THE LAST GOODBYE

It’s all quiet now.

Everything’s gone.  It’s so empty.

It doesn’t look real.  It doesn’t look like my home anymore. 

The reality of the fact that this is no longer my home, hits now.

As I stand in the empty lounge, ghosts and memories of the past flood my mind.  I peer out the lace curtains at the front garden, and see the flowers blooming.  I smile at the cheeky weeds that are sneaking through; rebellious from their lack of attention.

As I touch the rich, velvet drapes, they seem to be hanging a little heavier today, as if they too are full of the sorrow I feel.

I run a finger over the scroll work on the archway between the lounge and hallway as I walk past; the archway that my Dad installed, and the scrolls that I insisted he paint white so they stand out a little.

I look for the phone table in the hallway, but that corner is bare.  The hall table, that is older than I am, is no longer sitting in pride of place; the same place it sat in for 48 years.

I walk into Mum’s bedroom, and the pastel pink walls glare at me.  There are no beautiful white furnishings to soften them anymore.

I look at the huge window, and smile at the memory of the cat sitting on the sill, watching the builders across the road construct some new dwellings.  Stupid cat.

I wander into my bedroom, and straighten the mirror doors so it looks nice and neat.  I close the curtains, and look skyward.  I smile to myself as the hundreds of little stars I stuck on the ceiling over 25 years ago emit a soft, luminous glow.

Even as an adult, I would lie in bed and look up at that ceiling, the stars creating a sky of dreams for me.   I wonder if another child may enjoy that sight on day?  I hope so.

As I walk down the hallway, I stop; the absence of the cross stitches I made for my mother make it seem startlingly naked.

I am alone in the house, and smile to myself as I lean against the wall, arms outstretched.  A 40 year old woman hugging a wall.  Yep.  Even this beloved old place needs a hug.

The kitchen and dining room are bare and lifeless.  No kettle on the bench; no chux over the tap.  No fresh flowers in one of a myriad of vases in the centre of the table.  No fruit bowl.

The spare bedroom, that barely had room for a bed, seems so huge now it’s empty.  Didn’t notice how nice the carpet was in there…

Then I wander into the heart of this home, and that’s when it hits me.

The back room seems so empty; so void of life now.  There are no recliners to fight over.  There is no coffee table, which is so inadequately small, because we cannot fit the platters of cakes, slices and sandwiches on them to feed our visitors.  There are no people filling the chairs, having four different conversations at once. 

There is no scratching post or cat toys scattered around the floor. There is no cat sitting in front of the telly, trying to tap the tennis ball as it moves around the screen.

There is no life here now.

What’s this?  I spy something sitting against the skirting boards.  A little wooden ball, about an inch in size.  I smile to myself as images of the cat smacking the ball around the house fill my mind.  I can hear the sound of it rattling across the lino as she chased it…

I tuck it into my pocket.  Must give it back to her when Mum moves into the unit.  Stupid cat.

I walk out the back door, and into the breezeway.  How startlingly empty it is now.  There are no racks full of blooming, bursting plants here anymore.  No life growing.  Nothing.  Every pot plant and hanging basket is gone.

I check the garage doors; they’re locked.  I don’t want to look inside, because it’s stark and empty now.  The place I use to seek out my father, and would find him tinkering away at something; the place that smelled like a mechanics workshop.  And always will.

I don’t look as Mum locks the back door for the final time.

I wander up the driveway, admiring the garden for one last time.  I won’t come back here.  I just can’t…

Half a dozen different varieties of salvia, shrimp plants, camellias, seaside daisies, crocus, roses, tulips, iris’s, Johnny jump-ups, petunias, lobelia, succulents, lavender, gazania and a million other things I don’t know the names of… all putting on a pretty show for me.  I touch one of the Henry Owen camellias, and it immediately drops to the ground, scattering it’s petals amongst the other flora.

Mum is standing at the end of the driveway, waiting for me.  Our bags are in the car; we are ready to go.

As I stand at the top of the driveway, my hand resting on the weathered picket fence my Dad built with love, I turn to have one last look at my home.

As tears blur my vision, I swear I see the house droop in sorrow, for it knows it’s losing its family. 

Why do I feel like I’ve let it down?

What will the future hold for you, my old friend?  What will become of you? 

Hopefully, you will be filled with the joy of another family that will give you the love and care that you so richly deserve.

Until I see you again, old friend; I smile as I turn away.

Thanks for the memories.

CAR PARK

Definition of Annoying:

When you driving into the supermarket car park at 7.50am, and the only cars in there, apart from yours, are the staff cars.  There’s like no one else there, and a million places to park in the vast space that is the supermarket car park.

So, I park my car and think ‘Woo hoo!  I can drive straight out without having to stuff around reversing and shit! Yeah!’

Am I alone in being excited about this? Please say no.

Anyway, when you come out of the supermarket, the only other person in there, who has a million other car spaces to choose from, parks directly in front of you?

