- Published on
I recall a younger me
On her first overseas trip
Almost ten years ago
Flying into LA for the first time
Seeing the Hollywood sign on the hill
The sprawling lots
It occurred to me that despite the fact I grew up in Australia
America was the land of my childhood
Singin’ in the Rain, The Pajama Game, The King and I
Were all made in that sprawling concrete jungle below
It was strange to discover it was a real place
And then coming back three years later
Single, stronger, determined
And now
Six years later
I’ve been to drama school
I’m married
I’m a cancer survivor
And I’m figuring myself out all over again
Santa Monica is a surprise
It’s like the Sydney suburbs of Chatswood and Bondi
Got together with Los Angeles and
Had a baby
The perfect blend of hipster, beach, and commercial cultures
Grannies rollerblade along the beach
A 6ft surfer meditates on the bus
An opera singer busks in between Victoria’s Secret and J Crew
At dusk, every other bench along the beachfront
Becomes a bed
The Gardens of the Self-Realization Fellowship.
The temple is closed
But the garden itself is place enough for worship
A natural amphitheater with a spring-fed lake
Eucalypts and pines and roses and an earthy smell
Palms trees, aloe vera, bougainvillea, hibiscus
Even a paperbark tree growing right above the water’s edge
Darting red dragonflies that look like bi-planes
Ducks and swans and smaller birds whose name I’m not sure of
Black-orange butterflies
A Buddha among the trees
Catching up with friends
From different parts of my life
Katie and Will from London
Josh and Liz from Sydney
Kasey from camp
The joy of conversation with good people
Of course, a week away from New York
Means I must see a Broadway show
On tour
Bright Star, a delightful American fairytale
With two of my favorites,
Carmen Cusack and Jeff Blumenkrantz.
The show is a little lost in the cavernous
Ahmanson Theatre
But the music still makes my heart sing.
The best part of it all was
Getting to spend time with my
Not-so-baby sister
Now taller than me
And beginning her own adventures.
I'm so very proud of the person she is, and
The person she is still becoming
The ultimate Phoebe-Lulu Day
A whole day at Universal Studios
The Wizarding World of Harry Potter,
Every bit as magical as we’d hoped
The deliciousness of butterbeer
Like Australian creaming soda, minus the pink and with extra creaminess
The inventiveness of the Harry Potter ride
The delightful fun of the wand choosing ceremony
Simpsons, Minions, Studio Backlot Tour (The Good Place!),
Jurassic Park (twice) —
We got soaked, but on a 35C day, it didn’t matter.
The cheesy but spectacular WaterWorld show
In desperate need of a gender re-write
But its themes of a vanishing world
Scarily prescient
On our last afternoon together
We go in search of Fluff
The quintessential American “food”
Re-seeing American supermarkets with Australian eyes
Have I been here so long that Americanah is becoming
My normal?!
The heartbreak of saying goodbye
I wish apparition was real
I wish there weren’t oceans between us
I wish Phoebe-Lulu days could be a weekly event
And not once every six years
In Palisades Park
I sit beneath a gum tree
In awe that I am here
On her first overseas trip
Almost ten years ago
Flying into LA for the first time
Seeing the Hollywood sign on the hill
The sprawling lots
It occurred to me that despite the fact I grew up in Australia
America was the land of my childhood
Singin’ in the Rain, The Pajama Game, The King and I
Were all made in that sprawling concrete jungle below
It was strange to discover it was a real place
And then coming back three years later
Single, stronger, determined
And now
Six years later
I’ve been to drama school
I’m married
I’m a cancer survivor
And I’m figuring myself out all over again
Santa Monica is a surprise
It’s like the Sydney suburbs of Chatswood and Bondi
Got together with Los Angeles and
Had a baby
The perfect blend of hipster, beach, and commercial cultures
Grannies rollerblade along the beach
A 6ft surfer meditates on the bus
An opera singer busks in between Victoria’s Secret and J Crew
At dusk, every other bench along the beachfront
Becomes a bed
The Gardens of the Self-Realization Fellowship.
The temple is closed
But the garden itself is place enough for worship
A natural amphitheater with a spring-fed lake
Eucalypts and pines and roses and an earthy smell
Palms trees, aloe vera, bougainvillea, hibiscus
Even a paperbark tree growing right above the water’s edge
Darting red dragonflies that look like bi-planes
Ducks and swans and smaller birds whose name I’m not sure of
Black-orange butterflies
A Buddha among the trees
Catching up with friends
From different parts of my life
Katie and Will from London
Josh and Liz from Sydney
Kasey from camp
The joy of conversation with good people
Of course, a week away from New York
Means I must see a Broadway show
On tour
Bright Star, a delightful American fairytale
With two of my favorites,
Carmen Cusack and Jeff Blumenkrantz.
The show is a little lost in the cavernous
Ahmanson Theatre
But the music still makes my heart sing.
