Frag ments

 G’day or good morning or somewhere in between.

I have been so full of thoughts, memories, rediscoveries, along with disengaging and engaging, that I have been hesitant to try to capture any of it.

I wanted to have a storyline, and not be randoming about like an overblown balloon with air escaping from its loose tie.

Then again, I have always been a fan of Brownian motion to give purpose to what otherwise might seem purposeless. 

I was recently reading to Ann a passage, part of a paragraph that I liked, from Nicholas Rothwell’s book Journeys To The Interior: “No, the fragment, the symbol-laden fragment, rather than the flowing sequence, was the necessary form for what I had to say: what I meant was in fragments, and dust; it was best told in fragments—fragments were all that I could manage, and even they seemed too controlled, too much a bid to reimpose order on a flux of shimmering, glancing, barely casual connecting chains.”

Our Deakin colleague, friend, and goodbye-for-now party host, Paula’s advice about planning for the Warrnambool end game was well given, and well taken. I was prepared. I had a place inside me for it. Warrnambool is still there, vital and alive, part of my fabric of being.  There is no unraveling now that I am back in the Chico fray, just making new clothes out of it.

I have been struck, and a bit stuck, not by any disconnecting with all that is Warrnambool, but by the lack of consciously or consistently connecting with Chico.

There were many fragments though.

One of the transferable skills I acquired while away was walking. Home has a whole new view from the bi-ped perspective.

My path of travel to the gym is along the Esplanade (a wide tree lined boulevard), and then a bike path that follows a decommissioned freight railway line. And then a pedestrian crossing with a sign admonishing cars to yield to bikes and pedestrians. Good thing, as I’m still not sure which way to look.

I see restored Victorian homes, some as residences reclaiming a bit of faded glory, others repurposed into professional boutique office space.

Blue jays abound and many squirrels in the trees and on the ground. (I smile at thoughts of Kristian and Bernie coming here and meeting our “heaps of squirrels” as they would say.)

Two days in a row of greeting a man in black pants on a bus stop bench who has one hand firmly gripped on the steadying bottle in a brown paper bag, the other hand shakily extended accompanied by the wavering refrain of, “I only need 85 more cents to get some French fries.”

Remnants of homeless camps where the old rail bridge crosses Rio Lindo Channel.  Not sure about the people who were there, how much of them left behind. Or what of those still there.

A beautiful shadow pattern of fence posts along the path.

Hot blue empty skies, with only a tease of clouds over the far distant mountains.

Lawns being watered by automatic sprinklers during the day in the midst of a drought.

Trying to make eye contact with passing people, offering a nod of the head or a hello, getting little in return.

The gym itself, the experience is quite familiar. I have a new routine there, but it’s like I never left.

It is at the open house for the Torres Shelter expansion that being away and being back came in to focus. The Chico Community Shelter Partnership, now the Torres Shelter, is an emergency homeless shelter four others and I helped to start about fifteen years ago. It models building community on a foundation of believing in and belonging to the greater good of people. 

It was as if I had left, but I was returning to my country.  Welcomed and well come on in and no escaping being fully back to here and now, with past, present, and future experiencing rolling into one timeless moment. So many old and new not yet met friends contributing to and creating a wonderful sense of place. A place and sense of belonging. Home again.

I heard Bernie’s voice when coming through the door a few days ago, as Ann was Skyping with her. Ever so sweet the tones of “ ‘stralia ” resonating in heart and home.

Ann and I are still creating our home space. This weekend will be our art open house with both Ann and Australian works hung all over, before we repaint.

The solstice is once again at our doorstep.  

Come on in and sit for awhile.

Warrnambool and Chico are getting blended in a most wonderful way.