Or

I spent weeks making a choice that truly required much less time and effort than I ended up giving it.

It renewed my awareness that I, and perhaps most other humans, do not like the concept of "Or" very much.

We prefer And.

We have a hard time making a final pronouncement because we know it will mean turning away from all other options.

In this case, it was a simple matter of when I would fly to which Southeast Asian city. That was all. But still I struggled, drafted plans, scribbled them out, started over, repeated until the dusty corner of my brain that once knew a few things about programming screamed that I should JUST BREAK THE INFINITE LOOP ALREADY.

The difficulty came from accepting that if I chose this flight, I would be in Singapore and not Australia on that day. If I chose that flight, I would be in Thailand but not Singapore or Australia. Then I saw the silliness of it all because if I wanted to concern myself with all the places I wasn't going to be at any given time, well, why stop at three? It would take me a while to think my way through a whole globe's worth of cities and countries and those little hidden corners one can only discover through getting lost.

Taken during my first week living in the granted wish

So the choices have been made, and I hope I will have learnt my lesson: a little deliberation is prudent, but often I just have to push myself off balance and see to which side of the wall I fall. Surely I know by now that whichever way I go, I will never be separated from all that's good in my life.

Maybe falling isn't the best analogy for someone as accident prone as me to use, but it seems appropriate to the context and picture.

Resolution of the moment: Think less. Fall more. But not literally, for a change.

Away

"Self-care is essential," I have heard from every one of my lecturers and supervisors in this my latest (and, I'm hoping, lifelong) career. "Get away as often as you can," many also said. Enjoy the change in surroundings. Catch a break from containing other people's anxieties. Immerse yourself in beauty.

I ignored them. The excuses fell thick and fast. "I don't need to get away because I love where I live and it's pretty peaceful." "I can't spare a few days away from home." "I have too much to do." "Even if I am stressed, I let it out through baking and craft." "I'm fine. I really am."

I'm glad this time around it didn't take too long for me to realise that the above isn't always enough, that I needed to believe that people with decades of experience know what they're talking about -- and more than that, I needed to go away. Indecisive though I still am, the need to go was far greater than the fear of committing to the one choice. So it is that I ended up in that magical spot not too far from home, yet far indeed.

Where welcome was expressed not only in words and a lift up the stairs for my overnight bag, but in a pair of lavender biscuits and the offer of the programme for the local outdoor cinema.

Where a sandwich, mundane no-time lunch back in my ordinary world -- the very same sandwich! -- turned into a magical meal to the music of galahs and cockatoos conversing as they swooped down to the pool. Eaten here, eaten thus, it was fuel enough for the next few hours' wander through the lavender and through my raggedy, neglected soul.

Where discarded old things aren't made to feel worthless, or at least that's the impression I got. You can't feel worthless, can you, if you're given a place like this to continue your existence?

Where en route to the bridge I could press close to a tree, tracing the story of its years through its resin-coated bark.

Where indoors, too, had many wonders to be appreciated: a thimble-sized couple shyly courting on the windowsill (I gave them their space when taking this picture),

the stage set for that old, old battle between light and dark,

and a former inhabitant of this house reclaiming his favourite spot on the spiral staircase, lying in wait for the odd unsuspecting foot.

And so it was, my first day away.

I'm quite pleased with myself, writing this post only two weeks after the fact. My blog posts are usually so delayed that seasons change and cobwebs form in between.

Seize the fluffy, small, stumpy-billed moment

This lot were among those waddling around UWA's Arts courtyard when I had business being there a month ago.

I am of the "fluffy = adorable = where's my camera?" persuasion, which can be awkward on days when you've chosen to use the oversize tote with but one compartment and are holding abstracts from the conference on music and emotion in one hand, tea and a scone in the other.

But you do what you have to, because ducklings don't stay ducklings forever.

It isn't that the conference was such a drag that I had to go looking for fowl to photograph, or stay awake by posing donkey and conference materials just so. It was an interesting, eclectic three days. I made friends with an Iban girl studying music education in KL and an Australian Chinese doing her PhD in Spanish piano music at my alma mater. ("Friends" of the sort you have animated, stimulating conversations with at lunch and tea breaks but know you're unlikely ever to meet again.) Made contact with music therapy types. Listened to findings from music therapy studies on all sorts of populations: old, intellectually challenged, dying, friendly. Revised a long-ago lesson: People who can write up an interesting session abstract are not necessarily as gifted at making the actual session work. Watched a Japanese dude concentrate really hard on a score as a computer read his brain waves and played the music for all to hear.

And yet, when it was all over, I didn't wish that I could keep on listening to talks and learning from people who've done the hard yards with their clients... what I wished for was time to return to the courtyard soon with a book, beverage and sandwich, and all the time I wanted to sit and read and listen and watch ducks. A wish that has high chances of coming true.

Short short story: Wave

I completed a "short" story recently. It was nearly 5,000 words long. So I decided to create more of a distinction between short and short. I think flash fiction is traditionally capped at the 100-word mark. If you know me at all, you'll laugh at the thought of me keeping my thoughts so succinct.

Anyway: tell me what you think. It's been too long since I posted fiction here.