The best part of it all was
Getting to spend time with my
Not-so-baby sister
Now taller than me
And beginning her own adventures.
I'm so very proud of the person she is, and
The person she is still becoming
The ultimate Phoebe-Lulu Day
A whole day at Universal Studios
The Wizarding World of Harry Potter,
Every bit as magical as we’d hoped
The deliciousness of butterbeer
Like Australian creaming soda, minus the pink and with extra creaminess
The inventiveness of the Harry Potter ride
The delightful fun of the wand choosing ceremony
Simpsons, Minions, Studio Backlot Tour (The Good Place!),
Jurassic Park (twice) —
We got soaked, but on a 35C day, it didn’t matter.
The cheesy but spectacular WaterWorld show
In desperate need of a gender re-write
But its themes of a vanishing world
Scarily prescient
On our last afternoon together
We go in search of Fluff
The quintessential American “food”
Re-seeing American supermarkets with Australian eyes
Have I been here so long that Americanah is becoming
My normal?!
The heartbreak of saying goodbye
I wish apparition was real
I wish there weren’t oceans between us
I wish Phoebe-Lulu days could be a weekly event
And not once every six years
In Palisades Park
I sit beneath a gum tree
In awe that I am here
- Published on
Today is the sixth anniversary of my leaving Australia
The plan was to go to drama school in London
Live there for a few years and then
“See what happens.”
What happened was that
On the way to drama school
I fell in love
With an American
Six years later we’re married and
Living in New York
The choice to live in the United States
Has always been met by my fellow Australians with a kind of
Bemused wonderment.
“Why do you want to live in America?
[Insert concern about healthcare/politics/guns/beaches/coffee]
It’s so… American.”
In the wake of the election and inauguration,
Friends and family have asked
“When are you coming home?”
My response is
I am home.
The land of the free, the home of the downright crazy.
I know the insane the state of
Healthcare/politics/guns/beaches/coffee
And when I talk about it with Americans, I say
“Who’s the crazy one? I chose to live here.”
We are/were lucky enough to be able to choose
Where we wanted to live
We toyed with the idea of Fort Collins
We considered Richmond
We looked into living in Amsterdam or London
But in the end, it was the Big Apple the beckoned
Broadway for me, philosophy and tai chi for Aaron
Brooklyn Chinatown for the both of us
Inside the Statue of Liberty
It is written
Everything is bigger in America
Even the peas
And it’s true
Everything is bigger
The food portions
The cars
The houses
(unless of course, you live in New York…
“itty bitty living space!”)
The inequality
Show business
In Australia, as of today, there are 6 commercial musicals currently playing
In the whole country
Six. In. The. Whole. Country.
In New York, as of today, there are 30 commercial musicals currently playing
And that’s just a on a fifteen block radius in Manhattan,
Forget about counting the tours, the regional productions, the non-union gigs...
It just doesn’t compare
It’s got nothing to do with quality
It’s just a numbers game
I’ve earned more money as an actor in six months in New York than I did in my entire life in Australia.
It’s not easy.
Finding a day job that pays a living wage and doesn't suck the life force out of you via your nostrils is nigh impossible
There are more auditions
But there’s also more competition
Health insurance is a terrifying bureaucratic nightmare
Yet some of the best doctors in the world
Work right here in New York
I am incredibly grateful I had access to Sloan Kettering when I did
From the moment I first landed in New York
I knew I was home
The frenetic creative energy
Everyone is a writer, an actor, a musician, a dancer
An artist
Art is celebrated here
It’s on every corner, in every subway car,
When I get to perform in Carnegie Hall or work on the sets of world-famous television shows
It feels worth it
If Broadway went away
If I were no longer a performer
Would I still choose to be here?
I fell in love with a person who, by chance and luck,
Was born an American citizen.
If he were someone else
From some other place
Perhaps I wouldn't be here at all.
So, why do I choose to live in a land of
Shitty health insurance/politics/guns/beaches/coffee?
Because I live in a place that sleeps, eats, and breathes theatre.
But most of all,
I get to spend my life with a
Patient, kind, and wonderful human being
Whose goal is human flourishing
Why do I choose to live here?
Because
Love.
The plan was to go to drama school in London
Live there for a few years and then
“See what happens.”
What happened was that
On the way to drama school
I fell in love
With an American
Six years later we’re married and
Living in New York
The choice to live in the United States
Has always been met by my fellow Australians with a kind of
Bemused wonderment.
“Why do you want to live in America?
[Insert concern about healthcare/politics/guns/beaches/coffee]
It’s so… American.”
In the wake of the election and inauguration,
Friends and family have asked
“When are you coming home?”
My response is
I am home.
The land of the free, the home of the downright crazy.
I know the insane the state of
Healthcare/politics/guns/beaches/coffee
And when I talk about it with Americans, I say
“Who’s the crazy one? I chose to live here.”
