Of visitations and kitchen islands.

In just over 6 hours Mr P and I will be toddling off to the UK, for the visitation of parents (and the buying of sofas).  Lawdy.  All the manifold house balls hovering precariously in the air  will somehow have to be brought in to land before then. The current crises (colour for the stairs, treatment for the floors) will have to be parked on little piles of crossed fingers in the hope that they’ll magically resolve themselves while we’re away.

Our run up to departure has been an interesting one.  You know, interesting in the manner of the Chinese proverb.

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Mr P’s car has developed a mysterious, and possibly fatal, illness.   Yesterday, while bailing out his old wooden boat, which was sinking, Mr Pimp managed also to drown his phone.  While he was busy drowning his phone, his tender slipped its tether and bobbed off down the harbour, leaving him stranded.  When he got home, his new computer blew up. Miss P developed a stomach bug.  And I sprained my ankle on those lovely flagstones in the basement and am hobbling round now like a cartoon crone with one ankle the size of a small watermelon. But you know what? There’s something almost relieving when the outside universe so closely mirrors the chaos of the internal.  It renders it all quite funny, in a perverse sort of way.  You just set your course and steer straight ahead.  Battle on girls, battle on.

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I don’t know about you, but when I’m a tad overwhelmed by things that need resolving, my mind tends to scuttle into one small corner of the chaos and concentrate on that.  The corner du jour (du? de? Oh, who knows or cares?!) is the question of what colour to paint the kitchen island.  Sadly, we’ve had to jettison my plans for a bronze island – rapidly diminishing piles of moolah for one thing, and for another the big black steel doors who commanded me not to introduce anything else dramatic into that space.  And so it is this question of kitchen islands which comes in a rescue boat at 3 in the morning when I’m stranded on my island of wakeful lunacy and steers me off to saner waters.  Though having said that, I’m contemplating pink. Is that utterly bonkers barmy, do you think?

Plain English

So anyway, off we toddle in a few short hours.  To say we’re unprepared for the trip is an understatement – packing so far is a pile of clothes plucked distractedly from their hangers and dumped unceremoniously on a chest of drawers.  I do, however, know the whereabouts of my passport this time.  Someone asked me to let them know in a post whether I found it, and if so where.  So for the record,  I did indeed find it (or rather, the redoubtable Mr Pimp did).  At the farm.  In, of all places, a filing cabinet.  A filing cabinet!  Who in their right minds would keep a passport in such an obvious place?  Mine should have been in the glove drawer where it’s always been.

I’m hearing tales of frigid weather awaiting us in the UK and (apologies to all who’ve had a long hard Winter there) I’m relishing it with utter glee.  Snow?  Oh, yes please.  Rain?  Pure bliss.  I can’t tell you how much I love English weather, especially the rain.  This poem by Hone Tuwhare gets pretty close to explaining why

Rain

I can hear you
making small holes
in the silence
rain

If I were deaf
the pores of my skin
would open to you
and shut

And I
should know you
by the lick of you
if I were blind

the something
special smell of you
when the sun cakes
the ground

the steady
drum-roll sound
you make
when the wind drops

But if I
should not hear
smell or feel or see
you

you would still
define me
disperse me
wash over me
rain

Hone Tuwhare 1922-2008

(found on http://likeafieldmouse.com)

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Tooraloo.

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12 Responses to “Of visitations and kitchen islands.”

  1. I am assuming by all the above one has found one’s passport. Bon Voyage, have a wonderful time.

  2. Love the poem.
    The pink of the bench is a winner particularly with a dark top.
    I owe you both drinks, as I am really sorry I did not join you yesterday.
    Travel safely and leave your troubles behind to undo themselves.

  3. Your run up to departure does sound like some painful farce. I am glad to know that a pink kitchen island is not a dramatic gesture, I shall point this out to my husband if we ever find a new house to buy and are deciding what colour to paint the island. It is a beautiful poem about rain, and I do get it, as we have had not much rain for quite some time, but that English drizzle is another matter if you have to live with it on a constant basis. But enjoy it, soak it up, enough to drag you through another year of Sydney heat and sunshine. And hopefully you will spend some time not thinking about regency wreck, apart from sofa shopping in England which does sound like fun. Happy holidays.

  4. Happy voyage, wonderful time and bring back memories of the good times ! Lori xxx

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  5. I shouldn’t be surprised if England springs into spring the moment you arrive, just to be perverse – and a perversely pink island sounds splendid,after all it’s only paint!

  6. I like color and advocate for lots of it all the time. I love Greek Blue it always calms me. I had a chaos streak last Summer, which you kindly helped me through with a guest post. The bloggy world can be consoling and a little venting is good for all of us! Have a great time in the U.K. and next time I get overwhelmed I will focus on a tiny corner of the cluster!
    Best,
    Liz

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