When we were older, us boys became apprentices, starting first with the hand held, then later, graduating to whipper snipper and then finally, the ride on. With great lawns, come great responsibility..." I felt like for the first time, it was okay to laugh at a funeral. Everyone else was doing it. I came away not feeling upset per se, but feeling like I had honored a memory, honored the life a of a really great person.

Homecoming

The glorious homecoming I had envisaged for this summer had been tainted with boredom, poverty and my increasingly tempestuous persona, that was a result of to much of everything. People, drinking, decadent foods and parties. I found that for the second summer in a row, I had been dropped from a world of learning and academic prosperity, into that of holidays and laziness. Too much time for reflection and self loathing. As I sat and stared at my computer screen that was so diligently trying to cheer me up by playing boston legal on repeat in a desperate attempt to relive the past year of law school,  I realized that I needed to find a way of kicking my emotionally destructive habits and a way to let go of academia and enjoy summer. It was at this point that I pulled out my worlds biggest time waster gob stopper, and I knew that this was the answer to all my problems.

summer love

It's so hot. My room is sweltering. It's about 26 degrees in here at 9 am. I realized last year, when I made some friends who live overseas where it's much much colder than here, just how lucky I was. I used to complain about the heat, and honestly, where I am, it's hardly even heat compared to up north, however, I feel so lucky, that right now, it's 26 degrees in my room, I am wearing a summer dress, I am looking forward to a nice swim this afternoon and it isn't even the first day of summer yet. 

I sometimes wish that summer could go on forever. I love going looking at christmas lights in my board shorts and thongs. I love christmas day on the beach where all the kids are playing around with their new beach balls and bodyboards and it makes me so happy that I live in a place where the coldest day on record is about 15 degrees. I love that I can walk down to the beach after work in the Summer and sit on the verandah and eat cold salads for dinner. I love that there are mango and plum trees at the ready. I love the sounds of the coast, the birds, the waves, the cool salty sea breeze that blows down from the north... and the afternoon thunderstorms where the rain is actually warm.

I love summer. I love Australia. I love going home. 

Indulgence

You know what is very interesting? The concept of indulgence. When I ask people what they like to indulge in, the answer is often junk food. A chocolate bar, or a big fatty ice cream. I can understand why these things would be appealing when one feels the need to indulge, but I cannot agree. My idea of indulgence is a gourmet antipasto platter, or a long hot bath. Junk food to me, is not indulgence, it's a guilt trip. You know the circle, you crave it you eat it you guilt it. That isn't indulgence. Although I suppose it is rather a personal matter... So who am I to judge?