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originally uploaded by thien-kim.
I snuck this photo at the Museum of Brisbane before I realized that I didn’t need to be so secretive.
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Archive for February, 2009
Swimming, Noosa
The weather forecast predicted rain for Noosa. Justin and I went anyway. While the looming grey clouds knitted a blanket of rain, we put on our swimsuits and ducked under the waves. We floated in the salty water, the gentle bass of the warm waves rocking us above the treble of the cool raindrops, drops in the ocean, observing the blues and greys and greens of early evening.
Late Thoughts
I like riding my bicycle at night. I like the cloaking darkness that disguises the streets I think I know, the way the occasional streetlight will pull the blackness aside to reveal a brief flash of colour. I like the way the low, heavy moon keeps pace, at times disappearing behind trees and buildings or maybe a big bat, but always winking when it catches sight of me next. I like the way the imposing silhouette of a big uphill flattens and spreads itself out in the beam of my headlight as my tires turn and turn and turn until there’s no uphill at all. I like the red neon cross that beckons from high above the stone church where James and Annie Streets intersect, the cross that calls to the faithful and the red neon that calls to the faithless. I like the surprise of loud, heart-thrumming rock when I turn the corner into an alley, and the burning embers at the end of cigarettes in the mouths of kids who are huddled around the dumpsters at the back of the venue, listening to the final hurrah of a band calling it quits. I like getting home and wheeling my bike into a dark apartment, quiet except for the sound of the shower, on and then off, and then a muffled call: Love?
Last night I went to Pecha Kucha Brisbane, but let’s talk about my ride home: it was so beautiful.
Hi, Necessity! Meet Invention.
The other morning while Justin was putting coffee on, I was playing with our recycling. It was pretty early. We have a lot of recycling.
Look what I made:
It’s a bag dryer. See the plastic bag back there, drying? It works pretty all right. I made it after I dropped a bunch of chopsticks into a plastic 1L bottle I found in our recycling cabinet. Then I figured I would just cut the bottle open. I felt a little guilty that I was pha-ing (pha is a Vietnamese word that implies engaging in idle mischief) so I justified my pha-ing by declaring that I’d made a bag dryer. We needed one of those anyway.
Our recycling cabinet is getting a little out of control. We’ve been working on it for a couple of months now, and we’re becoming quite proficient at cleaning, sorting, and storing. It’s the removal of recyclables from our cabinet that’s been problematic.
Neither Justin nor I self-identify as packrats. We self-identify as possessors of overly guilty consciences. I was raised Catholic, Justin was raised Lutheran. I’m not sure what his excuse is. In any case, we’re feeling guilty because we’re not supposed to recycle where we live. (For the record: the city of Brisbane does offer recycling services; it’s just our apartment building that doesn’t. Not really sure how that works.)
It didn’t occur to us to ask about it until after we had signed our one-year lease; we just assumed that the building had recycling. And you know what happens when you assume. Two weeks later, when Justin asked the building manager where our recycling was supposed to go, he was told with big, surprised blinks, “Oh, just throw that out mate.”
So we embarked on about a week’s spree of throwing everything out: paper, plastic, aluminum, all of it. Whoo! Sorry, Mother Earth! We are totally bad hippies!
But the guilt of wantonly killing baby sea turtles caught up to us, and we started collecting our recycling again. And because there’s no place to conveniently take it, it’s piling up. I feel a little ashamed of this fact, that I am a good recycler only when it’s easy. We try to take a little bit of the recycling with us whenever we go out, to leave in unattended wheelie bins on the street, but the pace at which recyclables flow out of our place is glacial, and the pace at which recyclables flow in is glacier melting. Even though we are actively Reducing.
Also, I feel awkward and guilty about poaching other people’s bins. I worry that I might inconvenience someone else by filling their bin with our recyclables.
So I avoid the whole thing by making things out of the things I am supposed to be recycling:
Exhibit A, our herb bottle garden (started from cuttings!):
Exhibit B, a vase (there’s a small glass jar inside the tin can, a twofer!):
I’m not really sure what I’m going to make out of it all.
90-Day Review
November:
Arrive in Australia. We have effectively prolonged our summer by changing hemispheres, but after the deep greys, vibrant greens, and the magic pixie dust of summer in the Pacific Northwest, the colors of Queensland seem curiously flat and dull. The brightest color around is the purple of the jacarandas that fade a week after our arrival. Longer lasting is the thick perfume of gardenias.
The first two weeks are a frenzy of immersion and assimilation. In short order, we open a bank account, acquire a mobile phone, rent an apartment, connect gas and electricity, procure library cards, set up the internet, and begin making a new home. We weep quietly inside when we realize that American English and Australian English are two distinct dialects of the Greater English family, and this linguistical shortcoming entertains, confuses, frustrates, and thwarts us well into December.
However, there are mangos to console us.
December:
December feels warmer than November, and the colors look brighter too. What we knew as plumeria, we relearn as frangipani. We also try to relearn our spelling: color is colour, recognize is recognise, center is centre, program is programme, etc. We receive receipts for our prompt rental payment every two weeks: Received With Thanks & Without Prejudice. I apply for a casual sales position in a shop that sells athletic apparel. My application is rejected, and when I inquire about the rejection, I am asked about my accent and informed that they “don’t provide work visas.” I have a work visa.
Happily, our friend Tess arrives mid-month, and then there is only enough time for laughter, excursions, falling asleep, and waking up again. We visit museums, national parks, and swimming holes. We take the train south to the end of the line, and then travel even further to play in the emerald and viridian beauty of the rainforests and beaches in Queensland and New South Wales. We eat pies.
Christmas, our anniversary, and the new year are all celebrated quietly. We watch fireworks explode over the Brisbane River, followed by a sudden, long burst of ibises taking flight from the neighbouring mangroves.
January:
Evan arrives with the new year. In addition to a bottle of Knob Creek, he also brings some much-missed bluster. More adventuring: we make a pilgrimage to Steve Irwin’s zoo, we climb a small mountain, and we get marooned on an island. We also see 31 circus acts in 30 minutes twice. I practise my handstands.
Early on Sunday mornings, we walk to a weekly market at a city farm. We poke at the chooks before wandering off to collect bananas, rocket, and baguettes for the week. We buy our first passionfruit and later, at breakfast with new friends, they show us how to eat it. Passionfruit is delicious on yoghurt.
On cool, fresh evenings, we pack a picnic to take to the Roma Street Parkland. After we eat, we lay on our backs to whisper and watch the flying foxes glide from tree to tree, clicking and hissing. Occasionally one swoops low enough for us to hear the flapping of its wings. They’re huge and beautiful and awesome. When it’s fully dark, we get up to walk home.
Summers here are rainy. We begin carrying an umbrella. We stop carrying our map.
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