Firstly, we’ve moved house.
Secondly, we’ve been on a holiday in the Grampians.
Thirdly we’ve had guests from Switzerland.
We’ve also celebrated a friend’s fortieth birthday in Sydney.
In fact, I’d have to say we’ve been out more than we’ve been in. Busy despite our newly purchased slice of tranquility.
But perhaps the biggest life change of the last forty two days ago has been my bike.
Now, I made a lot of noise about my intention to cycle more once we moved to Coburg. But I don’t think anyone, including myself, actually believed this would ever happen. When Andrew handed me my bike helmet on our first night in Rolls Street and said: enough, let’s go and get a gyros. I wasn’t quite prepared for it.
What now? I gulped, looking down at the helmet as if it had teeth. Can’t we just walk the first night.
No. Apparently we had to start as we meant to go on.
We donned our helmets and headed towards Sydney Road.
I have to admit, before this fateful night I’d scarcely ridden a bike in the last twenty five years. I’d stopped at the tender age of seventeen (when I first got my driving license). But putting my helmet on and riding out to dinner that first night and then packing our grocery shopping into my panniers to ride home again felt like the Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
I felt myself growing younger by the minute.
Since then, I haven’t been able to get enough of the experience.
I’ve ridden to Welsh in the city and home along Sydney road. I’ve done a Boroondara Cyclewise course and overcome my phobia of public showering. I’ve ridden to work. Eaten at Beatbox, joined a yoga class and shopped at the Coburg night market. In between, I’ve walked my dog, finished the SSiW intermediate course and danced to Fflur Dafydd’s, Martha Llwyd in my living room.
But most importantly of all, I’ve been writing.
Yep, that’s right. My muse has followed me to Coburg. In fact, I’d have to say she rather likes it here. I’m putting this down to genetic programming. I mean, think about it? Before my parents emigrated, the family had never lived in anything bigger than a semi-detached house in Essex. Yep, that’s right small – so this empty nest, masterfully renovated Federation cottage suits me perfectly.
In fact, I’d even go as far as saying I’ve probably been overwhelmed for the last twenty five years.
Not that I regret the experience – kids, guinea pigs, school fetes, and trivia nights – a woman needs those things. But now my nest is empty and, although Andrew is looking around wondering where his audience has gone, wrth fy modd or in my element as the half-Welsh-woman in me is wont to say.
So folks, this blog is a great, big long winded way of saying I’m fine but you may not hear from me for a while. Oh, yes, I know it’s heart breaking. But don’t fret. Just think of me at my writing desk, drinking coffee, taking power naps, or smiling like a gate as I ride the wide flat streets of Coburg, and know I’ve got a novel to write.
Hopefully, 2013 will see it finished.
Tan fy mlog nesaf – Hwyl Fawr!