We are/were lucky enough to be able to choose
Where we wanted to live
We toyed with the idea of Fort Collins
We considered Richmond
We looked into living in Amsterdam or London
But in the end, it was the Big Apple the beckoned
Broadway for me, philosophy and tai chi for Aaron
Brooklyn Chinatown for the both of us
Inside the Statue of Liberty
It is written
Everything is bigger in America
Even the peas
And it’s true
Everything is bigger
The food portions
The cars
The houses
(unless of course, you live in New York…
“itty bitty living space!”)
The inequality
Show business
In Australia, as of today, there are 6 commercial musicals currently playing
In the whole country
Six. In. The. Whole. Country.
In New York, as of today, there are 30 commercial musicals currently playing
And that’s just a on a fifteen block radius in Manhattan,
Forget about counting the tours, the regional productions, the non-union gigs...
It just doesn’t compare
It’s got nothing to do with quality
It’s just a numbers game
I’ve earned more money as an actor in six months in New York than I did in my entire life in Australia.
It’s not easy.
Finding a day job that pays a living wage and doesn't suck the life force out of you via your nostrils is nigh impossible
There are more auditions
But there’s also more competition
Health insurance is a terrifying bureaucratic nightmare
Yet some of the best doctors in the world
Work right here in New York
I am incredibly grateful I had access to Sloan Kettering when I did
From the moment I first landed in New York
I knew I was home
The frenetic creative energy
Everyone is a writer, an actor, a musician, a dancer
An artist
Art is celebrated here
It’s on every corner, in every subway car,
When I get to perform in Carnegie Hall or work on the sets of world-famous television shows
It feels worth it
If Broadway went away
If I were no longer a performer
Would I still choose to be here?
I fell in love with a person who, by chance and luck,
Was born an American citizen.
If he were someone else
From some other place
Perhaps I wouldn't be here at all.
So, why do I choose to live in a land of
Shitty health insurance/politics/guns/beaches/coffee?
Because I live in a place that sleeps, eats, and breathes theatre.
But most of all,
I get to spend my life with a
Patient, kind, and wonderful human being
Whose goal is human flourishing
Why do I choose to live here?
Because
Love.
- Published on
When Aaron and I got married, we figured we'd sort out our honeymoon after we'd moved to New York.
We moved to New York and, less than a month later, I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia.
We've spent the last two and a half years dealing with that little episode.
Early on in the treatment, my social worker at Sloan Kettering told us about the Dream Team. The philanthropic arm of the hospital operates like the Make a Wish or Starlight Foundation programs. She said people often took vacations, or met people they admired.
I knew I wanted a honeymoon with my love. The person who has held my hand through stupid cancer. Who stayed up with me when I was puking or shitting my guts out, who dressed me when my fingernails were falling off, who cooked and cleaned, and took care of bills and insurance and life while I was unable to do so. And after all that, he somehow still finds me attractive and makes me feel like I'm the most beautiful person on earth. He is the most patient, kind, and loving person I know. This guy deserves a nice holiday where he gets taken care of!
We were initially going to go to Puerto Rico. Then my social worker told us it wasn't going to work out because it was too expensive for the dates we wanted. There was a possibility of a place called Guana Island, were we interested?
I googled Guana Island and just about fell out of my chair.
We moved to New York and, less than a month later, I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia.
We've spent the last two and a half years dealing with that little episode.
Early on in the treatment, my social worker at Sloan Kettering told us about the Dream Team. The philanthropic arm of the hospital operates like the Make a Wish or Starlight Foundation programs. She said people often took vacations, or met people they admired.
I knew I wanted a honeymoon with my love. The person who has held my hand through stupid cancer. Who stayed up with me when I was puking or shitting my guts out, who dressed me when my fingernails were falling off, who cooked and cleaned, and took care of bills and insurance and life while I was unable to do so. And after all that, he somehow still finds me attractive and makes me feel like I'm the most beautiful person on earth. He is the most patient, kind, and loving person I know. This guy deserves a nice holiday where he gets taken care of!
We were initially going to go to Puerto Rico. Then my social worker told us it wasn't going to work out because it was too expensive for the dates we wanted. There was a possibility of a place called Guana Island, were we interested?
I googled Guana Island and just about fell out of my chair.
this is what comes up when you google Guana Island
Ummm... yes please!
We sent our passport details and the flights were booked. The trip was also organized to allow us a quick trip to Richmond to spend some time with Aaron's parents.
Three flights and a car ride around a large fence at Tortola Airport found us on a small boat headed to Guana Island. Chris, our captain, was a young Kiwi-Brit who had been working in the British Virgin Island (referred to by all the locals as the 'BVI') for around three years.
In the dark, we crossed the bay. A large dark hill loomed in front of the boat.
