Motherly bones.

I miss Wolfgang. I want to be swinging and bouncing and twirling him in my arms. We have decided that we will move back home after Christmas, for this very reason. I don't want to miss any more of his precious life. Chris and Jen are venturing to America with him for January and February, but this will leave us their Union Street abode to house sit while we look for our own little roof.

We have been very happy since visiting Newcastle a few weeks ago. It seems we brought the good weather back down to Victoria with us, because the sun has been gloryfying our days so much so that my arms have a red tinge. We have spent our energies cleaning and restoring our house to a livable state, and going on trips to Daylesford, Creswick and Mount Buninyong to camp and/or admire the wilderness and coffee shops. I have begun cleaning out my system again, eating a delicious vegetarian diet and remembering to drink lots of water. And have started writing out all the letters I owe people from my previous laziness.

I am very excited about exploring a changed (renewed?) Newcastle. I felt my home was in such disaray for so long, with everyone lacking in energy and fruit. But now with Marcus Westbury pushing life back into the art scene, and This Is Not Art (TINA)/National Young Writers Festival passing for the seventh consecutive yr, everyone seems to be buzzing with passionate energy again. When minding Wolfgang in the garden a few weekends back, I sat in a gathering of friends who all spoke defiantly about their ideas, with a thirst for action and change. These are boys who run record distribution shops from run-down store fronts, and loop music galleries, zine shops, architecture exhibitions, aboriginal art galleries, craft shops, tea houses. And with so much more opening up. How the heck did it all happen?? I am so inspired and thankful for Newcastle finding it's razz again.

I hope that Roland and I find a nice little home to settle in for a good few years. I want a yard for growing things, and so that I can buy a dog to name Josephine and keep by my side. I would like a staffy, or maybe a collie.

Ah ef it. I cannot ever be bothered with finishing to write anything.

There's an old child's swing set on the lawn,
and an ivied wall lured by the years.
A neckerchiefed spaniel patrols the swamp
and drinks from the garden of our tears

There are many rooms and many floors,
a billion up and a billion down.
I'm not sure God knows we're here,
Most nights it keeps to itself.

There's a widow's wing and an unloved wing,
and the unwanted floor towards the rear.
I've tried to memorise their names,
but no sooner one dies than another appears.

There were bible verses all down the halls,
but they soon got replaced with explcit cartoons.
There are lipstick marks on all our collars,
and the sign on the gate reads 'Come Back Soon'

We all do our best to keep it clean,
but some guy's minds are like a sieve.
Sometimes It's a little hard to sleep at night,
in the house where we all live.

Now when I walk the grounds at dawn,
I hear the sounds of far off bells
I lay my feet out in the reeds,
and dream of being somewhere else.

So boy, next time you are in town,
just ring the bell and I'll let you in.
I don't think you're going to need directions -
Just ask for the house where we all live.