Adelaide

I’ve been meaning to write about my trip to Adelaide for some time now, and I’m no longer sure what to say about it.  Well, this is not going to be anything definitive.  You can tell a dozen stories about the same event, I’d say, and nobody’s here saying I have to ferret them all out. 

Back a few weeks ago, I spent a week in Adelaide for a family reunion.  Here’s the thing.  By most definitions, it wasn’t my family reunion.  It was the family of my ex.  They’re just a very inclusive family that includes all sorts of step-relatives, ex-relatives-by-marriage, former foster-siblings and the like.  So I was welcome, and a good thing by my account, because it’s a wonderful family to be a part of: much more fun than any of my families by birth.  I felt especially honoured to meet my ex’s new partner and their little boy.  We got along quite well. 

You know, it was really nice spending time with people my own age.  It’s so rare that I get to do that, except for my grandmother’s family dinners with my cousins, I guess, but they’re so stilted.  We aren’t close, my cousins and I, and I can’t seem to fix that.  It was such a rare treat here to feel like I fit in with my ex, his sister, step-sister and all their partners.  I know it’s a sort of honeymoon phase.  Everyone plays nice when it’s all new.  I keep trying to convince myself I’m not lonely.  I try to convince myself that my longing is misplaced, that I’m only craving what I don’t have, not what I actually want.  Who knows?  They say that relationships are what make people happy. 

It was also nice to feel useful.  It’s such a huge relief to not be comparing my career to others’.  To be able to contribute to the daily chores and errands just as much as everyone else.  To feel that once I’ve done the dishes, I’ve done my job for the morning and I can relax.  Nothing more on my "ought to" list.  No more guilt.  It seems odd to call it that.  Guilt is not a word I use much, but I think that’s what it is.  Guilt. 

Strange to say, I really enjoyed visiting Susan and Isla again.  You see, my family of origin has family friends like the Smiths or the Osmakovs.  Churchy, suburban, conventional, happy-families sorts.  Anna has family friends like Susan and Isla.  God, I don’t know where to begin – they’re larger than life.  A same-sex couple in their seventies, they’ve been together for over twenty years.  Isla is bold and blokey with a startlingly ribald sense of humour, while Susan is elegant, refined, wonderfully artistic.  They have a tiny but gorgeous cottage on a muddy river, with kangaroos lazily wandering the opposite bank.  They put on a champagne lunch for eleven that – I kid you not – beat any restaurant I have ever been to. 

Now I know this shows the hopeless narrowness of my upbringing and life experiences, but to me just being there was such a relief.  It was such a relief to see tangible evidence that such a life is possible.  To see that being attracted to women doesn’t necessarily mean a life alone or with a man one struggles to find interest in.  To see that it doesn’t sentence one to a life without family or friends or a stable home. 

I suppose I shouldn’t forget that my situation is complicated and my chances of a relationship pretty slim.  Still, nice to dream once in a while. 

One last thing about Adelaide – I’d like to visit more often.  I thought I’d have time to do so many things, but I spent it all with family, and well worth it too.  I never did get to meet up with Oobi (Sorry Oobi!), or look up my old friends, or even just stroll around town.  I seem to remember that was a pretty good way to bump into people you knew.  I did find the most wonderful dandelion chai at Goodies and Grains, and tasted more gloriously scrumptious cheeses than even my extravagance could justify buying at the Smelly Cheese Shop and other cheese shops in Adelaide Central Markets.  Those are definitely worth going back for.  Every week, I judged, back when I lived in Adelaide!  It seems sad to be so stuck in one place.