Of all spaces, they pick that one. So now, you have to reverse out.  They couldn’t park beside you, a couple of spaces away from you, in a completely different section? No.  They park right in front of you.

You are fucking kidding me?  Why?  Why would you do that?

You dumbarse.

THAT is the definition of annoying.

Annoyed peace out.

LOVE THY NEIGHBOUR

Sometimes, you can go years without seeing or speaking to someone, but time changes nothing.  With some people, when the need is there, without you even asking, they step up.

Such is the case with my mate Mark.

Mark was my next door neighbour at Stone Manor when I was growing up.  He is a couple of years older than me, and was like my big brother.  We grew up together, and went to the same schools.  He would look out for me in primary school and high school, before he transferred to the tech to study mechanics.

As we got older, we would hang out together, and cruise in his hotted up street machines.  Nothin’ so great as a thumpin’ V8.

He and his friends frequented my father’s garage, because that’s where all the rev-head action was.  They all loved Nev, and particularly Iris’ cakes.

As we grew older, our lives headed in different directions; careers and social lives defining our paths.  Thought we weren’t in regular contact, Mark always was with Mum and Dad.

When Dad passed away in 2009, Mark was completely devastated.  He said to me just the other day that he took it for granted that Nev would always be there.  There was just no question about it, and still, nearly two years later, he still couldn’t’ believe he was gone.

When someone passes away, it’s interesting to see how differently people can react.  Some run and hide, some openly grieve, some hide their feelings and some are there for you every step of the way.

And some step up and do the most extraordinary things; things you simply wouldn’t expect.

Such is the case with my mate Mark.

Dad, as previously mentioned, was a rev-head.  He loved cars.  He loved restoring them, tinkering with them, servicing them; you name it.  This rubbed off onto Mark in a major way, and as such, he became a mechanic (and a major rev-head himself).  Mark was like a son to him.

Dad use to service Mum’s car on a regular bases. He was just one of those blokes that knew what he was doing, and kept the car in good running order.  That all ended when he passed away, but that’s when Mark stepped in.

He couldn’t bear the thought of Mum taking her car to a mechanic, and being taken advantage of.  Not that all mechanics do that, but he was just worried it could happen to her.  Someone out there could take advantage of her age and ignorance.  He said he couldn’t live with himself if that happened, so he made a deal with Iris.  He would come and service her car every three months, and she would just pay him for the parts he used.

Like clockwork, he would turn up, take her car, service it and return it.  He would advise if she needed the brakes attended to, or if something needed replacing.  He was all over it for her, because he wanted to protect her like Nev would have wanted.

I thought this was just gorgeous. 

So a few months ago, we tell Mark that Mum’s selling up, and he was quite emotional about it.  He completely understood, but like everyone else, was sad at the knowledge that The Stone’s will no longer be residing at 18 Suzanne Street.

I said to him about a month ago, to go through Dad’s garage and take anything he wants.  Charlie’s done the same thing, and left heaps of stuff for Mark that he didn’t feel he needed himself.

Mark said he felt guilty doing that.  I told him to have a mug of concrete and get into it, because Nev would love it.  That was all the motivation he needed! Hahhaaaa!

So, Mark went to town on the garage. He sorted out the good stuff from the rubbish, and made a big pile in the middle of the garage of shit that can be tossed.  He organised a skip for Iris to come on Thursday through one of his mates, so Iris wouldn’t get shafted in paying too much for a skip.  Bless.

He said he’ll call around Thursday after work, with Troy, and throw this crap into the skip for Iris, because he can’t have her doing that.  Forget that Charlie and I will be there on Friday to clean up.  No; Iris can’t be handling any rubbish.  He’ll do it for her.

He’s gone through just about everything in the shed, admitting that he and his son Troy (who’s 11) wre having the time of their lives.  He said that he remembered a lot of things he’d found in there, from when he was a kid.  He remembered tools he and Nev had used together, and found a spray kit and buffer which they’d used to re-spray many cars.  He was having the time of his life sorting through a life’s collection of crap.

He helped me take some furniture to the Salvo’s on the weekend, which I’ve blogged about before, and he’s been so helpful with the garage, it’s not funny.  I feel that, without his help, we would never have got the place cleaned out in time.

When Iris said that she was looking at buying a new car, and considering a Holden Cruise, Mark rang his wife Mandy, and asked her to bring her car around so Iris could check it out.  It was a Holden Cruise, and Mark was concerned that Iris would have trouble getting in and out of it.  At least she could try it and chat to Mandy about it, was his reasoning.  Bless.

And it’s all done through sentiment.  All through the love that he also has for Stone Manor, for Iris, and for his beloved friend Nev.  The man that treated him like a son, taught him so much, and asked for nothing in return.

Maybe this is his way of saying thank you.

As I watched him and his son scoff their meat pies for lunch on Sunday, I couldn’t help but smile.  I remember a young Mark doing exactly the same thing with Nev; scoffing a pie and some coke for lunch on a Sunday.  Good times.  Good memories.

