Feels like a Seachange (Jeremy)

AS with life, as with competition, as with challenges, as with everything, and so it is with study. The most dangerous time of life is the first fifteen minutes (and the last fifteen can be pretty dodgy, too), the hardest steps of any race are the first ten and the last ten, and so the hardest thing to do with study is starting it, and finishing it. That’s my excuse for jumping on the computer now and writing my blog when, in reality, I really should be dealing with Maths, which is currently sitting at the bottom of my Macpac underneath more dirty clothes than any laundromat would ever wish to see.

I guess this brings me to the body of this post. The reason why my Maths project is sitting at the bottom of my pack (competely untouched and undisturbed, might I add) is not exactly total lethargy; and it’s certainly through no unfortunate circumstance or mishap. I have just spent an amazing three and a half days down at Lakes Entrance visiting Dad and his wife, Kerrilee, as I try to do whenever I have any sort of break. The difference this time, however, was that this time my adorable little sister Caroline was already up there, and of course that Kim came with me.

This brings me to a slight conundrum for the second time in posting on this website this year; that of what to write, and what to not. I have no issue with making my own private life public, well, to a large extent anyway, but to what degree can I talk about other people? Where do you draw the line between funny and embarassing, where do you draw the line between inquiry and invasion? Where do make the cut between what is wonderful and what is intimate, and above all, how exactly do you make that decision on what is ok to share and what is somebody else’s property? My relationships with my family, with Kim and with my friends are a massive part of my life; indeed, they ARE my life, and so to ignore them here and to pretend that I live in a vacuum would be to talk about a mere shadow of who I really am. But to betray everyone else’s trust and expose them to the general public (and, believe me, despite what the comments bar may say, this site is read by a LOT of people, so says the hit counter) would be the far greater crime. Inside ourselves we all share secrets both terrible and wonderful, and whether or not we should guard them we still all have the right to do so. So, in this post I will try to protect those about whom I write, and in a way it feels like I have already resigned myself to writing only around a quarter of the experience.

No matter how you get there (unless perhaps you are the owner of either a light aircraft or a jet-assisted human catapault and a desire not to live for very much longer), it’s a long way to Lake’s Entrance and for us that meant roughly five hours on a combination of train and bus. Things started well when, in an astonishing act of charity, Kim’s little sister came into the city to help her onto the platform (though I must admit to a certain level of panic when I saw her on the bus and thought that the whole family had come to see Kim off) and didn’t let up for the whole four days. The trip went smoothly (in V-Line speak, this means that the toilets worked and the train went forwards) and by the evening we were busy introducing Kim to the house tucked in amongst the trees on a small dirt road ten minutes from the town centre. She settled into the family like a hand inside a glove and within ten minutes it seemed as though we had been dating for years and that this was far from the first time we’d travelled to Dad’s together.

I think, too, that it was a welcome change for Dad and Kerrilee to suddenly have the family around the house swollen from a base of two up to a raucous five. Even I noticed the difference – having normally travelled up there by myself – from three people to five. The house became less of a pair or a trio and more of a community; the laughter, the teasing and above all the sharing was contagious. Even after dinner, myself being a fairly accomplished guitarist and Dad having taken up the blues harmonica, the whole family got together with the African drum in tow and had a bit of a jam together. I don’t know if they’d be all that happy to admit it, but I think that having so many people in the house again made it truly come alive. Needless to say, the television was hardly ever on in the evenings. It does help when you’re only up there for three nights, though.

At one point in one of these evenings, mostly after my irritating insistence and constant nagging, Kim pulled out her piano books to play to the family just before we were ready to cook dinner. To those of you who have never heard her play (and this is just a guess, but I think it will be most of you), you would be told by her, in a tone split between modesty and embarassment, that she can play not too badly. Let me set the record straight. The woman plays the piano like she sold her soul to the devil at the crossroads for it. She quietly, almost invisibly opened her book to the most impressive piece in her repetoire and shifted into another world at the piano stool. Caroline, standing at the kitchen bench, froze with her spoon midway to the bowl, pointed to the piano and silently mouthed “What the HELL?!?” to me with eyes wide open. Kerrilee and Dad walked in slack-jawed when Kerrilee delivered possibly the best line of the whole four days; “How many f*cking notes are there on that page?!!?”.