“That's Guana Island. Of course, if looks much better in the day…”
We rounded what we later learned to be, Monkey Point, and came into a cove. The boat’s spotlight illuminated clear water and white sand. Up the hill from the beachside dock, we could lights illuminating square white buildings.
We were transferred into golf carts and headed up the hill. The road was steep, and even at night the driver went at a terrific pace. We giggled as we drove under a canopy of leaves. It was deliciously warm, and the air smelt sweet and fresh. Where are we?!
The guide took us to our room, Ayegata 2 (named for one of the many islands in the BVI). We were told we would have an amazing view of the ocean in the morning. Dinner was being served in the dining area as soon as we were ready.
Our bags were delivered, and we changed into Guana appropriate dinnerware - collared shirt for Aaron and a long dress for me. In the 1930s, the families and groups of people living on the island lived in tents, had no hot water, and bought in all their supplies by row boat, but “they always dressed up for dinner.” The island now has somewhat upgraded from the tents and cold water, but the tradition of dressing up for dinner remains.
Upon entering the dining area, we were shown the bar.
“It’s an open bar, with an honor system. Sometimes there's a barman, otherwise just help yourself. Just record your drinks in the log.”
We promptly ordered mojitos.
We were seated on a candlelit terrace overlooking the dark ocean. The lovely staff proceeded to serve an amazing four course dinner, paired with matching wines. Carrot soup, followed by a salad bursting with fresh tropical fruits and spicy greens. Crackled pork served with roasted yams, potatoes, and tiny onions bursting with flavor. For dessert there was chocolate coulant, a kind of warm cakey muffin oozing chocolate, paired with strawberries that had definitely spent a good portion of their life in a bowl of icing sugar, and vanilla ice cream.
Throughout the night I kept waking up and looking expectantly out the window. Is it daytime yet?!
We sent our passport details and the flights were booked. The trip was also organized to allow us a quick trip to Richmond to spend some time with Aaron's parents.
Three flights and a car ride around a large fence at Tortola Airport found us on a small boat headed to Guana Island. Chris, our captain, was a young Kiwi-Brit who had been working in the British Virgin Island (referred to by all the locals as the 'BVI') for around three years.
In the dark, we crossed the bay. A large dark hill loomed in front of the boat.
“That's Guana Island. Of course, if looks much better in the day…”
We rounded what we later learned to be, Monkey Point, and came into a cove. The boat’s spotlight illuminated clear water and white sand. Up the hill from the beachside dock, we could lights illuminating square white buildings.
We were transferred into golf carts and headed up the hill. The road was steep, and even at night the driver went at a terrific pace. We giggled as we drove under a canopy of leaves. It was deliciously warm, and the air smelt sweet and fresh. Where are we?!
The guide took us to our room, Ayegata 2 (named for one of the many islands in the BVI). We were told we would have an amazing view of the ocean in the morning. Dinner was being served in the dining area as soon as we were ready.
Our bags were delivered, and we changed into Guana appropriate dinnerware - collared shirt for Aaron and a long dress for me. In the 1930s, the families and groups of people living on the island lived in tents, had no hot water, and bought in all their supplies by row boat, but “they always dressed up for dinner.” The island now has somewhat upgraded from the tents and cold water, but the tradition of dressing up for dinner remains.
Upon entering the dining area, we were shown the bar.
“It’s an open bar, with an honor system. Sometimes there's a barman, otherwise just help yourself. Just record your drinks in the log.”
We promptly ordered mojitos.
We were seated on a candlelit terrace overlooking the dark ocean. The lovely staff proceeded to serve an amazing four course dinner, paired with matching wines. Carrot soup, followed by a salad bursting with fresh tropical fruits and spicy greens. Crackled pork served with roasted yams, potatoes, and tiny onions bursting with flavor. For dessert there was chocolate coulant, a kind of warm cakey muffin oozing chocolate, paired with strawberries that had definitely spent a good portion of their life in a bowl of icing sugar, and vanilla ice cream.
Throughout the night I kept waking up and looking expectantly out the window. Is it daytime yet?!
View from our room
When we awoke, a calm blue ocean stretched out in front of us.
Breakfast consisted of cheese, cured meats, and fresh fruit. There were also options for cereal, granola, yogurt, and hot breakfast with eggs of your choice cooked to order.
After breakfast, we were taken on a tour of the facilities, and signed up for various activities.
Before hitting the beach, we decided to do one of the many hikes that have been mapped out on the island. The Pyramid Trail started right outside our room, and promised great views and a trip to the rock the island is named for.
The trail was marked as easy, and we both became slightly unnerved at the island's ranking. The path was steep, rocky, narrow, and surprisingly challenging.
Breakfast consisted of cheese, cured meats, and fresh fruit. There were also options for cereal, granola, yogurt, and hot breakfast with eggs of your choice cooked to order.
After breakfast, we were taken on a tour of the facilities, and signed up for various activities.
