Khe Sanh

“Well the last plane of Sydney's almost gone.” From Cold Chisel’s .


Dear Reader(s):

If you haven’t figured it out by now your guide is just making this up as he goes along. You see, he has this quirk where he flashes forward way to often and a smile and hello leads to visions of Gardenias wrapped in brown and pink satin. He also has a problem of letting go of the past which is why this blog is a bit behind. You see in his mind, he thinks that if he can delay posting his final Sydney blog that he is still there and not really trapped in a 9x9 office with a view of a derelict building watching rain and or snow fall. Instead, he is having a rerun of his perfect Friday.

The day started off with the usual coffee and banana bread with a Tim Tam for good measure. From there the minutes flew while we fed, changed, fed, changed, changed then fed the Chupacabra. She went down for her afternoon nap so Iris took me out to lunch to “celebrate” my last day. Obviously, this is not something I wanted to celebrate. In fact it is the opposite of celebration and more of banishment. Or to put it back in Buffy terms I was in heaven. I think I was in heaven.

The food was great at our little bistro by the sea and we continued our chat about life, love and the pursuit of an episode of the View where Elizabeth doesn’t come across so sanctimonious. We did our 4 o’clock walk along the beach with me rocking the Bjorn and got our picture taken. The usual exchange with my sister occurred recounting my love life and its’ future occurred while my sister nodded her head and attempted to sound interested. I kid, my sister was enthralled, and by enthralled I mean she stayed awake. We passed this street artist who had been there several times during our walk and he sold us a painting of the beach which I have at my house. Later on we went to dinner at the Awaba café (where I get our breakfast) and had a nice dinner talking about things in generalities while trying to talk in specifics. It was funny though because Matt thinks that constant contact with someone makes it less meaningful AND less efficient. Obviously the over communicative pairing of Iris and I disagreed profusely. I still think there is nothing wrong with talking to my sister daily. We get all of the good stuff out of the way quickly and then when something major happens we can discuss that instead of getting through the pain of the automatic how’s work, etc. topics.

I did my last nightly feed and had a great little chat with my Elle who cooed and burped when appropriate. Ironically it was one of the best conversations I have had in a long while. Saturday brought a tender moment where my sister and the baby sat on the bed with me while we chatted and played. Weirdly it made me flashback to when I was in 8th grade and my beloved Caroline Powell was moving back to England causing me my first great heart break of my young life.

I still remember feeling too stupid to talk to my parents about it and my arch nemesis (Iris) finding out about it. I locked myself in my room as moody teenage boys are prone to do and cried my eyes out. When there was a knock on my door I knew I was doomed for a lifetime of teasing for my moment of weakness. Instead, Iris took me to her room and held me until I cried myself to sleep. The next morning we acted as nothing had happened and were still as adversarial as ever but with a hint of understanding and a glimmer of compassion.

I rejoined the present thanks to a well placed diaper change and then finished packing my room. We took a few more pictures and shared a few more precious moments before the cab came to take me away. I managed to dry my eyes long enough to get on my flight before heading back to a place that even though was familiar was far more foreign and far colder with only a few nuggets of memory to keep me warm.