In the past two days, I have felt more like myself than I ever have the entire year. I am not sure what sparked it off. Actually, no. I do know. Last Wednesday, I visited one of the biggest libraries I had seen to date, spanning three levels. This wasn’t my local library, which although very adequate could never measure up to this one, a stately building a few metres from the harbour. Even my first few tentative steps into this relatively new domain were laced with wonder and possiblity- all those books just waiting and calling out to be touched and admired and read; all those worlds to step into.

I went to the computer and typed in ‘Elizabeth Berg’, my favourite author, hoping yet not expecting that she would have a new book out that the library carried. And then I saw it- ‘Home Safe (2009) On Shelf.’ My heart leapt.

I walked slowly to the A-F fiction section and went to the B aisle. I looked at the BERs. Berger. Berg. A few Elizabeth Berg books I had already read. I continued searching and my spirit drooped a little wondering if someone, just five minutes before me, also an Elizabeth Berg fan, had done the same search and got the novel. I straightened my back, which had been bent over looking at the bottom shelf, and contemplated going to the librarian for assistance.

And then I saw it. On display on the topmost shelf for everyone to see- Home Safe. I hurriedly snatched it held it close for protection. It was as if I had found a treasure.

I planned the circumstances that would facilitate the reading of the book. I couldn’t start at night, nor first thing in the morning; I did not want this to be the sort of book that I took along with me on the bus ride nor the sort of book that I would start reading peacefully only to be interrupted five minutes after by the telephone. It had to be the perfect time.

I recalled all the other times I had sat down to read an Elizabeth Berg book. These other times were before I had moved to Australia and where all I dreamed about was being somewhere else, somewhere I could be myself. I recall starting her books in the late afternoon where I would sit in the chair and devour her words- so lyrical, so true. As the sun began to set and the smell of dusk perfumed the house, I would be well into the book with a strong cup of tea in my hand, the lives of the characters enmeshed with my own- the line between fiction and reality blurring. Yes, late afternoon it would be.

And so that was how it came to be yesterday as I found myself with a cup of tea and a muffin on the table, Home Safe in my hands. The winter sun was streaming through the glass doors and I knew that in an hour, darkness would start to settle in and the mood would be broken. But at that very moment, it was so perfect that I could not even start on the book for a few minutes.

All I could do was think back to the times when another of her books would be in my hands, when I would sit in the chair and wish I could be someplace else- anywhere really, where I would be able to strip off all that was holding me back and be myself. But as it turned out, that girl back then was me. That was more me than I have ever been in recent times. The ability to find a beloved book and be enchanted by words and stories to such an extent that my whole being would be lifted- that was me. The girl who would stare out of the window as the sun set, book very momentarily placed aside to appreciate the glory that was taking place right outside but where characters were still talking away, that was me.

I had lost sight of her for a while. But now, she is back.

At the end of the day, it had very little to do with the book I was reading. It was all about the moment. Often, only the big moments are remembered- the day you got into the university of your choice, the day you got married, the birth of your child, the death of a grandparent. But somehow, the seemingly insignificant moments are the ones that define you and make you you. For me, it was the act of reading a special book. For you, it could be the mornings where you are up before anyone else enjoying a cup of coffee in the kitchen while the world slowly awakes. It is the normalcy and ordinariness of the moment that would pass someone else by but which makes your soul sing.

But she is not those people; she is her odd self. The kiln has been fired; she is a person persnickety about keeping her house clean but not above spitting on her desk to rub out a coffee stain; she will never be an athlete or a mathematician or a skinny person or someone whose heart isn’t snagged by the sight of fireflies on a summer night and the lilting cadence of a few good lines of poetry.

- Elizabeth Berg, Open House, pp.133

There are times, when I’m walking along certain streets of Sydney, that I can almost believe that I’m in a small country town. There would be an absence of constant traffic and I would pass by a garden with pink flowers flowing out onto the street. The only sound would be the soft, soothing rustling of the leaves. Those are the times when I would imagine myself riding my bicycle and giving a little “toot” of the horn and a big smile when I passed by a familiar face; the basket attached to my bicycle would hold a freshly baked sourdough loaf, a bunch of daisies and a bottle of wine for dinner that night.

Soon enough, a car wakes me from my walking reverie and then another car passes by. Snippets of adult conversation waft towards me from the café I pass by- “Did you hear…?” “No!” “I’d like to offer you this job” “I’m pregnant”. I notice the rubbish lying by the side of the road and as I wait to cross the intersection, not one vehicle gives way to me to walk across to my house.

As my walk back from the library ends, I realise that I did have a very lovely time indeed walking the streets of Sydney in a tie-at-the shoulder white flowy blouse, a pair of worn-in jeans, a blue bucket hat and a red straw bag. My walk had consisted of happy thoughts like baking and toile de jouy fabric and I had even found some organic chai and honey yoghurt at the store. Really, a good time.