Before hitting the beach, we decided to do one of the many hikes that have been mapped out on the island. The Pyramid Trail started right outside our room, and promised great views and a trip to the rock the island is named for.
The trail was marked as easy, and we both became slightly unnerved at the island's ranking. The path was steep, rocky, narrow, and surprisingly challenging.
All around us were beautiful trees, red turpentines, feathery tamarinds, and nest-like remnants of orchid plants. The dry climate is perfect for cacti, tall Organ Pipes and squat Turk's Caps. Dotted amongst the trees and cacti were an amazing array of bromeliads. Tiny lizards scuttled underfoot, and brown doves flitted in and out of the trees.
Half-way along we came to the edge of the island and the famed Iguana Rock for which is the island is named (we never did find out why the 'I' was dropped). Aaron, being a mountain goat, scampered down to check out the rocks further below. I stayed at the top taking panoramic pictures and trying to ignore my vertigo.
The path looped around the other side of the island. Aaron, who had become expert at spotting lizards, found our first real life iguana, a large pre-historic looking creature who scuttled away after we filmed it bobbing its head. We also spotted several common doves, and a tiny luminescent-green hummingbird with a long hook-shape beak.
Half-way along we came to the edge of the island and the famed Iguana Rock for which is the island is named (we never did find out why the 'I' was dropped). Aaron, being a mountain goat, scampered down to check out the rocks further below. I stayed at the top taking panoramic pictures and trying to ignore my vertigo.
The path looped around the other side of the island. Aaron, who had become expert at spotting lizards, found our first real life iguana, a large pre-historic looking creature who scuttled away after we filmed it bobbing its head. We also spotted several common doves, and a tiny luminescent-green hummingbird with a long hook-shape beak.
The beach
Down on the beach, the air was warm, the water was crystal clear and inviting, and pelicans and brown boobys were nose-diving for fish. Aaron decided to take out one of the small sailboats, and I went for a swim. It was fun to be surrounded by tiny silvery fish and the occasional larger fish with a yellow stripe down its side. We found a hammock hanging beneath some palm trees, and I’m pleased to report it was in perfect working order.
All that activity meant we were starving again. Lunch was a buffet affair, with fresh fish, porchetta, braised bok choy, several different salads all topped with fresh fruit, cous cous salads, bread… We were ready to leave the table when the waitress bought out dessert - orange cake topped with orange slices and mango sorbet. I hope you’re catching on that the food was really out of this world amazing.
In the afternoon we went on an Orchard Tour. Led by the resident botanic expert Vernon, we wandered around the large orchard learning about the cycles of papaya, bananas, mangos, bread fruit, and a whole array of fruits and vegetables. Vernon studied agriculture and agricultural tourism in Cuba, and has been applying organic and sustainable farming practices to the orchard for the past few years.
All that activity meant we were starving again. Lunch was a buffet affair, with fresh fish, porchetta, braised bok choy, several different salads all topped with fresh fruit, cous cous salads, bread… We were ready to leave the table when the waitress bought out dessert - orange cake topped with orange slices and mango sorbet. I hope you’re catching on that the food was really out of this world amazing.
In the afternoon we went on an Orchard Tour. Led by the resident botanic expert Vernon, we wandered around the large orchard learning about the cycles of papaya, bananas, mangos, bread fruit, and a whole array of fruits and vegetables. Vernon studied agriculture and agricultural tourism in Cuba, and has been applying organic and sustainable farming practices to the orchard for the past few years.
Boy samples coconut
We discovered that Guana has a farm-to-table program, so a lot of the produce we had been enjoying at our meals came straight from the orchard. At the end of the tour, we were treated to samples of freshly harvested star fruit, papaya, banana, mangosteen, coconut, miracle fruit, and a slice of key lime. Those of you who have ever tasted a key lime will know it’s incredibly sour. Eating a little miracle fruit beforehand has the amazing ability of making the key lime sweet. Apparently there is research underway to use miracle fruit as a natural alternative to sugar.
A sample of the produce in the Orchard. Basil, papaya, water apple, bananas, and eggplant.
After more beach time, we headed to cocktail hour and hors d’oeuvres in the living room of the main house. We met some of the other guests (during our stay, there were never more than 15-20 other guests on the whole island) and made friends with a lovely couple, Drew and Brian, from Atlanta. Dinner was another four course affair, this time with a bottle of champagne courtesy of the Dream Team.
On Saturday morning, we hiked Liao Wei Ping's Trail up to the bat caves. The trail is named for the island's former resident Dr Liao Wei Ping. Dr. Liao Wei Ping is a master gardener, ornithologist, sculptor and poet, who cut many of the trails by hand and started the orchard. He now resides in San Francisco.
Liao’s Trail is more inland than the Pyramid Trail, and so had a denser forest with twisting rope vines, huge trees that housed bromeliads and enormous termite nests, and a plethora of crabs. It was fun to stand still and hear them scurrying across the rocks and leaf litter on the path. We cut away from Liao’s Trail and onto the Orchard Trail which led back to the beach.