That’s why I love my mate, Mark.  My old neighbour; my big brother. He is a simple person, with a kind heart, and the things he has done for Iris, and indirectly for me, will never be forgotten.

Nev would be proud of the man that he has become.

Peace out.

THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH!

Roll up!  Roll up!  Come and see the greatest show on earth!

As the gates opened, the hordes flooded in and swarmed over everything with anticipation and hunger.

Yes: it was 8.30am Saturday morning, and the garage sale had begun.

There were such spectaculars to see!  Retro lounge suites and coffee tables, handmade display units, cane furniture, hanging baskets and pot plants, cookware, electrical appliances, outdoor settings, dining suites, musical sheets, an overlocker, wool, knitting needles, crafts, movie posters, videos, records, books, crockery and hand embroidered and crotched linen. 

A life once lived, and it was all on display for everyone to behold.

And in they came, from all walks and stations of life; picking through the remains like vultures on a corpse; searching for that hidden treasure; the ultimate bargain.

We had the early bird experts; the creatures that hit the sales first thing, seriously searching for something unique; something they can keep or sell.  That something special.  Money changes hands, and it’s on to the next property.

The token gay; who thought everything was fabulous, but could neither afford anything nor transport anything home in his dated sports car.  Who was also astonished that we didn’t offer a delivery service for a $10 bench seat, and was shocked when I pointed out that this was not Harvey Norman.

The eccentric lady; who rocked up in her gorgeous leopard print overcoat, and absolutely adored ‘all things old’.  Who spent nearly an hour going through music, books, records and linen, and took nearly all of them with her.  She was beautiful, and declared that out of all the sales she’d been to this morning, this was by far the best.  She’d had so much fun.

The ancient Asians; who haggled over everything.  ‘One dollar for you?’ was met by ‘No.  Five dollars.’  ‘Ok.  These two things, two dollar?’  ‘No.  Those two things eight dollars.’  ‘Ok.  This one thing; one dollar.’  ‘No. Five.  Stop wasting my time.’  These ancient Asians, who ended up spending over $100, and loaded it all into the back of their van with the other junk from other garage sales, I dare say ready for them to sell at the market the next day.

The families; that came looking for furniture, and excitedly took away mum’s retro lounge suite.  A bet was made that a certain demographic would come and purchase the burgundy velvet and gold tapestry suite (chuckarama), and I was right on the money.  I could see that this suite would be well loved and used in its new home.

The dude stuck in the 1980’s: who nearly passed out with excitement when he saw the collection on records from the ‘80’s; just before records became extinct.  (At this point I will say that Jade asked if she could look at a record, because she’d never actually seen one).  ‘I love this stuff! It’s fantastic! I’ll give you twenny bucks for the lot.’  ‘Sold my friend.  Enjoy.’

The sleeper item: the ten year old big screen telly and cabinet that sat, seemingly ignored, on the front verandah for most of the day.  Many people looked at it; but showed no real interest.  However once it was purchased, everyone in Dandenong suddenly wanted to take it home.  Quick or the dead, my friends.  Quick or the dead.

The ‘I can’t believe it’s gone’ people; that either turn up at 2pm in the afternoon, and expect the sewing machines to still be there, and are astonished when they’re not, or the people that come and look at items in the morning and go home to ‘have a think about them’, only to return and find them gone.  Suckers.  Early bird catches the worm.

The stragglers; who come in through the late afternoon, and declare ‘is this all you have?’ and are quite affronted when you simply say ‘No, this is all that’s left.  If you wanted the really good shit, you should have been here at 9am with the smart people.’

The quiet ones; who walk around looking at everything, not saying much, then when you tell them they can have a box of 40 year old cassette’s for a buck, they nearly cry with excitement.

The clowns: who think $20 for a dining table is too much, and inspect it and complain about the scratches on it.  Who are told ‘$20 bucks for a table this size is charity my friend, and you look like you need it.  Its forty years old, not brand new, and it was used.  So, there’s gonna be scratches on it.  Take it or leave it; I don’t give a shit.  Just make a decision for fucks sake.’

The shit stirrers: who see the clown faffing over a dinner table, comes up and says ‘how much for the table?’ which causes the clown to shit himself and throw $20 at you so you don’t sell it on him. 

The ring masters: who run around haggling, serving, taking money, passing over items, carrying things out to cars, helping out an Indian family by delivering their new lounge suite, because they don’t have a trailer (don’t tell the gay guy), starting up a lawn mower to show it works, plugging in fans to show they work, explaining how to use an overlocker and which plant is what.

The ones at the end of the day that are completely exhausted, but their work is not yet done, for they have to pack all of the unsold rejects away.

And as the greatest show on earth comes to a close; as the last stragglers wander away with their $1 egg rings, a calm that has been absent for the last eight hours descends upon the circus. 

There are huge gaps in the shelves where hundreds of plants once stood.  There are only a couple of items in the driveway now, which was previously full of dining, lounge and assorted furniture.  The tables that were covered in miscellaneous items are now sparse and bare. 

It has been a fun and profitable day.

It was The Greatest Show on Earth.