17 January, 2007
Wednesday was a good day for me.
I awoke thoroughly refreshed from an extended descent into REM sleep induced by the solidity of the new bed. Since Kevin needed the car to visit a client work site, I was liberated from the obligation of running errands. A whole day off.
Wednesday was a good day for me.
I awoke thoroughly refreshed from an extended descent into REM sleep induced by the solidity of the new bed. Since Kevin needed the car to visit a client work site, I was liberated from the obligation of running errands. A whole day off.
I sipped my morning coffee from a tea cup as the rising sun shimmered on the bay. Shimmer…what a great word…I expect I will wear it out living here. I took advantage of the empty space before our expansive glass wall and did some much needed yoga, bowing with grateful humility and stretching myself toward the sun with open adoration. Revitalized, I tidied the apartment which was surprisingly messy considering how few possessions we own, then
could no longer resist feeding some junk food to the sweetly curious birds watching me from the branches of the gum tree outside the balcony. Starving as I was and lacking refrigeration, I decided to walk to the nearby shops of Lane Cove West to see what the new neighborhood had to offer. 
Nothing pleases me more than a well stocked produce market, thus I was in sheer ecstasy to discover a most glorious collection of fresh fruits, vegetables, and nuts a mere block away. I chatted easily with an Italian immigrant about his experiences in Seattle, sharing anecdotes about the overwhelming horrors of rampant consumerism in the form of Costco, as he trimmed floppy leaves from gargantuan heads of lettuce that looked as if they were the by product of a NASA experimental farm. Indeed, most of the produce here is large, fleshy, and deliciously fresh, since none of it spends weeks traversing the ocean on steamer ships from South America.
Next to the market, there was (of course) a coffee shop. There must be five coffee shops per capita here…you’d think that with all that coffee drinking, Australians would be more productive, but apparently the time spent actually drinking the coffee detracts from the ability to get anything done. However, to my great delight, the coffee shop was nestled in between a fresh fish market and an award-winning butcher shop featuring a wonderful selection of organic meats (I really dislike that meat made out of silica, I much prefer it to be carbon-based.)
After a small but satisfying feast of battered fish (“Is it too early to get some battered fish?” – it was only 10 am – “Aww, it’s neveh too eahrlie for battered feesh!”) I walked up to the main village to join the library. I am ceaselessly amazed by the fact that, no matter where you are in the world, library staff are inevitably cut from the same cloth. With the rare exception of the occasional vibrant and enthusiastic librarian (mom) or transitional young clerk, most library employees seem visibly annoyed by your presence in front of their desk. I often get the distinct impression they would secretly like to lock the doors on their perfectly ordered collection so that it might not be perturbed by messy and inquisitive patrons. Despite the lack of recent releases (many things cultural in Australia seem to be two or three years behind, heck, Ally McBeal is just gaining popularity here), I found some local crime fiction for Kevin and selected a book for myself for no other reason than the cover featured an amusing quote by PJ O’Rourke comparing New Orleans to Toledo, Ohio.
Nothing pleases me more than a well stocked produce market, thus I was in sheer ecstasy to discover a most glorious collection of fresh fruits, vegetables, and nuts a mere block away. I chatted easily with an Italian immigrant about his experiences in Seattle, sharing anecdotes about the overwhelming horrors of rampant consumerism in the form of Costco, as he trimmed floppy leaves from gargantuan heads of lettuce that looked as if they were the by product of a NASA experimental farm. Indeed, most of the produce here is large, fleshy, and deliciously fresh, since none of it spends weeks traversing the ocean on steamer ships from South America.
Next to the market, there was (of course) a coffee shop. There must be five coffee shops per capita here…you’d think that with all that coffee drinking, Australians would be more productive, but apparently the time spent actually drinking the coffee detracts from the ability to get anything done. However, to my great delight, the coffee shop was nestled in between a fresh fish market and an award-winning butcher shop featuring a wonderful selection of organic meats (I really dislike that meat made out of silica, I much prefer it to be carbon-based.)
After a small but satisfying feast of battered fish (“Is it too early to get some battered fish?” – it was only 10 am – “Aww, it’s neveh too eahrlie for battered feesh!”) I walked up to the main village to join the library. I am ceaselessly amazed by the fact that, no matter where you are in the world, library staff are inevitably cut from the same cloth. With the rare exception of the occasional vibrant and enthusiastic librarian (mom) or transitional young clerk, most library employees seem visibly annoyed by your presence in front of their desk. I often get the distinct impression they would secretly like to lock the doors on their perfectly ordered collection so that it might not be perturbed by messy and inquisitive patrons. Despite the lack of recent releases (many things cultural in Australia seem to be two or three years behind, heck, Ally McBeal is just gaining popularity here), I found some local crime fiction for Kevin and selected a book for myself for no other reason than the cover featured an amusing quote by PJ O’Rourke comparing New Orleans to Toledo, Ohio.
6 comments:
Okay, now, sincere question! Is the colorful bird a stuffed animal (fake) or a real birdie? Inquiring minds want to know! It's so colorful that it makes me think of those stuffed ones they sell at Disneyland at Tikki Room. :-)
Cindi
Love your new digs and the water view is incredible. Hey, there's *nothing* wrong with collecting perfectly useable furnishings from the curb (kerb). We do it all the time in my neighborhood. . .some people even put out "FREE" signs on things they leave there.
Hi Cindi,
Yes, those are reals birds. They are called Lorikeets, and are as abundant as sparrows here. Look for more about them soon in an upcoming post.
And thanks for leaving your comments. It's nice to know you're out there!
Glad to hear that someone else does curbside shopping. when we lived in Japan I was a late night shopper. We have many beautiful Japanese chests(tansu)and clocks.
Always be prepared, you never know what you will find!
Glad I found your side and can keep up with your adventures.
Hi - I have just found your blog and I hope you don't mind but I am wading through the back stuff to see what you have done since landing in Sydney.
I just had to comment on your comment about librarians!!! I really do hope that we not all that bad - or perhaps I could revitalise the library staff if I did some job hunting in Australia!!
Hi Sam -
Mind you now, I worked in public libraries for 6 years and my mother has been a librarian for 30+, so my observations as to the preponderance of stereotypes among library staff are based on in depth research and not just a few passing encounters. My theory is that the nature of the job often attracts a large segment of bookish people with poor social skills. That is, people who for whatever trauma suffered in their lives, turned to the world of books as an escape from harsh realities (as MANY do), and as a consequence neglected to master the basics of effective interpersonal communication.
The upside, is that against this backdrop of moping introverts, spunky and enthusiastic librarians shine like a beacon of intrigue...like when, on Halloween, my moterh dons a deerskin cloak, a sword, and viking horns and parades around as Conan the Librarian.
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