Sydney is home. Its clear blue skies an allure that will never fade, the familiarity will never wane. Despite its constant face lifts. Sydney is my Sydney. I went home two weeks ago to play bridesmaid to Clare's bride. Ravi, Clare's husband-to-be, has been known to me for almost the same amount of time as Clare. Amazingly, our friendships were forged on the dance floor. Hours and hours in night clubs in Sydney, weekends whiled away with music, sweat and laughter. So when one is called to duty, one accepts. With honor. And a little smirk too, at having always known I was right. But of course every thing associated with Clare and Ravi involves a small degree of personal risk. As much as they like to make fools of each other, they also like to make fools of you and two days before the wedding I am told to make a speech at the reception.
It was no demand but it was wrung with guilt: "You don't have to make a speech, we'll just ask them to take you off the list of speakers. It's just that you have so many stories to tell of the times we've shared." That last sentence sent a chill down my back. The Luddite has never been known to have a good memory and though I know I have true and treasured friendships I am already foggy of all of their details (I hasten to assure this does not desaturate the love I have for all my Near and Dears, and even the Far Aways).
In the end duty again prevails and I am still pen to paper at 4am the morning of the wedding, still trying to reconstruct some misty time, a darken place and muffled ringing in my ear to see Clare and Ravi again on the dance floor of our youths...
The day of the wedding arrives and the house is abound with nervous ladies, faces half-done, hair over-done and in all states of dress. Then photographers came and we hasten to shoot. Then it was time to scoot.
The procession from house to car to National Maritime Museum all led to a marriage ceremony on the decks of the HMAS Vampire. Neither of them or any of their relatives belong to the Navy. Clare and Ravi simply know how to do things with flare, but apparently I too, without intention. It was when we began our walk down the aisle toward the expectant and smiling guests. I followed Ravi's parents. They were able to avoid a small metal protrusion on the deck floor, what looked like a small hoop that ropes could be thread through, though I was oblivious to the fact concentrating as hard as I was to effect elegance and grace. I tripped on the thing and cantered at double time like a show jumping pony. To regain my composure and dignity I turned with class and yelled back to the bride "You betta watch this thing 'ere!". The rest of the evening proceeds unhindered.
When Clare and Ravi left for their one week honeymoon, they also left me the use of their car, a luxury convenience I've missed having (let's just say I wouldn't be The Luddite if I could afford it). A car means freedom, music and wind in your hair. It means the right to gripe at other people's driving and marvel at one's own parking. I was able to visit friends and relatives, run errands and the simple enjoyment at having control over my own transportation destiny.
I became reacquainted with the streets of Sydney, feeling an old familiarity rising. Every turn of the wheel led to a once frequented street and I marveled at the speed of change in the city. There is no doubt Sydney is a champion beauty, but it remains so even at such a dynamic rate. There is an appreciation of the harbour that is motivating the government's plans to move loading docks and cargo ships further south to Botany Bay. There is a general love of the good life in its people and a healthy sense of well being just to bask in its sun.
My trip home was purposeful, but even more significantly, my trip home gave me more than I realised I'd needed: a rejuvenated spirit and a greater love for my city, Sydney.
The procession from house to car to National Maritime Museum all led to a marriage ceremony on the decks of the HMAS Vampire. Neither of them or any of their relatives belong to the Navy. Clare and Ravi simply know how to do things with flare, but apparently I too, without intention. It was when we began our walk down the aisle toward the expectant and smiling guests. I followed Ravi's parents. They were able to avoid a small metal protrusion on the deck floor, what looked like a small hoop that ropes could be thread through, though I was oblivious to the fact concentrating as hard as I was to effect elegance and grace. I tripped on the thing and cantered at double time like a show jumping pony. To regain my composure and dignity I turned with class and yelled back to the bride "You betta watch this thing 'ere!". The rest of the evening proceeds unhindered.
When Clare and Ravi left for their one week honeymoon, they also left me the use of their car, a luxury convenience I've missed having (let's just say I wouldn't be The Luddite if I could afford it). A car means freedom, music and wind in your hair. It means the right to gripe at other people's driving and marvel at one's own parking. I was able to visit friends and relatives, run errands and the simple enjoyment at having control over my own transportation destiny.
I became reacquainted with the streets of Sydney, feeling an old familiarity rising. Every turn of the wheel led to a once frequented street and I marveled at the speed of change in the city. There is no doubt Sydney is a champion beauty, but it remains so even at such a dynamic rate. There is an appreciation of the harbour that is motivating the government's plans to move loading docks and cargo ships further south to Botany Bay. There is a general love of the good life in its people and a healthy sense of well being just to bask in its sun.
My trip home was purposeful, but even more significantly, my trip home gave me more than I realised I'd needed: a rejuvenated spirit and a greater love for my city, Sydney.
