Bicycle Arms

I was walking down beside the river yesterday when I imagined that my bicycle had arms. As in arms protruding out of the handlebars. And they waved to people and if you fell over, they would shelter the fall. And if you were cycling next to someone, the hands on the bike next to you could either shake with yours or if it is a loved one’s bike, hold hands. It keeps you focussed on the task at hand of riding to your destination, you know? I have had a few paths on which to write recently, a few that could make a novel. With words and pages, and sentences. I would number the pages and then add a title. I may even have chapters with chapter headings that represent the next part of the novel, or they could be totally random inspirational quotes from past wisdom. A plot and characters would be added if the editor required, I am flexible.

I never want a job where people are demanding of me yet whatever you do for them, isn’t good enough. Or one tiny mistake is highlighted as opposed to the many tasks that were done so well. And I have that gut feeling that I am falling into that again. When I say again, yes I have had a job like that before. Whether I am just expecting others to be understanding and laid back, or maybe just human. I am talking in a sweeping way and it isn’t as simple as that I know. I just don’t think there is time in life to have that attitude. Keep it in perspective. Cal has been away for two weeks and gets home in a few days. As always the spray N wipe lady starts singing her song. This may sound odd to most of you, so I will simply let the following video explain what on earth I mean:

But in all seriousness, it sucks when he is away. He has become my best friend and the best support. Always laughing together, challenging each other and being total goons together. I read back on some posts in the past and just interesting where my head is at, at the time. And hey who knows where it will be in a few years time.

Ah crap, mums are starting to arrive at the café, their prams filling up any walking space. Probably my cue to shut the laptop and exchange money for my time here then leave. There are enough leggings in this place to be in an Olivia Newton John video clip. And I cannot believe I just used that as an analogy. Was that the proper use of the word analogy? Leave me with it, I may find out.

Couches and Commitment

Walking down the street you just know you are walking on the ghosts of cobblestones. The fog was literally rolling through and the air was quiet. A small child walked out down his driveway carrying his dad’s fishing rod and placed it beside the car. The street was wide and bordered by big trees all the way down. I had left the museum behind and walked down looking at each building. And each building had obvious signs of being older than the standard house where I grew up. I spent the weekend in Beechworth, a beautiful old Aussie town that used to be one of the capitals of the Gold Rush in the 1800’s. Also home to the infamous Ned Kelly gang. I stood in the courthouse in the accused box (or whatever it is called) where Ned was sentenced to death. I just find it amazing that it is all still there, history to us in Australia is so fascinating as we are so young as a country. So even if something is from 1860, it is OLD. Like, wow how come it hasn’t disintegrated or been sold at a garage sale accidentally?

The weekend there was literally a breath of fresh air, to just reassess. I decided over that weekend that one of my jobs was not fitting in. So I took a deep breath and let it go. Life is too short.

On the weekend, I also caved and decided to do one of those “Ye olde photos”. It was actually quite amusing and the lady taking them I am pretty sure only bought the photo printer and camera a few days earlier. Bless her for being such an entrepreneur on top of her antique store. She charged enough…  In the end the end result was this photo. Pretty sure this is serious face. The metal armour I had on isn’t even in the shot, so I believe it was there to help get me in the zone. It worked.

My friend Marissa and I were chatting and she is putting off buying a couch. She believes that it is one of the major steps to becoming an adult. As it is so permanent and bulky. It is bigger than getting married. These are some of the truths about couches. That and the simple reality that all couches end up on a street corner, you kinda hope all marriages do not. I then walked home from this discussion about couches to find one sitting outside my apartment block. Oh the Universe. What does this mean?? That no one wants this commitment of a couch anymore? Or did they simply upgrade to one that is feather filled? I inspected it and it wasn’t even that soiled. OK nope I cannot get it up the stairs, I am an adult and cannot take in 2nd hand couches anymore. Not even out of pity, along with the fact that I would be asked to remove the couch from the apartment later in the week. Pretty sure only two cats have slept on it since being in the street. But ahh well. At least I have a 2 cat standard, I wouldn’t take this one:





That tickle |~|

I look here and go, a month and 4 days since I posted. Shall ye discourage yourself? Yeah probably, as those voices inside who say nope writing is too hard as it takes a lot of energy to write more than just what type of lamp or salad dressing I like. The rust inside covers up the ideas and thoughts. The feelings and the memories of anything that you wish to express. Whether it is for the whole world to hear or simply to see the words you felt, in front of you. Making it more real or validating the point that you have been mulling over.