It was too hot to care about anything as she walked home from school that first day of summer, not even that her skirt was riding up and her old gym shorts were probably showing. At first she thought the bird was waving for help; it looked so like a greeting, a plea. Hi there. I am small and weak and hurt. Can you help? She looked both ways and hurried to the middle of the road. Immediately she saw the crushed head, the tiny still chest. Calmly, she picked up the body and walked back to the shaded kerb, laying it by a tree. She knew it was well past any pain but it seemed wrong to leave this defenceless one to be smashed and spattered by traffic. Later she would remember the warm, soft feathers, the closed eyes and slightly open beak, and she would weep. Later she would realise that was the first time in years that she had touched another living thing. Later she would wonder why, when softness had finally returned, it had come so sad and still. Now, she simply picked up her backpack and walked on home, gym shorts exposed.

19: Cats

I am partial to them, these slinky furballs with their undulating tails and their glass-marble eyes.

Fort Cornwallis, Penang

I love their agility, their imperturbability, their unblinking -- if somewhat disdainful -- acceptance of their humans. I love the way they're aloof at first, but when they let you in you're in for life. Or until you do something terrible to them or someone they love, and then you'd better sleep with both eyes open.

The Rocks, Sydney

I love the smell of the sun that they bring in from long days of outdoor pursuits. Or naps. Very important pursuit, napping. I love to watch their collapsible ears in action when it's too noisy and they can't decide what to listen to. I love their individuality: I knew one who loved wheat porridge (bubur gandum) but only from a human's cupped hands, never from a bowl; another whose best friend was a dog; one who mooed and one who squeaked; one who'd dip his paw into the water bowl as though testing the depth (temperature? texture?) before he'd lower his head to drink.

People's Park, Singapore

I love that you can't own one any more than you can own the moon.

(Uh, if that was you who fell for that email scam... sorry you had to find out this way. How's that bank account doing after you sent your details to the Nigerian minister? Uh-huh. Would you like a cat?)

For those with chronic sleep problems

I say

if you want

to get better

at doing something,

you learn

from those

who do it

best.

All photographed at Perth Zoo. Not the worst place to spend a rare sunny day. Especially after a fortnight of coughing indoors while outside paints itself in many shades of cold, wet grey. I was possibly coughing more by the end of the day, but there are no regrets. All that fluff (and fangs, and lumbering majesty, and ponderous beauty, and scurrying-about cuteness) was worth it.

No longer empty

Lake Joondalup.

When I first met you, you were dry as a writer's brain the morning after deadline. Nothing but pale grey sand, with the occasional few inches of water where a few ducks were illustrating the concept of either denial or faith.

It was nice to see you again, after the unexpectedly wet winter had made its debut.

If I could only speak Duck, I think I would have been hearing them say, "Told you so."

Crochet cats and creativity

A few weeks ago, I came to the sudden realisation that I had again been starving my creative self. I am not pleased with how the earnest pursuit of survival frequently causes me to forget that colour even exists.

I needed a quick remedy, so the following day I set aside an extra couple of hours in the city en route to church, to sit in the craft section of the Japanese bookshop and absorb ideas.

Which is how I came to make the acquaintance of:

Hello My Name Is Amineko: The Story of a Crafty Crochet Cat by Nekoyama.

It's a hybrid of photographic storybook and pattern/idea book, with full instructions for making your very own amineko (Japanese contraction for crochet cat) and its accessories.

I love cats; I love miso soup. I all but giggled when I opened the book to the sight of the blue neko with perpetually closed eyes imbibing. Yes, I'd been that deprived.

And yes, I know. I have a whole collection of my own photographs of stuffed animals in various poses and settings. It's just nice when I find myself in company.

And if, like me, you have no craft book budget at present, fear not. Nekoyama's original pattern is available for free here. You don't get the patterns for the other items; no glossy pages full of quirky amineko tableaux (such as black amineko hard at work "crocheting little ones")...

But hey, you can still crochet your own amineko to pose anywhere and any way you want. Whether or not yours turns out to be reproductively minded, it looks like fun. Wonder if I'll ever get around to it. Probably sometime after I learn to crochet.

More weekend spontaneity

Taking a walk along the Garage Sale Trail with a friend (recent recipient of squarish cookies wrapped in pink foil), saying hello to skittish cats.

Manly by moonlight

End a drab day at the office by taking a bus to Manly. Talk to a friendly pharmacist with a thick Irish accent about the best remedy for the persistent pain in your right eye. Walk along the Corso with a woman looking for the hospital. Stand on the beach for a good 20 minutes stunned by the beauty of the clear night sky. Attempt to photograph the moonscape without benefit of tripod or steady hands. Notice someone else trying to do exactly the same thing. Walk to the ferry wharf. Stop for conversation with a huge tricolour cat that unexpectedly steps onto your lap and makes itself quite at home, looking annoyed when you stand up to continue on your course. Get on the ferry, snagging the prime seat for moon-watching. Ride to the city entertained by the sight of gulls swooping in alongside the ferry, fighting mid-air for prime spots, while behind you conversations take place in Hindi, Mandarin and Dutch. Take the bus home. Walk the 50 metres uphill to your building. Glance up. The moon is still there. The stars are still there. Remember that on a cloudy night when things seem overwhelmingly, frustratingly monotonous yet again.

A pig at breakfastime

"'Can I have a pig too, Pop?' asked Avery.

"'No, I only distribute pigs to early risers,' said Mr Arable. 'Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small one, to be sure, but nevertheless a pig. It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly. Let's eat!'"-- EB White, Charlotte's Web

A guilt trip, sibling comparison and preamble to a meal, all in a single short paragraph. A true master, Mr Arable.

When you arrive early for a meeting with an editor