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barometric reading

November 10, 2013
barometer
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Both daughers out. Us at home alone, together.

Not so unusual these days.

Like the picture book Dog In, Cat Out I used to dramatise snugged in our favourite winged armchair 15-20-something years ago, cataloguing home rhythms/sentient being movements is a useful barometric reading of mise en place.
  1. Yesterday, I was out at English teacherly marking business. Meeting with the tribe.
  2. Daughter one was out at her final exams. I notched the moment she finished (12.30 pm) as mothers do. There. Done now. Passage homeward.
  3. Daughter two was out at the city retail job she hates and hopes to ditch by the time she graduates from her Education Assistant course.
  4. Wes was home fixing the reticulation system; my pullaway down the morning driveway captured ruination of a newly planted garden bed, wheelbarrow filled with tools and an intensely fixed gaze. Under construction (if there was a subtitle. Or work in progress). Re-fashioned and brick-orderly upon my return.
Strikes me that daughters are in transition while we conduct maintenance.
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You get the picture.
Same experience last night: Saturday night;
Daughter one bathed, saturated curls with coconut solution, paraded in the red dress which she ran past my visual detection with a “too dressy?” query.
No, I said, you look gorgeous. Off she wafted.
Scent of coconut lingered.
Also the honeysuckle drift commingled up our passageway.
Apt term – she is undertaking passage.
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Later, marking, marking at the kitchen table and daughter two out with friends for the night, there’s the unwanted phone call interruption. Wes cooking dinner.
Irritated, expecting telemarketers, I took the call.
Daughter 2. Who didn’t expect me. Plus (guilty as charged on reflection), I said, What do you want? I. Am. Marking.
Give me dad, said daughter 2. I need someone more encouraging.
Now to my shameful revelation…Transcribed via a single-sided phone conversation:
There’s been a car accident. No one is hurt. I think I might be hurt. I’m frightened. My head has been checked out. There was broken glass. It hurts. Are you sure I’ll be all right? Smashed window. Four wheel drive. On a roundabout. He hit the passenger door. My door. I could have been killed. We just went for a drive. There’s no lump or bleeding. No, I’m not hurt – teary now – no, I’m not hurt. But I’m frightened. 
Brings to mind this safety message:
Acts of propitiation:
  • Cleaned the bathroom this morning;
  • Continued marking;
  • Indoors, sitting here, writing this.
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