Monday, 16 February 2009

Home is where the lasagna is and The world today

She has established herself psychologically as a Bendigo girl. Her home is where her base is. She works in Bendigo, she goes to the gym, the library, the fruttivendolo and the bank in Bendigo. She likes the way she can smile at people wandering down the street, unlike in the city. I'm so proud of her. The self-professed "city girl" is thriving in this semi-rural community.

Me, on the other hand? My home is where someone cares for me. It's my mate's couch, my room in college, my girlfriend's new house, a spare mattress below an air-conditioner and even the family house on the odd occasion. I love to be distracted from what needs to be done. This has to change, of course. I'm taking responsibility. I'm seeking assistance where I ought and making my own way where appropriate. I've organised successful events (never to the same degree as my sweetheart, who hosts a killer dinner party) and taken appropriate steps to help others.

Still I find I'm more comfortable on the move. This blog and my email account is enough home for me, as long as another soul is sharing my experience and I'm sharing theirs. This is in stark contrast the her mannerisms; her need to hold her own. This might be a reason why we function as well as we do. She likes to do things her way, exercise control, and I like to be part of a strong story, share someone's plight without making it my own. I like to be as fertilizer to the plant, or a stake in the ground to gently assist. I don't want to be a graft. I don't have an appealing enough bouquet or fruit to offer. Maybe when I do, I'll offer my own splash of colour, but until then I'll just make sure that hers shines bright.

I suppose, in a way, my home is fairly fixed. If home is where the heart is, then mine doesn't like to leave Bendigo unless strictly necessary.

I'm very self-absorbed... Hmmm... Let me try and bear witness of the world around for a change. Even then I can only offer what I see. I don't give much weight to news reports. Maybe I'll start close and work outwards. It's a start.

My sister is about to start her course in Fine Arts. She loves to paint. she has just started a series about the plight of a vampire bat and his attempt to eat various pieces of fruit. He seems to be unable to do anything but try to swallow each piece whole, with little success. She has started to include interactions with a cat she literally dreamed up, whose whiskers are enormous and droop to the floor. Another series of hers is a recreation of a famous artist's work by using snippets from magazines and other art pieces. It really is something. But then again, so is everything. They're very good though. I can hear her response to that statement now: "Are they? Are they really? I'm so glad you think that they're good. Yes, this artwork has now attained a whole other status because my brother says it's 'good'." Dripping with sarcasm, of course. She's a funny one. "Am I? Am I really?"

My other, younger sister is in high school and the only one among us that enjoys sport to any real extent. She's talented with her school work and I hope she continues to do well. She has a fantastic sense of humour. At my mother's birthday party she had us in hysterics, merely by holding her face a certain way when holding a birthday card. It was the kind of reaction that performers would study years to perfect. I'd like to meet some of her friends though, because like all young'uns, she's very easily influenced, unlike the older one. She - the older one - might be influenced by an artist, but almost never by a person who's alive. Or at least no one she'll ever want to meet. Artists are usually best held at arm's length, I find. They tend to reek of broken dreams and vodka. Luckily, my sis is too young for much of either. One I spoke to who left the art world, tells tales of going from exhibition launch to gallery opening, wherever free grog was on offer. My sister of course says he's an idiot. I've not met many people who aren't in her eyes, though. She'll make a fabulous artist. I hope she does. I've got a bet running with an ex-girlfriend of mine, saying she will.

Well, that's my sisters covered. I'll venture more next time.

I hope everyone is coping. I hope everyone is more than coping. I'm in a good place, but I feel a little flighty.



P.S. I'd like to send out a greeting to a friend of mine from Wooster in the States. She's a colourful character, with emotional depth and a love of horses. She's a very special person, whom I miss a lot. She defines herself by her homosexuality and how very left of centre she is. I suppose I'm often defined by how lecherous I am, so I guess both of us are defined by our love of women. Thanks for seeking me out and spending time with me. I'll miss bringing every old friend from high school or wherever to meet you. I hope you'll come online more often, so we can chat. How is your brother? How is uni? How is your girlfriend? I miss you a lot, so please drop me a line. I might be being a bit presumptuous in assuming you'll read this, but what are the chances that my reader in Wooster is anyone but you?

P.P.S. I've forgotten your blog address. Please give it to me.

P.P.P.S. C- misses you too.

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