Two jokes from the dinner table:
1. Re the dole: David said, “well, the hours are good, but the wages are crap”.
2. Re New Zealand’s reputation of sending bludging immigrants to Australia: Tim said, “when someone migrates from NZ to OZ, the average IQ of both countries rises”.
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I dream about “spitfires” – hairy caterpillars which form linear trails across the footpath. But the spitfires in my dream have formed a beard-shaped clump hanging from a tree. I run around asking people how to get rid of them.
As I write this, it’s raining. It started softly last night after midnight, but only enough fell to make a few small puddles. David Blair came by this morning with the key to the cinema (he’s finally changed the locks!) and said it wasn’t yet enough for the farmers to start up their seeding tractors. But shortly after he went on his bustling way, it began to fall again, light and sweet, the drops just drifting to the ground. Maybe this is, after all, the “opening rain” Pauline described, and which everyone has been waiting for.
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Anne and I drove down to Cunderdin, perhaps for no decent reason. We talk pretty good while we’re driving along together in her noisy old van. I like the way you sit right up front, the windscreen vertical in front of your face, all her junk on the dashboard, the wind whistling through the passenger window which doesn’t close properly, and the left side lurching strangely like it needs a wheel alignment. Sure, it’s so loud you can’t listen to tapes at speeds of more than fifty, and having a conversation leaves you hoarse. But it feels like you’ve really gone somewhere.
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It’s late in the day when I’m writing, and I feel I have lost touch, a bit, with all that happened yesterday. It seems strange to say it, but so many things take place in the course of an ordinary day in a country town.
Sure, the key event of yesterday was the friendly frenzy of the Pipeline Newsletter assembly. The ladies on the committee were very happy to have us on board. I had been meaning to contact “Michelle or Eva” ever since I got here, but somehow never got around to it. Yesterday was the deadline, so it was now or never. I arrived, unannounced after ten. The pages had pretty much already all been laid out, but a opportunity came up to insert an extra page, and I jumped on it. I decided to include some selected excerpts from this blog so far, together with the website address. I wonder how many “hits” I’ll get as a result…
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Yesterday Cristina and I helped out with the compiling of the Pipeline, Kellerberrin’s esteemed local newsletter. I showed up after ten and was lucky enough to be there when they needed an extra page. So I rushed off and we put together an artists-in-residence page post-haste. It was a case of “stop the press” and before you knew it, 350 odd copies of late breaking news were making their way around town. Herein is a small set of photos documenting the frenetic collaborative compilation of the Pipeline, in its small office located in the Keller Telecentre.
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Yesterday was the Anzac Day ceremony outside the Kellerberrin Memorial Hall. A new monument had been built and was unveiled, with the minister for something or other officiating. (I liked his name, I think it was Mr Chance). He made a speech which skillfully marked a trail between remembering past military service, and deliberately not glorifying war. Betty played a mean piano to accompany the trembling voices of the congregation as they sang the national anthem.
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Yesterday I went for my walk around the “wrong side of the tracks”. I wanted to shift the way I was thinking about being here, and I felt better as soon as I started walking. Everything became interesting again, I was less focussed on the idea of an “outcome” and more “in the moment”. What more can you want?
The first thing that happened as I turned off Sewell St and into Rason, was a police car pulled up alongside me. I wish I could remember the name of the policeman, it’s rude of me as we did introduce ourselves. Perhaps it was Darren. He asked if I needed a hand with anything (which I think was a euphemism for “ello ello ello!”) – and said he’d noticed a new face…I explained that I was an artist in residence at IASKA, just having a look around town. Anything particular I was in search of? he asked me…Nah, just inspiration, I replied, and he drove off slowly.
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At a kids soccer match. The goalie keeps messing up. He doesnt seem to understand the limits of where he is allowed to handle the ball. Runs all the way up the pitch and picks it up. But they let him off every time because they dont want to discourage him.
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We went up the hill towards sunset. I had a notion to drive to the bottom and then walk up, as i have not been having very much exercise lately. It was a gorgeous sunset, the kind i deliberately avoid taking pictures of. But i shot a few this time, i thought perhaps josh would want to see them. He loves a sunset shot. At the top of the hill, we could distinctly hear shouting and cheering. The sound was carrying very clearly from the sports oval below in the town. A footy match was on.
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Yesterday we took a punt and went in search of Greg, the “hermit-artist” that Donna had told us about. She had said that he lives in an old school building and carves polystyrene gorillas. She was right about these details, but by the time we had finished hanging out with Greg, it was pretty clear he was no hermit. I think he really appreciated our visit, and he kept saying he would do anything to have someone else come out there to live with him.
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I dream about making up new templates for a blog. Surprise surprise.
its good to be back. I felt it as soon as we passed out of northam, and the feeling grew towards tammin. This place feels like where i need to be, for the moment. Which seems to click with my impatience to get out of perth and frustration and the delay. I’m not sure why, exactly, i feel good here. Is it just because it’s where i’m “supposed” to be – because I have a “job” to do here, even if its unclear what that job is? Or because for the first time in ages, I can be quite selfish with my time, and pursue trains of thought without being dragged off by the backwash of accumulated tasks? Could it simply be about having a big light apartment all to myself?
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