A Report From the Bleak Mid-Winter

Of late, I have been in one of those repetitious go-to-work-make-dinner-quiet-weekend-at-home phases which makes it hard to summon blog writing. But, a look over the past couple of months warrants at least a brief catch up, if for no other reason than to say, "We're still here. All is well. This is what life is like."


We started July on a sad note, saying goodbye to our closest friends, Mimi and Joe who moved back to the States. Such is expat life, I am learning, as we've now said goodbye in two years to two couples who we had become close to. Mimi and I arrived at about the same time and we had an instantaneous bond on our first Bridge date. We and our husbands came to be like family to each other in that way that friends do when you are so far away from home. We celebrated Thanksgivings, Christmases, New Years, so many random Sunday night dinners, mid-week shopping dates, and spontaneous mani/pedis. It is priceless to have a friend who you can call on at any time for any silly or large thing, and I dare say that settling into life in Australia would have been boundlessly more difficult without such treasured friends. Mimi's generosity and take-charge personality is already a loss for our little group of friends, as we are all trying to fill the void of organising, creating events, and putting things in their rightful place. I miss them terribly.

Ah, but my years working in regional theatre taught me that the most meaningful of friendships always last, even if their physical presence is fleeting. We hang onto the people we must.

And, life carries on. And, so, July ticked on. After our trip to the Sunshine Coast, I was enamored with my new Kindle, and spent a lot of time curled up in my bathrobe under many blankets (because it is stupid cold here) lost in a Hemingway and Fitzgerald Lost Generation rabbit hole. I think something about the expat life of another era was calling to me, even if that 1920s hard partying Parisian life looks nothing even remotely like my existence.

I came out from under the covers long enough to celebrate my birthday. I started the day with  strawberry pancakes at Pancakes on the Rocks, which is sort of a slightly upscale version of IHOP (and one of the only places in Sydney open 24 hours). After a long wander around the Rocks markets, I treated myself to a mani/pedi date. Then, a friend was so kind as to host a small party at her place where a handful of us gorged on delicious food and the beautiful cake that Partner-in-Crime bought for me. The theme of the day was sugar-overload, and happily so.

The original birthday plan was to gather a group to see The Dark Night Rises, as I am a shameless Batman fan, and thought it was a personal gift to me that it opened on my birthday weekend. But, a tricky ticket situation meant that we saw it the next weekend. As it was a belated birthday celebration, we treated ourselves to Gold Class, which is a wonder of movie-watching. Each person gets to sit in a giant puffy recliner and a waiter brings you drinks and food (this night, P-i-C and I had nachos and sweet potato fries). Afterwards, you can have a few post-film drinks in the private lounge. It's like watching a movie in your own living room, if you happened to live in, like, George Clooney's house. It's insanely expensive for a movie, so Gold Class is a treat best reserved for birthdays, celebrations, and people who stole George Clooney's wallet when visiting his house.

I did not watch the Olympics, mostly because we don't have a TV and I forgot. But, I was charmed to pieces by that silly video of the U.S. swimmers lip sychings to "Call Me Maybe." Though it was kind of ridiculous, and the song is not even American, there was something about the spirit of it that was so American. Only Americans would display that unabashed giddiness and wide open humor. At its core, it showed something about my favorite part of America. It's nice that we won a lot of medals, but to me, even nicer that we are that kind of people.

Last weekend, I took myself on a personal date to see A Chorus Line at the Capitol Theatre. As a wretched theatre snob, I rarely have a taste for big touring musicals, but A Chorus Line holds a special place in my heart. My grandmother gifted me a video of the movie (on Betamax, no less), and I had a rather long obsession with it. It was my first love affair with the theatre, and though I did not exactly understand all of the content, I loved it so, and practiced my kickline, and even sang "Nothing" for drama class in high school. As an adult, learning about the show's origins at The Public Theatre, and how the monologues came from long interview sessions with real dancers, I came to respect the show even more. So, though this was, in my estimation, a pretty poor production of it, I was still so happy to be sitting in that dark theatre with "At the Ballet," "What I Did For Love," "One." and all those splashy gold costumes and jutting top hats parading in front of me.

The winter weather remains a constant curiosity, and speculation piece, especially since I put in a good hour of walking to and from work. After a long stretch of cold, we had a couple of stunning days last week, which many of us were far too bold in proclaiming harbingers of Spring. This weekend, it turned horrible, with record high wind gusts for most of the weekend and bitter cold. Today was rather warm, but not sunny, and I will not make any predictions about what they may or may not mean for the season ahead. I have secret wishes, but would not be so bold as to make them public, let you all curse my name when the space heaters remain on for weeks ahead.

And, so you have it ... this is what it looks like when I have nothing to say. 

Reporting from Sydney, the 7th most livable city in the world: For now, I'm over and out. 

Certainly, there will be nothing more to say again before long.