toast for tea

I stayed in bed until ten o’clock today. On a Wednesday! The house quiet, dog curled up at my feet, good book, sun shining in through the window (which via the trees makes an interesting PowerPoint presentation of abstract art on my wall), permission granted to not turn up for work. Bliss. Almost...Isn’t there always a catch? In this case it’s a throat that’s been filed with an emery board, cough to rival my chain-smoking Aunt Agatha’s and nose that drips with more ferocity than the tap in the bath – which of course we keep a bucket under. Der! Now I sit in the sun, in my pjs on the back deck. Drugged and nasal sprayed, it’s almost enjoyable. I close my eyes and feel the warmth on my lids, listen. The wind in the gum trees sounds like a million children shaking bits of tinsel. A yappy dog in some far away neighbour’s yard barks spasmodically at some phantom intruder. (Or maybe a real one!) The Belgrave train trundles along through Heatherdale and Mitcham stations and I can hear the bel

My life is so obscenely busy I can only think in lists. This list inspired by the aroma of pancakes wafting down the stairs as I emerged from the bathroom this morning. Teenager in the kitchen can be a good thing. A remembering of childhood: · Watching television in the lounge room while consuming a plateful of steaming hot lemon and sugar pikelets Mum cooked for supper. Keeping a tally of how many we’d all consumed. Results staggering. · Kevin Dennis New Faces. Judging panel – Mum, Dad, me. · Midday Sunday. World Championship Wrestling. Killer Kowalski, Mario Milano, Brute Bernard. (Why did I watch this? Why can I remember a bunch of fat guys’ names when I can’t remember my grade six teacher?) · Glued to the screen. Do not disturb. The Monkees. Peter Tork. (I went to their concert and screamed myself silly. Then endured off-the-scale embarrassment when Dad came to pick me up and I couldn’t talk. Before the show I gave a parcel to one of the tech crew. A week later I saw a photo taken

I can’t get used to looking out at the rabbit’s hutch and seeing it empty. And as for peeling the carrots and topping and tailing the beans – I never thought such a mundane task could bring on such a wash of sadness. Several days ago, Teddy, our rabbit, remained huddled up in his straw when I went out to feed him and give him a pat. This was unusual. Usually he'd hop into the outer section of his hutch eager for food. I picked him up and put him on the grass, but he couldn’t support himself and kept falling over. (He keeps falling over in my mind. I see his skinny little legs kicking out to the side, flailing as he tries to right himself and hop away. It’s a harrowing image.) After a while, however, he seemed to recover, and I was relieved when he wolfed down his carrots and beans in true-to-form Teddy style. But I had a feeling when I took him to the vet later that day he wouldn’t be coming home. The vet suggested there was neurological damage and that the loss of function was pr