Liao’s Trail is more inland than the Pyramid Trail, and so had a denser forest with twisting rope vines, huge trees that housed bromeliads and enormous termite nests, and a plethora of crabs. It was fun to stand still and hear them scurrying across the rocks and leaf litter on the path. We cut away from Liao’s Trail and onto the Orchard Trail which led back to the beach.
The coconut was as big as my head (without the hair...obviously).
I discovered that it was possible to have fresh coconuts delivered to the beach, so began participating in an important tradition of drinking from a coconut on a daily basis.
View from the Massage Hut
Beverage time was followed by massage time. Massage and spa treatments take place in the Spa, a wooden hut with large mesh windows situated between the palm trees and sea grapes right on the beach. The masseuse, Lissa, placed a bowl of hibiscus flowers under the head rest, and with the sound of the Caribbean ocean lapping on the sand, I had one of the best deep tissue massages ever. I had never actually experienced a meditation or massage on a tropical beach with warm flower-scented air wafting through the windows and, I have to say, it lives up to its cliched hype.
After lunch, we headed out on a snorkeling trip. The expedition was led by Captain Chris and Jordan, a Guana Island staff member who has worked for many years as a professional fisherman, and we were joined by our friend Drew.
Chris parked the boat a little way from Monkey Point, taught us how to prepare the masks with detergent, and showed us how to fit the masks properly. In the water, we were given pool noodles so we could spend more time in the water without worrying too much about wearing ourselves out.
The water was a little chilly at first, and the visibility was not brilliant owing to the wind. Once we got closer to Monkey Point, the visibility improved and Aaron and I started to see what all the fuss over snorkeling/diving was all about. We saw several different corals, schools of silver bait fish diving in and out of the water, trumpet fish, rainbow trout, blue tangs, and even a barracuda. Jordan, our resident fisherman, kept declaring he wished he had a line as some hefty looking yellowtails kept swimming by.
After lunch, we headed out on a snorkeling trip. The expedition was led by Captain Chris and Jordan, a Guana Island staff member who has worked for many years as a professional fisherman, and we were joined by our friend Drew.
Chris parked the boat a little way from Monkey Point, taught us how to prepare the masks with detergent, and showed us how to fit the masks properly. In the water, we were given pool noodles so we could spend more time in the water without worrying too much about wearing ourselves out.
The water was a little chilly at first, and the visibility was not brilliant owing to the wind. Once we got closer to Monkey Point, the visibility improved and Aaron and I started to see what all the fuss over snorkeling/diving was all about. We saw several different corals, schools of silver bait fish diving in and out of the water, trumpet fish, rainbow trout, blue tangs, and even a barracuda. Jordan, our resident fisherman, kept declaring he wished he had a line as some hefty looking yellowtails kept swimming by.
Snorkelling at Monkey Point. My mask was being fixed when this photo was taken.
Back at the beach, it was novel reading and piña colada time.
In the evening we enjoyed hors d’oeuvres with our friends, and were seated at the largest table to share dinner with a group of people who have all been coming back to Guana on an annual basis for some twenty years. Our meal consisted of sweet pea soup, carrot salad (served with fresh fruit and micro greens from the orchard), halibut with fresh vegetables, and finished off with sweet cheese.
Sunday was Castaway Picnic day. We were taken by boat to Bigelow Beach and left for four hours to our own devices with a large picnic hamper and cooler. We set up the picnic under the shade of the sea grapes, and headed into the water for a snorkel. We saw more trumpet fish, bait fish, some beautiful fan-shaped corals, and Aaron spotted the tail of a moray eel. After our swim, we savored cheeses, prosciutto, salami, crusty bread smeared with olive oil, tortilla, fresh fruit, and some sweet white wine. Tres romantic and luxurious!
In the evening we enjoyed hors d’oeuvres with our friends, and were seated at the largest table to share dinner with a group of people who have all been coming back to Guana on an annual basis for some twenty years. Our meal consisted of sweet pea soup, carrot salad (served with fresh fruit and micro greens from the orchard), halibut with fresh vegetables, and finished off with sweet cheese.
Sunday was Castaway Picnic day. We were taken by boat to Bigelow Beach and left for four hours to our own devices with a large picnic hamper and cooler. We set up the picnic under the shade of the sea grapes, and headed into the water for a snorkel. We saw more trumpet fish, bait fish, some beautiful fan-shaped corals, and Aaron spotted the tail of a moray eel. After our swim, we savored cheeses, prosciutto, salami, crusty bread smeared with olive oil, tortilla, fresh fruit, and some sweet white wine. Tres romantic and luxurious!
We were left here on our own for four hours. The suffering.
Back on the main beach, I consumed my daily coconut and a piña colada.
