As the breeze picks up and turns into gusts I can hear, as did Simon & Garfunkle, the sound of silence. That means the birds having their closing-down-for-the-evening conversations on the other side of the inlet – from somewhere there is a sound like a fishing reel being let out, but on further contemplation it is possibly a very large and well camouflaged cicada.
Next to us is a sailboat sitting in the mud against the pontoon – it will be floating in an hour or two. The wind is intermittently snaking through its rigging with a keening kind of whistle. The sky is perfectly clear with a gradient of duck egg blue ghosting into apricot near the horizon where the sun is making a last stand.
As I am able to sit and observe, uninterrupted, it is clear that the Smalls are absent. There are always occasional offers to take them off my hands so I can go and have some ‘me-time’ – but the ‘me-time’ I most crave is being ALONE IN MY OWN SPACE. Free to make a cup of tea and just sit, attending to no one but myself. The clothes are dry and off the line. Dinner is over. And they have all gone to swim in a nearby creek. I am solitary. It is heavenly.
Today was a slog. I could have so easily sat here and read my book all day. But we were all tired. The tireder I am, the more I want to achieve – so there was the coin laundry, the micro-shopping trip, hanging out the clothes, stewing fruit, making yoghurt, attempting to clean all the flotsam – everything feeling twice as hard as it should. I attribute this to going to bed too late and being awoken at 5am by Small Z, distressed and crying – a nightmare. Not a lot of sleep.
I’m gunning for the sleep deprivation over the salmonella poisoning carried out (allegedly unintentionally) by my mother on Thursday night. I knew about the lettuce recall, but noshed thoughtlessly through her salad until I glanced over at the television and saw it plastered all over the screen. There was some still in my mouth.
“This lettuce is OK?” I asked her. “It’s not the poisoned lettuce?”
Her reply is not encouraging. “What poisoned lettuce?”
“The one that is ALL OVER THE MEDIA – the lettuce from the two major supermarkets. People have been HOSPITALISED.”
She ran to the fridge and pulled out two bags of salad mix and baby spinach. I swiftly identified them as potential vehicles of disease by looking online.
“You’ve poisoned me,” I accused her dramatically. “Call me Salmon Ella…”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” This is the woman who has things in her fridge with use-by dates from the Jurassic time period.
Apparently salmonella can take up to 72 hours to kick in. I suppose I will discover whether I won my battle with the lettuce by this time tomorrow night…