But as I enter my house, all I want to do is for someone to embrace me and tell me that it’s all going to be ok. It’s a yucky feeling that settles into my bones and makes itself comfortable. Later on in the afternoon, i find myself swimming laps in the ocean bath, an activity that would usually leave me feeling strong and invincible. Instead, after 30 laps, i get out and make my way home, tired. In the kitchen, i watch the autumn light come gently into the kitchen. I sit in a ray of sunshine and sip some tea, grateful for that at least.

Only one more week of summer remains and I can’t believe how quickly this season has passed me by. I generally don’t fair too well in the colder months but i’m hoping this autumn and winter will be different. Jon turns 30 in March (!) and I start teaching again in a few weeks. It’s always exciting when there are new students to educate, fresh out of high school and encountering university life for the first time. I also want to learn to crochet this winter so i have something to do in between planning lessons and marking essays.

In the meantime, i am looking forward to at least another two months of swimming in the saltwater pool at the beach. I have surprised myself with how well i can cope swimming in the cold ocean but when it drops to 10 degrees outside, the only place i want to be is inside, with the heater on, Ray LaMontagne on the stereo and a cup of tea in my hands.

Two days ago, i noticed that the days were getting a tiny bit shorter. We eat out on our balcony most nights, having a chat about our day and enjoying the scent of frangipanis that wafts towards us when the wind is blowing in the right direction. But it now gets dark by about 8.20 at night and we have to return inside, continuing our conversation by the light of the lamp in the living room. Only one month of summer remains and it makes me wistful.

I know i have embraced this season with all of my heart. I have swum on most days, enjoying the cool water and improving my freestyle. I have been eating seasonally, relishing all the stone fruits i can get my hands on. I been wearing shorts and dresses. I have been eating ice-cream. So, no regrets for this season but merely a nostalgia for fun times had.

Last night, we had a wonderful dinner. We made pizza on wholemeal pita bread- home made tomato sauce, olives, mozzarella and basil on one and tuna, egg, onion, garlic, parsley and tasty cheese on the other. Perfect with a glass of white wine and the sunset. For dessert i made mango on sticky rice, which was amazing! I used this recipe. We watched two epiosdes of 30 Rock and then called it a night. A perfect end to the day.

Reading the blogs of people living in the northern hemisphere made me revisit the pictures of our winter just a few months ago (the picture above was taken during our 6 hour drive to the snow). It must be very strange for you to get your head around having Christmas in the summer if you live on the other side of the equator. I myself was brought up watching American television and reading American novels and i thought that christmas could never be christmassy enough if there wasn’t snow and family gathered around the fireplace. Some part of me still wishes for the opportunity to experience a white christmas but mostly, i am happy for summer and everything that comes with it.

I love when daylight seems to last forever and we can sit outside and enjoy a light dinner and a glass of white wine. And of course, being able to swim in the saltwater pool at the beach is my absolute favourite thing to do. I would do it everyday if i could, but summer storms stand in my way.

The other morning, i was floating in the water, oblivious to everything around me apart from my breathing. I did my “pilates breathing”- deep breaths that remind you of your body and really, of existence. I breathed in the smell of summer- sunblock and salty air- and stared into the blue sky above me. For those few moments, i forgot about how cold the water was (i’m not sure if it will ever get warm enough) and about how clumsy my freestyle was. All i could think of was being alive.

And it felt pretty good.

Tonight, we have a date to watch Australia at the cinema. We often have date nights on Friday or Saturday but cinema tickets are about $6 cheaper on Tuesdays so if we want to watch a movie, we try to do it then. It will be lovely to see the beautiful Australian landscape on the big screen. And i get to hang out with my husband. Double treat!

It was a weekend filled with memories of the past that i seem to hold on to so tightly. I know that the best thing to do is to forgive and move on but right now, that seems like the hardest thing to do.

In other news, i made a risoni (i think it’s called orzo in America) salad yesterday that turned out beautifully. Kristy and i first made this salad a week ago when we were craving something light, tasty and healthy and i have modified it a little. It’s a perfect summer recipe!

Risoni summer salad with balsamic glaze (serves 4)

Ingredients:

250g risoni
1 punnet cherry tomatoes (halved)
1/3 c. parsley
1 small tub kalamata olives
100g feta cheese, crumbled
1/2 c. peas
1 cooked and shredded chicken breast
parmesan cheese
olive oil
1/2 lemon juiced

Balsamic glaze:

1/4 c. balsamic vinegar
2 T. brown sugar
1 tsp honey

Cook the pasta until al dente. Drain and place in a bowl. Add tomatoes, parsley, olives, feta, peas and chicken and toss. Make the balsamic glaze by mixing together the vinegar, sugar and honey. Add the glaze, a few drops of olive oil and the lemon juice to the pasta and mix well. Sprinkle some parmesan cheese and season with some freshly ground black pepper. Serve.

We ate bowlfuls whilst watching Never Been Kissed and washed it down with some lemon, honey and ginger tea. A nice end to the weekend.