It is an exercise, literally, you are twisting, stretching the mind to make it feel. Make it push out the words that you truly want to express. I find that I can have some of the most amazing jobs and when people ask what I do, I can go “well I do this cool job” or, “I get to do this really hilarious and non work sounding work!” but then when you lay awake at night, restlessness is still there. That gentle breeze that nudges you inside, makes that single thread tickle you. Tells you that you aren’t doing what you should be, what your soul wants to do. What your gut consistently tells you to do. Writing the words can be as hard as sticking your finger down your throat, yet you know once you do it, you will vomit out something. Verbal vomit can be a simple chore or it can make someone think at least. Whether that someone be one person or one group of people. A pod of people, a gaggle of guys, a hood of hobos. Even the hobos can be inspired, even the common vomit can be called a puddle of colour.

The words can hop, skip, stagger or fall but at least they move. When they are stagnant and not going anywhere, then that little tickle is felt. And your world pours in so many other sensations, to block out the little itch. Yet no matter how big or fun or stimulating these other feelings are, the reality is, the tickle will never go away unless you speak.

Edwin Jones. 18th June 2012.

The Lake House – Not a Sandra Bullock Film

I quickly discovered when I googled “The Lake House” in Daylesford, that it was a fairly big deal in Rural Victoria. It even sat higher on the search list than Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reave’s “The Lake House” (Hyperlinked for your enjoyment and additional knowledge for the day). So immediately I assumed, while I casually walked by the lake in Daylesford, I would not see any melancholy scenes  like this:

When in actual fact, after driving out of Melbourne and navigating the freeways for the first time behind the wheel (in this situation, not driving in general… just so we are clear) we arrived in the dark on a Friday evening at our destination. Stepping out of the car, the crisp clean winter air from the country could have summed up how different it was to where we just drove from. The soft lights amongst the trees framed the reception and restaurant, its big glass windows asking us to enter. So we did. We were greeted by a lovely lady who treated us like we were old friends, and we were immediately escorted along a gravel path and along next to some cottages to our own little home for the weekend. There was a duck (a fake one) at our front door and you could flip the sign around saying “Do Not Disturb”. He was immediately named the Privacy Duck.

The cottage looked across the lake and it was perfectly heated and had a classic and clean country feel about it. We left our bags and said goodbye to them, promising them we would be back later in the evening. Driving into the town of Daylesford we found a nice little restaurant to eat for the night (our dinner at the Lake House was booked in for the following night). An IGA on the way back from the restaurant provided me with some Ginger Wine. Classy night all round really, especially when it didn’t fit in the bar fridge so I kept it on the floor beside my bed.

Waking up the next morning, part of the package was breakfast at the Lake House every morning, and this was to be one of my highlights of the trip.

This was where I would experience the fantastic hospitality of the restaurant staff and the beautiful views across the lake. We could order anything we would like from our heads pretty much that was breakfasty. Both mornings I was pretty daring and asked for scrambled eggs, and low and behold, scrambled eggs arrived. I heard others ordered such things as waffles and omelettes. On top of the requests from the kitchen was the best buffet breakfast I have ever seen from the breads and home made cereals to the large bowl of freshly whipped maple syrup butter. There was one of those automated industrial toasters that has a conveyor belt. I always have a fight with them as I am too impatient and speed it up and then it drops off the other side and I lose it under the toaster. The view was beautiful, we saw the mist coming off the lake and a few local kookaburras were on the railing outside waiting for an obvious little breakfast from the staff. They flew away satisfied, as did we, off to walk around the lake. This was the second highlight.

Anyone who comes to visit Daylesford, I bring my megaphone out. Walk around the lake.

That afternoon another part of the package was a massage at Salus, the Day Spa at the Lake House. Really draining day I’d say.  It was another fantastic experience, walking out of there as calm as a turtle in tropical waters with no sharks nearby.

So evening came around and we entered the Lake House for our dinner. The atmosphere here was so very different and a new kind of beauty came out after dark. We were shown the corner window table, that was away from most of the other tables and it was not a tough decision once the menus arrived, there was a vegetarian degustation listed. The next three hours flew by with our fantastic host presenting dish after dish of intricate and creative courses, all from locally sourced produce. I love that it was such a seasonal and fresh menu. I won’t go on too much about it as I will once again start sounding like I run my own weekend TV show about the best dining experiences in Victoria, with montages of extreme close ups of steak and wine. It was one of the best nights of my year, as I had great conversation and great food and wine. We weren’t even sad we missed half of X-Men 2 that we had planned to watch that night, the crazy party going people we were.

After another quality sleep, and another breakfast that made me grin, we said goodbye to Privacy Duck and the Lake House. We began the drive back to Melbourne, but before that, we stopped in on the local markets grabbing some local produce such as olives and veggies. A weekend I won’t be forgetting anytime soon and would go back and do it all over again exactly the same, but maybe not argue with the toaster.