Friday, December 31, 2010

A possible diversity sighting...

Woolworths. 9.00pm. Somewhere deep in the lower Hunter Valley. The Country Mouse and I were doing some shopping at our local mall when who did I spy in the dairy section but a cross dresser. Not a great cross dresser, he still had a 5 o'clock shadow (5.00pm shadow?), but a true blue Aussie cross dresser nonetheless. He had a slightly Mrs. Doubtfire persona happening, certainly more housewife than hooker.

The Country Mouse was stunned. I was impressed - had the Hunter just had a moment of sexual diversity? The Country Mouse was adamant, Mrs. Doubtfire was not from 'around here'. He deadpanned 'You must have brought him up from the city'.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

A Kookaburra Christmas

My first Christmas in the country!

The day began with a kookaburra chorus and ended with the same reprise after a meltingly hot day. After a Christmas Eve emotional meltdown (sorry Lydia, sorry Country Mouse) I managed to recover my equalibrium enough to move on and have a glorious day with the Country Mouse and his mouseketeers. I also got to play Santa handing out presents which was another first - and I lucked out with a great stash of pressies of my own.

With Keith Urban and Dixie Chicks filling the musical landscape the Country Mouse pointed out that this City Mouse loves country music and that this must mean something. On another note I was intrigued by a mention in Column 8 SMH that someone had decorated a headstone in East Maitland Cemetery with tinsel...hmmm....

On the 27th a quick visit to the Country Mouse's neighbours over the road turned into an impromptu pizza party in their garage. It's this kind of spontaneous get together I really cherish and miss in my own life, such 'let's have a party and let's have it now' is just a distant memory from my 20s.

Example....I recently had a theatre ticket to give away at short notice.  I was reminded yet again that to organise a social event with my city friends means booking people up way way way in advance. The ultimate comment was a friend who said she was first free "in about two weeks on a Tuesday night". When did all this start happening? When did the ability to just drop in unannounced become absolutely socially unacceptable?

In the country (or so it seems) happy hour is when it just naturally happens. You knock on a neighbour's door to see if they are free for a coffee or a chat. Or you just bowl on in and ask them when you are already in their lounge room. Amazing stuff.

Is the city answer: "Yes, but the country cousins aren't doing anything anyway, their lives are empty so they are always free. Our lives are full of cultural and social enrichment - hence the need for a social diary which is even more packed than a work one."

The Country Mouse scoffed: "How do my city cousins gain cultural and social enrichment parked in endless traffic nightmares for hours on end? While you are suffering in an unmoving car park we are already home, glass in hand, at our happy hour (that's our social enhancement)."

I don't dare tell him about the infamous Opera House carpark where exiting regularly takes longer than the show/concert/event you have just seen upstairs. And then there is the drive home...

The sense of belonging here happens on a street level. Communities are real social neighbourhoods, rather than just places you live.


Now the immediate task...find a beach in the Newcastle or Port Stephens areas to call my own (like my Bronte in Sydney). To do that the Country Mouse is taking me on a beach hunting tour starting today. Beach hunting on a blue blue sky day. Perfect. Any suggestions?

Thursday, December 23, 2010

My friend Izzy

Izzy was a Sydney party girl who was part of a crowd who, in the 1990s, used to burn up this town. We were part of a scene know for its late nights, wild times and devil may care take on life.  She left the city a number of years ago and is now happily holed up in a regional city with her husband and kids. I asked for her advice and this is part of what she had to say:

"Regional rocks, opportunity knocks. For a gal like you, who can walk, talk
and chew gum - I'm sure you'll find work quickly. .. Or come up with
something yourself and apply for funding. I have no regrets leaving Sydney
but won't lie - it was hard and a complete umbilical cord cut, which sometimes
was tres liberating and then involved massive grieving at leaving a big part
of my identiy behind - but something I know I had to shed to move onward and upward. You can always run back - it's only two three hours away. Go for it. "

And in the beginning there was a City Mouse and a Country Mouse

Hello blogosphere!

Welcome everyone (anyone?) to my blog. I’ve created this to help myself, and be helped you (anyone?) as I set off on my next big adventure. I’m a city woman through and through, and I am about to move to the country. Why? Illogical decisions spring from that which defies logic – oh yes – love.

I fell in love with a Country Man. Not just a man from the country, but a Country Man. He has open spaces in his veins and wide horizons in his eyes. When he visits me in my natural habitat, the intense dog-eat-dog culture which is normal Sydney inner-city life, his look of confusion is both amusing and illuminating.

What is as natural as the air I breathe is often shocking to him. This man would not love living in Sydney. I love living in Sydney. And I have a job I love, love, love, love which happens to be – yes, in Sydney. But I love him and we want to make a life together.

We’ve weighed every option: I go there, he comes here, we go somewhere new for both of us ½ way between the Hunter Valley and Sydney. Hmmmm……..

So we commute. And commute. And commute. And commute. What I have learned this year is that I am not good at long distance relationships. Patience, always far from my strong point ,is absolutely necessary for a long distance love to survive and thrive. I’m learning to be more patient. And more trusting. Ooohhhh, patience and trust - tricky waters indeed.

Tears, frustration and mental acrobatics – at least all that angst has meant I have come up with a solution. I live with him, in the Hunter Valley, for three days and four nights and I live in Sydney for four days and three nights. For some indefinable reason the nights had to weigh in favour of the Hunter Valley, or it wouldn’t work emotionally for me. Don’t ask. I don’t know why either.

Questions uppermost in my mind now are (but not limited to): How will I stop becoming a country frump? How will I keep my creative edge? Where will I find a great yoga and pilates centre? How will I deal with the ‘limited’ nature of the country women I keep encountering? Where are the girls with attitude? Will I grieve for the big chunk of my life left behind?