In the afternoon, we decided to hike Long Man’s Trail down to Chicken Rock. The hike promised beautiful views of the island, and it delivered. The terrain was different again from the previous two hikes. Some sections were more open, rockier and dotted with cacti. Other sections were denser and more forest-like. In one section we came across a kaleidoscope of orange and black butterflies fluttering about. They were so full of color, so light, so whimsical, it was quite emotional watching them flit in and out of the trees. A little ways on, we came across yet another kaleidoscope of butterflies, this time yellow and black and with different patterns to the orange butterflies. We spotted lone white moths dancing through the air, and a beautiful iridescent green-grey moth hanging out on a leaf.
In the afternoon, we decided to hike Long Man’s Trail down to Chicken Rock. The hike promised beautiful views of the island, and it delivered. The terrain was different again from the previous two hikes. Some sections were more open, rockier and dotted with cacti. Other sections were denser and more forest-like. In one section we came across a kaleidoscope of orange and black butterflies fluttering about. They were so full of color, so light, so whimsical, it was quite emotional watching them flit in and out of the trees. A little ways on, we came across yet another kaleidoscope of butterflies, this time yellow and black and with different patterns to the orange butterflies. We spotted lone white moths dancing through the air, and a beautiful iridescent green-grey moth hanging out on a leaf.
View from Long Man's Trail
We didn’t make it all the way to Chicken Rock, because we realized the sun was starting to set. We arrived back near the main house to a lovely west-facing garden called the Garden of Eden where we were able to enjoy an incredible view of the sinking sun.
An hour later, we were noshing on hors d’oeuvres with our friends and sitting down to our last dinner on the island. Pumpkin soup, tomato and mozzarella salad (served with strawberries and pine nuts, amazing), dorade with grilled vegetables and duck breast with quinoa, and apple financier for dessert.
Monday morning was heart-breaking. How could we leave our island paradise? How would I cope without my daily coconut infusion? Not to mention that Richmond was -10C…
An hour later, we were noshing on hors d’oeuvres with our friends and sitting down to our last dinner on the island. Pumpkin soup, tomato and mozzarella salad (served with strawberries and pine nuts, amazing), dorade with grilled vegetables and duck breast with quinoa, and apple financier for dessert.
Monday morning was heart-breaking. How could we leave our island paradise? How would I cope without my daily coconut infusion? Not to mention that Richmond was -10C…
One of four resident giant tortoises
We did one last hike, this time down to the beach on the other side of the island. We also visited the island’s resident giant tortoises. We spent our last couple of island hours drinking fresh coconut and piña coladas on the beach, and then it was time to go home.
We boarded the boat, and waved goodbye to Guana Island. We each threw a red hibiscus into the water, hoping the flower would return to shore. If the theory behind the tradition is true, a flower returning the beach means we will also return...
We are incredibly grateful to the Sloan Kettering Dream Team and their amazing generosity for making our dream honeymoon come true. It was a very special way to start 2017.
We boarded the boat, and waved goodbye to Guana Island. We each threw a red hibiscus into the water, hoping the flower would return to shore. If the theory behind the tradition is true, a flower returning the beach means we will also return...
We are incredibly grateful to the Sloan Kettering Dream Team and their amazing generosity for making our dream honeymoon come true. It was a very special way to start 2017.
- Published on
I left Australia five years ago today
The “five year plan” was this:
Go to drama school
Graduate
Work in London
Meet an English-American
Move to New York
Re-assess where I want to be, and figure out next five years.
If I could talk to you/me/us
In that moment when you’re sitting on the plane
Full of excitement and expectation and hope
What would I say to you? What would you want to know?
I think of Abuelo
Standing on the deck of the P&O Iberia
Leaning against the railing as
Sydney Harbour comes into view
Imagining his life in Australia
Believing that this would be the final destination for his family
When he got sick
Did he think about that moment?
Had his life turned out the way he imagined?
