Possums, hello! And Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah and Happy New Year all rolled into one! There’s something I want to talk about. I’ve been meaning and meaning to come here but I didn’t know quite what to say – it (whatever “it” is) is as yet unformed so I think I need to approach it sideways as one might a nervous cat, or like many things in peripheral vision it might disappear.
Though as a child I regularly flew between New Zealand and Japan on my own, there was always someone to meet me at the other end. My nana delights in telling a story with three-year old me as its protagonist, coming off the plane, waving to my as-yet-unmet poppa and gaily singing out “hi poppa!” I think to her, this represents a blitheness she doesn’t associate with herself as a child put in an unfamiliar position and therefore amazes some part of her with every retelling – of which, incidentally, there are many; we are a family that delights in repetition.
While I sometimes wish I had a rapier-sharp wit, I comfort myself with the fact that my brother and cousins at least, appreciate that a joke told many times becomes funnier as it ages. I mean, it saves breath – you don’t even have to tell the whole thing after a while.
The first time I went on a trip without someone to meet me though, was when I visited Vietnam with Anna. It was a trip of less than two months but when I came home it took me as many to feel here again.
See more dithering and mozzarella here
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