This wasn’t the first time that Kim would pop up and surprise the family. She later assumed the title of official Yahtzee Queen of the House as well as its resident piano genuis. Matters came to a head over a particular in-family card game called May-I? (suggested subtitle: “No, f*ck off, it’s mine!”). This game could possibly cause family breakup if used in the correct circumstances. Dad and I were locked in a fierce battle to beat the other, having both assumed an early lead over the other two, and, wouldn’t you know it, Kim strolls in to take the plaudits as the two boys cut off their noses to spite their faces, beating me by a mere six points. I think Dad was particularly impressed by that as there’s nothing that satisfies him more than me not winning at that game.

Later on in the stay, Dad took the day off work and we all went into Lakes itself for the day whilst Kerrilee was stuck at work. We decided that the best way to create a bit of family friction was a round of minigolf, just to get the competitive juices flowing. We teed off, as is polite, in order from youngest to oldest, and as Caroline was ready to putt I turned to Dad and said, “Isn’t it always tempting to just try and spank these things out of sight?”. “Don’t speak too soon”, replied Dad, and no sooner had he finished saying this than Caroline, failing to understand the finer nuances of the word SUBTLETY, had taken a gigantic WHACK! and firmly planted the little yellow ball in the garden lining the back fence. We retrieved the ball for her and decided, for her second attempt, to stand backwards of the tee, a move which proved equally hazardous when her second shot was cracked straight into the wall and bounced equally straight back at us. Her third shot stayed on the course as it hit the barrier at the end, and, wouldn’t you believe it, slowly rolled straight back to the club head at her feet. Over the course, she managed to hit poor Kim in the midriff, another lady in the ankle, and gave us heart flutters when we saw that perennial family with small children who seem ever-present in dangerous situations in Caroline’s flight path. On top of that, she also knocked in three holes-in-one but of course took them all on the second shot after she had routinely sent her first to all corners of the course. I eventually beat Dad by a stroke in a nail-biting finish.

There was so much more than happened, and so much more that I cannot say. Those few days meant a lot to me; they highlighted how much damn work my Mum does as a single mother, for a start. They highlighted how much I love both my parents, and also my relationship with Kerrilee too, though that’s really a friendship rather than anything parent-related, and much the better for it. It is a shame that there is five hours between Melbourne and Dad’s house, but that is the way that it had to be at the time. It was also wonderful to spend some time up there with Caroline as well; something that I haven’t done for well and truly over a year. I haven’t been able to say this for all my life – indeed, in retrospect, as a kid I think I quite resented her in a way – but I adore her to pieces for the mature, thoughtful and loving little sister that she is. You know, for so many years I wanted to be a role model to her, a guiding hand if you will, and only in the last few years have I discovered how to become one by not trying to be one. Strange how life works like that.

But, in the end, this trip was mostly about me and Kim, and that was without doubt the best part of the whole stay. It was wonderful to finally get some decent, private time together, not just two hours grabbed after Uni before work, and not necessarily with either family, just genuine ‘us’ time, and it was magical. Our relationship moves from strength to strength and I am riding a cresting wave; I fly through the water wondering where the journey goes next. In all truth, as I write this, I miss her. I miss not being able to walk up the stairs and see her sitting there, in the living room, smiling at me. I hope she doesn’t mind me writing that, as it is about me.

As for the rest of the trip? It was about us; the two of us, the three of us and the five of us. It was the best trip that I have ever had up to Lakes and that is entirely down to two of my favourite women in the world, my sister and my girlfriend. And for that, I thank them both.
jez.