Out shopping this morning and already the apparently ‘hipster’ suburbs I hang out in have the static electricity of Christmas. It’s not the piped Christmas carols or the Commercial Trees with their baubles in the malls. It’s more actual than that.
It’s a frantic, reluctant Hunger Games kind of participation. We’re in it and we don’t want to be.
There are too many people, there’s not enough time. All of this and we weren’t even Christmas shopping. It was fly spray and soda water for us to the tune of The Little Drummer Boy. We forgot to buy bread. We possibly have no crib for a bed.
Only capitalism could manufacture this awful throng. In my socialist idyll it would be just another day cutting grass with a blunt scythe and a handkerchief tied around my headache.
It’s obviously way too early for all this shit to be happening.
Next week it’s Wallington’s birthday and back in the day we could celebrate that, pause, reflect on the great good fortune of our lives, drink, root, buy fly spray, soda water and bread and when December began we could sigh wearily at the approaching joy of Christmas.
Now the joy of Christmas is stuck to us like shit on a shoe from the beginning of November.
I know; go and contract Ebola in Sierra Leone if you don’t like it here. Or jump the queue to Nauru.
Once we got back home all this grief evaporated in the joy of the garden and the vision splendid and the sunlit plains extended out West from our backyard. On a clear day like today we can see Margaret River WA.
High on domestic bliss I put on a load of washing. Some people lose socks. We lose bed linen. I’m not sure how it happens but whole sheet sets have disappeared. This has happened for years. It’s an expensive thread count. Somewhere in our house there’s a lion, a witch and a wardrobe and a well-stocked linen cupboard.
We lose other stuff too. I’ve never found that cheap mobile phone we use overseas – used. Once. Lost.
Receipts, sheets, socks, jewellery, our Team America DVD, novels, parents, pets, time, various LPs, one of the Thompson Twins – all gone.
But all is not lost. Tomorrow friends and kids are coming over to harvest mulberry leaves for a school silkworm project. I vividly recall the thrill of that project and still own it. And these kids will take the thrill forward to their kids.
Entropy vs Eternity. Etc.