All the days

How are you?

We came down here to regroup, to chill out, and mainly because I lost my job. Actually, I quit my job which wasn't a particularly wise move because, as I have subsequently found out, at my age, they wouldn't even offer me an interview for my old position. But I had to have my moment of glory, telling Rick and the others to fuck off before marching out the front door, head held high, an act of defiance and heroism, well, at least in my mind. It was probably just as I was turning the key in the ignition, sitting in my overheated car, that I thought, "Oh shit. Now that wasn't really too smart”.

I'm not a hundred percent sure why I did it. Usually, I can cope. Usually, I would have cooled down. Not this time. I didn't tell Deb that I'd quit. I modified the truth. I told her that they fired me, just to allow myself some time to think things through. I don’t want to talk about it, I said. This immediately caused problems in the form of arguments and tension. The reason being that Deb knows what I'm like and is alert to all my bullshit, so she didn't believe that they would just fire me out of the blue after eight years of reasonable service. And in Deb's case, I am hopeless when it comes to sustaining a lie, even a small one. I usually give myself away within days, if not hours.

We came down here and things have been better ever since. We are in a bubble. All we do is eat, swim, read and then do it all over again the following day. It is a good pattern that has everyone in a relatively happy frame of mind, my daughter Monica included, even after she discovered (horror of horrors)! there was no internet (There is but it’s hidden in a cupboard). And therefore, the usual unrelenting stream of moody selfies posted online would not be possible. In other words, I have my daughter back, temporarily at least. And for the time being, I don't have to worry about her putting herself out there as some kind of pouting, soft core porn starlet.

So yes, every day is the same as the previous one but in a good way. Long, warm days rolled out one after the next, with all the members of my family's diametrically opposed personalities somehow balanced out and working in unison for once.

Of course, there is no money coming in (trips into town, stopping at the ATM make us wince) but in terms of reduced stress and general fulfilment, this extended holiday makes our regular life seem a bit insane. We go swimming once a day, at the pond dug out by the mining company. It's a large body of water, instantly colder when you dive below the surface, surrounded by a neat, new growth forest. There is a jetty and what must be an imported sliver of beach, made up of course sand contain shell fragments. And one kilometre down the road, an old heritage pub where we usually stop for a drink on the way home, watched over closely by the dead: the long-bearded miners and town drunks, a history reaching as far back as the 1920's captured in the black and white photographs that line the walls.

After this, we walk back to the house, talking along the way, to read and take naps, being out in the sun having taken its toll on everyone. We have had some great meals in this house. I mean good food made primarily from the veggie garden out back which is exploding at the moment with tomatoes, gourds, beans and much more. It is amazing to see the kids really understand where their food comes from. We seriously talk about staying down here but what then? How would that affect the children in the long run? How would it affect us? You look at local people and think are you happy because you live here? Or is this just the way you are?

Casey has given us a few more weeks at the house if we want it (which we do). I still think I should have followed his route. He was the one who, straight after Uni, opted for a mining career while we were all scoffing at the idea of chasing the dollar and off 'finding ourselves'. And now look at him, eighteen years on and he has a spare house just laying around. Granted he doesn't have a family but sometimes I seriously ask myself, would I have been happier to follow his path? Sometimes I think I might have been.

What's not to like about this place? Every window has a view of rolling green hills, sectioned off into the paddocks of the neighbouring farms. Being here is good for everyone, including Jacob my son. It makes you realise that children penned in concrete environments and manicured backyards, well, it's completely different to this experience because, in the city, there is no real understanding or respect for nature. Think about it; do you every really feel awe standing in a suburban park? Looking at nature from the outside and being immersed in nature are two very different things. But despite all these groovy, back-to-nature good vibes, we have to remind ourselves that nowadays this kind of living is a luxury for most people. That for most of the world’s population, the view outside their windows is of manmade junk and concrete.

The other evening Jacob left that bloody plastic sword he has been bashing his older sister with, out in the back paddock and when he realised it was missing, he started whining. So I said, okay, okay, stop whining and go get it. But he wanted us, or more specifically his mother, to got out there with him. All this after I told him to leave the fucking sword in the house when we went on our evening walk around the property a few hours before.

And I'll admit that it would be a frightening prospect for a little kid, going out there, the hills and paddocks fast receding into darkness as the sun went down, with the insect noise pulsing. He tried to pull his usual bullshit, trying to get his mother to cave in because basically, Jacob has her wrapped around his little finger. But then, after realising he’s on his own, off he goes, still carrying on, whining and dragging his heels in the dust, before setting off into the grass, which is about waist high for him. All we could hear in the gloom was Jacob carrying on. It was one of these moments when I had to stop myself from thinking, is this really my son? And is he intrinsically like this or did we make him like this? Even though we were keeping an eye on him from the veranda, his mother started fretting about snakes. Oh...he's going to get bitten by a brown snake, she was saying. He won't get bitten by a bloody snake, I said. Just let him do something by himself for christ sakes. This probably came out sounding a bit harsh but I felt strongly about it. I wanted him to do it alone.

And he did. He went out there, found the sword and came running back, running even though I told him to watch his footing. I'll tell you, as this was unfolding, as he came running back towards the house, I realised that what we were witnessing was an important rite of passage moment: my son coming out of grass, returning to the warm glow of the farmhouse, his idiotic sword held aloft. Sure, everyone, including Jacob, was carrying on like we'd sent him off to survive in the desert for three days and nights but still, for him it was an accomplishment. A sense of pride caught me by surprise.

Anyway since then he has been more motivated and confident, and less of a baby. And we have gone off on a few male only adventures involving compasses, walkie-talkies, canteens, pocket knives, hiking, climbing and anything else I can remember from the year or two I was a reluctant boy scout.

All right, that's it for me. This pen is running out of ink and for some reason, Casey doesn't have any replacements. I have looked in every draw. You have to wonder about a house where you can't find a single ballpoint pen. So all I’m doing at this moment is carving words into the page, one after the next. Time to stop.

Cheers,