Why being ‘Country Touched’ means more

Leaving behind the eternal city...

Leaving behind the eternal city…

As an adjunct to yesterday’s blog ‘Country Touched’ I thought it opportune to talk about how I came to spend a year in Tasmania.
After much deliberation and careful planning which included selling our apartment in Rome, giving up our jobs (we were both self employed) and with a six year old and a babe in arms we took on the high spirited challenge to come to Australia to live permanently. We brought some worldy possessions with us in a container which arrived 6 weeks after us. Fortunately, we were able to live in mum and dad’s B&B which was fully equipped with everything. It was a great way to start.
For me it was a return to my homeland and for my Roman husband it was leaving behind his.

It is not easy to leave one’s home. What remains is the residue of token moments shredded into fragmented recall of time spent with family and friends. One tends to live in the past constantly reminiscing about what was and what was left behind. Don’t get me wrong taking the plunge and leaving your country is because you crave the adventure and something new or different from what you know. At least that was what it was for me when armed for adventure I left Australia. But after 10 years living in a foreign country. Which was always a foreign country even though I did call it home for 10 years it was not the country I was born in or did it have my close knit family. After the birth of my son, my second child, I felt alone and depressed partly because the hormones had kicked in with vengeance but also quite simply I missed the simplicity of the simple Australian life. I was born and bred in Sydney but when mum and dad purchased a thoroughbred horse stud in the North West of Tasmania, I fell in awe of the country life and land every time I holidayed with my little girl.

So now I’ll take you back to yesterday’s blog and hope that today it may make more sense to those who had wondered where it all began or how it had become….

In Rome getting close to nature is impossible and when you eventually come into contact with it, you are in essence ‘Country Touched’.
If my first novel memoir ever gets published then I do have plans to write a book about my year in Tasmania down the beaten track because it was an adventure splashed with the exploration of unknown territory in a little isle perched closest to Antarctica.

Thanks for reading…

Country Touched

The blue sky hangs high over the grassy field. The noise of galahs and cockatoos breaks the silence as they fly by watching and listening. A new day has begun.
Within the hour, Dave will let the cattle into their new yard. It’s certainly in need of a trimming. The sun kissed mountains are illuminated in the background and the frost dampened grass squelches beneath my boots. Bending down, I gently caress the wet strands between my fingertips. Soon, the hungry cattle will dine on this scrumptious feast.
I love the Australian countryside; the crispness in the air and the authenticity that each new day brings.
Nature and her tunes unfold as regularly as the strongest heartbeat. © wordjotter
(Memories of a year in Tasmania)

In My Travels: Cattle Class

Does it get any worse than this?

Does it get any worse than this?

Let me take a split second to off load my armful of barbies, pour a cuppa and sit in my writing chair. Let me savour this non chaotic moment for just a moment, thanks….

Ok, so I got to thinking, If one could eliminate the time spent travelling on flights to places far and beyond and just arrive… Wouldn’t they be an inventive genius? You know, ‘Like I Dream of Jeannie’? In the batter of an eyelid she was where she wanted to be.

Plane travel; it is not the place to spread out and relax if you are unfortunate enough to travel with the cattle. Moo. To extend ones limbs is oh but a dream, un sogno.One holds onto the ambitious ideology that the hours will eventually end (which they do) and that the confined space will be taken away. Feet will be put to steady ground and arms and legs will be free to fill spaces that they were intended to.
Another horrid flying fact is, what if you don’t like your neighbour? I once had a man sitting or rather lying next to me who picked and flicked his toe nails on a long haul flight from Sydney to Bangkok. I was repulsed, I was gagging and I was ready to vomit as I sheltered my toddler from the gruesome creature. But where could I go? What could I do? I reported him to the stewardess whose calm programmed response was to stare at me blankly and retort ‘there is nothing I can do Maam…’ I hate being called ‘Maam’ I find it a word that is degrading for some reason. That nightmarish flight lasted an eternity. We were prisoners. There was only a certain number of times that I could walk the aisles in a state of nauseated and sleep deprived zombieness. Thankfully, the gent in question was not on the next leg of the flight to Rome.

We travel to see and do. It is true ‘the more you see, the more you want to see’. Sometimes remaining stagnant and staple gunned to your own existence is a more viable altenative. Generally, you can save yourself about $2000 in flights and avoid an infuriating neighbour on a flight lasting an eternity.

Are we all really just gluttons for punishment or is sufferance more supportable than seeing and learning nothing?
Or maybe I should just travel business class, they say it’s definitely worth it. Maybe it’s like having an epidural as opposed to giving birth naturally.
But that’s another story…

Inspiration in a cup of…….

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Big discussions are deliberated over a cup of strong brew. Doctors and nurses discuss patient care outcomes and orchestrate positive plans of attack whilst sitting unitedly around a table, take away coffee cups at the ready.

Mmmm, it’s time to sit on a chair at your desk, or on the floor or on the sofa or maybe you do it lying on the bed. Quite possibly you’re doing it with an added tit bit.

I’m talking about having a cup of something while you write, contemplate or ponder. A diverse train of thoughts is conjured up while you sip away. I personally love a cup of hot strong coffee with just a dash of full cream milk. I write and jot whilst savouring the warmth and flavour of my favourite drink. For the duration of that coffee I relax and think or sometimes relax and write. I know others who are fine tea lovers who consume copious cups each day and find solace in each one.

“There is a great deal of poetry and fine sentiment in a chest of tea.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

Sipping, thinking, pausing, contemplating and dipping.

 

“Espresso is to Italy, what champagne is to France.”
Charles Maurice de Talleyrand

Yes, sometimes I like to dip a couple of shortbread biccies. If I’m writing in the afternoon I might like to indulge in a cuppa with a donut. It’s very naughty but the caffeine fix collaborating with the forces of the sugar reinvigorate the slowing thought processes and provoke the ability to think again.

If on a Friday evening and at the end of a fulfilling and jam packed week I still feel the urge to write, I might pour a glass of red vino or a chilled glass of white. Procrastinating, sitting at my desk and sipping I  begin to dawdle, jot down quotes, formulate sentences and string phrases. It’s amazing how the writing seems to pour out as the glass of wine diminishes.  Is it coherent? I’d have to check on that tomorrow. I flick off the switches, hover the cursor over ‘Shut Down’ and click on the mouse. The screen goes blank and I turn off the lamp.

Good night my electronic friend, until tomorrow.

 

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Hello world! Fairy size accolades

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It is so exciting to be able to write on my newly created blog. I love writing, I find it relaxing and a divine way to unwind through words and contemplations.

Did I mention I have just completed a novel memoir? I am really excited about it. Firstly, I am jumping out of my skin because as I sit immersed in a sea of paperwork, I have actually finished it! Secondly, it has taken me over eighteen years to complete it (I am being truly, madly and honestly serious) and thirdly I am wishfully hopeful it will be published by a publishing house large or small.

I am going to sit back and absorb the silence in the air and in my typing finger tips as I inhale the excitement of ‘finishing something’. There is a sense of achievement and solace in completing something you have wanted and worked on for many long hours. I am going to take a moment to wallow in my own accolades (though fairy size they may be).

Words, without them there will be no more stories to tell…..