Wednesday, August 6, 2014

back in the days of puddles

The last heavy rain of the west season was on Sunday 13th April. There are two reasons that I remember this: one is that I am a weather geek and love to study synoptic charts, satellite patterns and record climate data, the other is that this particular rain was a tropical deluge unmatched throughout the wet season. It was Sunday morning, the power was on for church, and I thought I’d clean the desk in my studio, plug in my laptop, ring out some background tunes, write a few words and do a yoga session.  The rain started while I was in the shower and was so heavy I sheltered in the bedroom for 15 minutes. I couldn’t hear that the music had stopped and wasn’t to know what was happening behind the studio door.  

I returned to the desk to see my beloved Macbook Pro lying in a puddle – lid open, plugged in, screen black. Cue short repetitive expletives. I ripped out the power cord, picked it up and a waterfall poured out of the disk drive. The tin roof had leaked directly above the desk and flooded the studio. Poor Banjo, he wasn’t ready to die, he was still so young and vibrant. Despite three days in front of the fan, I was not able to resurrect his spirit, and when I plugged him in, smoke emerged from the depths. Not a heartening sight. 

I returned to Australia from Bali on a bargain $73 Air Asia flight, surprised mum and dad, and organized a replacement laptop in 48 hours. It is here I would like to give a plug for SGIO insurance who were outstanding in their service, understanding and support.  A week later I was back in Indonesia, and it is from Banjo Mark II Macbook Pro Retina that I write you this post.  

Meanwhile our internet is unreliable and choked, and my enthusiasm for blogging wanes with the moon. I read of the supportive, communicative blog community out there in the connected world, moving in vibrating circles of creative juice, gathering for Instameets, collaborations and Kinfolk dinners. I’m in the back end of Indonesia in a surf camp populated by 60 year old blokes who don’t even know what a blog is, with an internet slower than a smoke signal. Networking here means getting together with the neighbours to discuss the swell forecast, decipher village politics, play scrabble and eat banana muffins. I have nothing to sell, I’m not offering to take away anyone’s suffering, help them parent better, advise on shares, weight loss or how to be more popular, richer or more productive. If you are feeling the bite of winter and nursing a cold, perhaps seeing the waters of a tropical lagoon may even make you feel worse. What I have to offer are stories, authentic experiences, considered images; moments from a life of cultivating simplicity, awareness and love, with barefeet, a tan and gardener's hands. To all of you reading, thank you, I hope this is enough.

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