My blog feels unfamiliar and writing strangely daunting. I give it yet another new face and hope that the words will flood to me when promised a quiet sanctuary. The new space takes on the peace and minimalism that I wish I could bring to my own head. There is so much noise; it will be days before the din quells into a quiet rumble.

I lose sense of time. My head throbs in pain and my boyfriend looks at me with fear and sadness in his eyes. My days are a blur upon reflection. I cannot distinguish the overarching feeling of the time; through the fog I remember long lunches in the sunshine, interesting conversations with strangers, nights spent cuddling and planning with my love. But I also remember letting five days pass without taking essential care of and sobbing quietly in the car home from my brother's wonderful 21st dinner when barely minutes before I had been laughing gaily and teasing my siblings.

An old friend picks me up and we follow the road to the sea. My father lived here once, not so long ago, but we do not pass his old home. Port Willunga has never looked so beautiful. I didn't realise how much I needed to see the sea and run around on the beach. The sun browns my skin as we wade out deep into the clear water. I cannot remember the last time I was in the sea, but I feel as though I could stay here for the rest of time. I sink down and let the water consume me. It is blissful oblivion and I could be the only person in the whole world. We splash and laugh and I am teased for my poor catching skills. I bond with my friend's twelve-year-old sister and carry her around on my back so she can catch the ball on my behalf.

Back at the house we delight in a long, lazy lunch and grand conversation. I am the only person at the table who has yet to live in a non-English speaking country and a burning desire to catch a plane right now comes over me momentarily. I remind myself that my adventures with Tom are only just beginning. I quietly plan our next adventure, caught by a lust for a change of scenery.

I wish every day of summer could be defined by such beautiful surroundings and interesting folk.

christmas celebrations

I had a whole post written about our first Christmas celebration of the year because it actually occurred almost an entire fortnight before the day itself. In the craziness of the lead-up to Christmas, though, it never got finished or posted. One of my resolutions for this year is to be a better blogger, but more on that in a post later this week.

We celebrated early with Tom's family because his sister, Millie, & brother-in-law, Ben, would be (should I now say were?) holidaying in Vietnam with Ben's family for Christmas.

I love Tom's family. I love how his Grandma can't hear anything, but barely wears her hearing aids (despite her son-in-law being an audiologist). I love how she makes fun of herself and I love the stories his Mama (other grandmother) tells about being brought up by Catholic nuns and going to dances hoping to meet a soldier and the long line of girls kissing their suitors goodbye outside the hostel just before curfew on a Friday night. I love how well everyone gets along and how Tom's parents welcomed my mum to the festivities and how openly they welcomed me to their Christmas festivities two Christmases ago.

We started with an array of dips and fresh bread form the markets and then moved onto fresh oysters and prawns. There was an outrageous amount of food for dinner even though there were only ten of us. Turkey, lamb, pork, steak, roast vegetables, potato bake, three or four salads ... it went on forever. The lemon tart I made for dessert was a hit, too.

My favourite part of the evening came after dinner, though. Armed with wine and santa hats we toured the neighbourhood Christmas light displays. Ben and I developed a rating system with bonus 'trick points' for installations that made good use of flashing light patterns.

On the 22nd, Tom and I hosted Orphan's Christmas for my two best friends and their partners. The night involved a failed attempt at a light walk like the one we enjoyed with Tom's family. Unfortunately no one in our area seems to care much for Christmas so it ended up being a wine-time walk with no lights to speak of. Nevertheless, the night was perfect. Tom made a roast lamb and I made another lemon tart (because if it ain't broke, don't fix it). Good company and good conversation is the best kind of christmas.

On Christmas Day itself, we went to my mum's for brunch. I love Christmas brunch with my family. Always featured are my two favourite dips, warm croissants and seemingly endless amounts of smoked salmon. It was the perfect way to spend Christmas day. My dad was over from Melbourne so he even came too which made it even better. It's the first Christmas with both of my parents for about six or seven years I think. We drank mimosas in the sunshine and ate fruit and I taught my Popple to use his new ereader and my Nana rolled her eyes at his acquisition of yet another gadget that she cannot understand.

We spent the remainder of Christmas day driving to Naracoorte and then drinking beers in the garden as the sun set. Along the way we just had to stop and take a picture of this sign:

Hope you all had wonderful Christmases and spent time with those you love.

Back in a day or two with some words about and pictures of our little road trip. xx

saying goodbye.

A few hours from now we are going to say goodbye to our beautiful little pup of twelve years. I grieved for him six months ago, when this subject was first broached. But we weren't ready then. We weren't ready to say goodbye. I didn't expect I would have to grieve so greatly this time; I had known so long that his days with us were numbered. But once the tears started falling I was useless to stop them. I felt his loss throughout my entire body. I'm not entirely sure I'm ready to say that last goodbye. But how I feel doesn't matter; I don't live with him anymore, I don't know how bad things get. How bad he gets. The unbiased voice in my head knows it's time, but I've been fighting that voice. I had thought that I was fighting for him, but the way to fight for him now is to let him go.