My curtains are fading

Today on the tram, I listened to a burly CFA firefighter in a much worn firefighter uniform and a chipper man in a suit discuss how tired they were and blame daylight savings rather than being out all night on the piss. About how it takes a fortnight to get used to. I felt like joining in and telling them about Grace and her messed up sleeping schedule. And how I picked this of all mornings to wash pink blankie, therefore turning a fragile napless morning into toddler hell. Yellow blankie is OK, but in a meltdown, only pink blankie can save the day. Unfortunately pink blankie came with us to the family reunion thingo yesterday and was not fit to be returned to a freshly changed cot.

It didn't help that we all overslept this morning. I woke up at about 8.00am, still having the most bizarre dream involving some old friends I haven't seen for a long time, a rooftop art installation and an uncatered flatwarming party. I was simultanously trying to go to the shop to get ingredients for sandwiches while trying to keep my guests from either leaving or fighting amongst themselves. And then when I did manage to drag myself out of bed, to face Monday's work of (not very thourough) housecleaning and grocery shopping, with an afternoon doctors appointment on the other side of town, I battled extreme fatigue all day. Like I'd been out dancing all night, only not as clear headed.  I'm blaming daylight savings and I think I can get away with that for at least a week.

The most fun part of the day was after the appointment where the doctor said that I was sane enough not to return for a check-up for another four to six months. Unless I get pregnant again. In which case I am to return immediately. Anyway, I leapt off the tram on the spur of the moment to go and look at the yellow peril (Vault) which has moved to a site in Grant street behind the VCA. I see this everytime I catch the tram along St KIlda road and have been meaning to go and have a closer look for a while. As a young adult, I used to love this sculpture in its first home in the city square and was quite sad when I visited it in that horrible spot by the river, near the convention centre. I think it looks quite good in its current home. And it no longer smells.
I have mixed feelings about these family reunions. They are held on the day that we used to celebrate my father's paternal grandmother's birthday. She lived until she was over 100 and the last that she attended was twenty odd years ago. The party used to be held in a national park near the country town where she lived and I can remember her, her house, her handmade stuffed toys and her amazing cactus garden. She had thirteen children, so my dad has over sixty first cousins. When I introduce myself at such gatherings, I am daughter of Robert, son of George and everyone knows where I belong. I think that's part of what I like.

I also really enjoyed talking with my aunts, who have read my blog (hello aunties). As one auntie said, she feels like she knows me better than ever before. It's a funny feeling that. My dad threatened jokingly to tell everyone when he did the family news section. I would have been dead embarrassed if he had. It's not that I mind people I know reading the blog, indeed I'm quite flattered and pleased. But I feel uncomfortable telling people I don't know that well about it. Anyway he didn't, and I quite enjoyed the part of the afternoon where representatives from each branch of the family give a little report.

The turn out wasn't as good as the last one in Melbourne, year before last and I wonder if it's the drought, or that people don't think it's important any more. I also wonder whether sometimes people don't go because they maybe feel that their life isn't as brilliant as that of some of their relations. Sort of the poor cousin syndrome. There's a heavy weighting towards both the very old and very young. Although as one of my aunts pointed out, now that my grandfather and his brothers are no longer with us, there's a lot less drunken staggering and uncle kissing going on. Not that I have strong memories of that part of the childhood reunions. I mostly remember camping in the mallee and the children's races up the sandunes where my fitter country second cousins had all the advantage.

I wish I could have taken some photos of the day, there was a beautiful scene in the afternoon light from across the pool. It looked like a painting. But I don't think I can put pictures of people on my blog unless I'm sure they wouldn't mind, or I have their permission. Or maybe I'm just chicken. It would have been nice to take some pictures on the way home too, I love doing this when G is driving but he'd had too many bridgewater reds and some wine, and as I had been on the diet ginger beer all day, I had to drive.  Even though I was tired. Still blaming daylight savings.

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