Dazzling

Saturday: a Haibun

We rise after too few hours' sleep and we must hurry. Our showers are brief. Rod asks if we should eat the neighbour's gift of pastries for breakfast and I agree because it will be rapid and I enjoy a sugar hit in the morning (Walter downstairs works in a bakery and sometimes brings us leftover bread, cakes and pastries that would otherwise have been given to the garbage, or to a pig farm). Rod takes the white paper bag from the pantry and drops it on the bench. It is a heaving, swirling mass of tiny ants; the bag is crawling with them. He shakes the three pastries out onto the breadboard:

huge pink iced doughnuts
punctuated with movement
formic acid sweets

We drive south for three hours. The tourist park is easy to find and overlooks the pretty, flat Pacific, whose surface is broken by the odd dolphin. The aunt, uncle, cousins, sister and nieces are easy to find too. We settle onto pews on the veranda for lunch and conversation. I am rocking slightly with fatigue and agreeably transported by the briny smell of the ocean. I snuffle it in greedy nosefuls. It is a smell I associate with the happy parts of childhood and I cannot get enough. It is a grey day. Overcast skies are my favourite. I have not been well for weeks now but a thin appetite raises its head.

dainty sausages
chickpea tomato salad
wholemeal roll of bread

We are in a hurry to get back to Sydney because we have a shambolic dinner date in the city with friends. Too much is set to happen in the same day sometimes. I wish that our dinner date were a different date, because all I want is to take off my shoes and flop heavily on the couch. I yawn from the suicide seat as the scrubby forest flies past us. The road is full of idiots; it always is. I am bringing part of the beach home with me; the floor of the car is now crunchy. While listening to Nick Cave and Kim Salmon and Tom Waits on shuffle, we chew on rubbish:

minties, sticky, white,
snakes, elastic, blue and red,
twisties, yellow, salt

We walk through the Saturday night chaos of the city down to Darling Harbour. The lights and their reflections are dazzling. We find our friends easily and order aperitifs. The intention of everyone at the table is to eat and drink, no holds barred, no expense spared; our shambolic dinners are seasonal and decadent. This restaurant specialises in meat, particularly red meat which I seldom eat. I do not think I am particularly hungry, but find I want everything on the menu. I have been exhausted lately, probably deficient in iron. I deliberate. We order almost every entree to share:

gaudy bruschetta,
portuguese prawns, haloumi,
mushrooms with feta

I walk outside to take some air and to smoke (the contradictory nature of this action is not lost on me). I sit on the wooden benches overlooking the colourful water but watch instead the passersby. Too many girls teeter past on ridiculous heels and I feel smug about my own elegant but comfortable footwear. A young man stops to ask me why so many people are crowded into this space, watching the water. Is something about to happen or do they always sit there? I don't know, go away. The streetlights have soccer ball motifs over them, and look silly. A digeridoo is droning from a street performer. I go back in:

sweet potato mash
medium rare kangaroo
cool black cherry jus

Rod has ordered a mammoth plate of ribs, Kaurice and Trina have wagyu beef. Two other people have ordered the kangaroo, and we agree that it is tender and delicious. It is noisy in the restaurant and I am straining to hear Grace, opposite me, who I have not met before and who is talking, talking, talking to me. I am annoyed to have been dragged into listening to her; it is a strain and sorry, but not worth the effort. She has decided that I am a like mind, or something (I am not!) The noise swells and then explodes - a fireworks display has commenced over the harbour, explaining the earlier crowds. Dessert arrives:

chili chocolate mousse
mango sorbet, creme brulee,
vanilla icecream

I sit with my long black coffee. It is beautiful coffee and I savour it, despite my full tummy. Full as a goog, as my father used to say - I love that old simile. I am weary though, and I know I will sleep well, regardless of the caffeine hit. Once the enormous bill is settled and everyone has been hugged we head back up for a taxi home. It has been good. A beautiful, mild autumn evening - I am pretty blessed, I feel, to live in this beautiful city. It has been a good day and a good night and I cannot wait for my good, good, good bed. I am also dry, requiring some restorative water:

icy H2O
stunning stream that enlivens
every cell sends thanks