I never thought to ask until now
When I left Australia
I didn’t expect to fall in love so quickly
At the end of the summer Aaron produced a small white box and (unbeknownst to him)
I completely freaked out
Convinced he was about to propose
I was not ready, not even remotely interested in marriage
I was moving to London and going to drama school and I wasn’t about to let a boy get in the way of that
The box contained a pair of earrings
Handmade by one of our friends, a pair of
Beautiful little wasps on nets of honeycomb
They’re still one of my favorite accessories
Aaron didn’t know about the momentary freak out
Until a week or so ago
But first there was London and drama school
Wearing black every day
Finding neutral, and finding center
Learning plosives and fricatives and voiced and unvoiced sounds
Learning about resonance and keeping the larynx high and the importance of being warm
Learning resilience and defeat and gaining and losing my self esteem
Learning to be an effective tree
Learning Sunday in the Park with George and falling in love with that gorgeous rich sumptuous and incredible music and figuring that there must be as many dots in the score as there were in the painting
Going to drama school in a recession was
The best of times and
The worst
Without a job to pay the bills
I was ready to drop out
It was either school fees or rent
Then I was granted a scholarship
There was my aunt, who became my London Mum
L’Mum, as I now call her
And spending my twenty-seventh birthday walking around Highgate Cemetery and seeing a play about 9/11 and eating delicious pizza
Being treated to wonderful dinners and walks along the canals
There was flat-hunting as a foreigner in London
Visiting dingy flats with mouldy walls
And showers next to the bed
A shared toilet in the hallway
And being told I needed to give up half my life-savings for the privilege of living there
There was my tiny room in Clandon Gardens
With its double glazed windows
Room for a bed, and a desk, and not much else
Where one night, delirious from hours of studying
I raced outside and danced in the snow instead of going to bed
It was where Aaron and I spent our first Christmas together
We made polvoron and had Christmas Eve dinner at a pub in Islington
And I learnt that Christmas didn’t have to be stressful
On Christmas Day we stayed home
And watched Firefly and ate Wensleydale cheese
A chance encounter on the tube
Led me to a kindred spirit
And living in a room of my own
In Willesden Green
I had a window seat, and room to twirl in, space to sing and flute
And a huge park just down the road for running in
Speaking of a room of one’s own
Walking the streets once paced by
Virginia Woolf and Mary Wollstonecraft
I immersed myself in feminism
And read my way through the feminist canon
I lived in a 400-year-old house in Ruislip
Ran to the Lido and borrowed books from the library in the converted barn
After a year of listening obsessively to MusicalTalk
I got to be a guest presenter
And became friends with the person who started it all
I saw Idina Menzel and Marvin Hamlisch in concert
And met Sir Tim Rice, who extended his hand and said
“I’m Tim”
I saw Liza Minelli
And Alanis Morrissette and
The Cat Empire and
A Chorus Line, A Doll’s House, Matilda, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Light Princess, and Shrek
Much Ado, Rock of Ages, War Horse, and Phantom
Top Hat, Legally Blonde, Betty Blue Eyes, and Loserville
I saw tiny brand new musicals in black box theatres above pubs
And a wonderful re-telling of Arabian Nights
I saw Grounded at the Gate Theatre, and did a workshop with the actor
I wandered through Carnaby St and the twisting, winding alleyways that make up central London
I fell in love with Neal’s Yard and drank chocolate smoothies and bought hand-made soap
I ate haloumi burgers in Brick Lane
And salad from Food for Thought in Covent Garden
I visited the Globe
Stonehenge and St. Paul’s
Bath, Bristol, Brighton and Cardiff
In Oxford, I sat in the sun with Australian friends and watched the rowing
We went to the Shri Swaminarayan Mandir, one of the largest Hindu temples outside of India
Mum took me to Geneva
And flew me to Lanzarote for Vicky’s fortieth
I applied for a job at a supermarket
And was told that 30 hours a week now constituted “part-time”
I trialled at a café where I spent three hours serving customers and clearing tables to be told the manager had changed her mind about needing someone extra, and refused to pay me
I eventually got work at Winter Wonderland
£6 an hour to sit in the freezing cold selling tickets in £5 denominations
I ushered at Central and smiled sweetly for wealthy patrons
When drama school was over, I temped in offices across London
Answering phones for the giants in finance, publishing, and media
The best job was ushering at the Cambridge and getting paid
To watch Matilda eight times a week
I went back to camp
It felt like going home
I discovered the joy of teaching and
Saw Yo-Yo Ma performing at Tanglewood
I walked a labyrinth
Your boy is walking ahead of you
He is walking at a slower pace
He has internalized mindfulness
He does it as a matter of course
Your fall into his rhythm
And breathe
We drove across America together and
I fell in love with Fort Collins
We went to the stupa for my birthday and had a picnic in the park
With market wine and cheese and bread
I spent my second Christmas with Aaron,
My first with his family in Richmond
When I arrived after a long day of travel
Aaron and Jesse had strung fairy lights across the porch
We had “Jewish Christmas”
Watched a movie and ate Chinese food
Aaron and I decided to get married
I waited impatiently for my fiancé visa
Quit my job at the Cambridge
And walked across Spain (again)
I arrived in Fort Collins at the beginning of winter
OpenStage and Old Town
Happy Heart and Wolverine Farm
My first Shakespeare
Volunteering and cycling and, best of all
Being with my love, at last
We packed up the car and drove east
Said goodbye to Ruth
My skin broke out in acne and I felt impossibly tired
And then it was Cancer
And Recovering from Cancer
Depression reared its ugly head and consumed me whole
I flew back to Australia
To say goodbye to Abuela
Sydney felt like an overgrown country town
Coming home to New York was a relief
We said goodbye to Jake
I was able to work again
I went to shows galore
I went to counseling
We visited Maine
And here you are.
Dear Me five years ago,
You go to drama school
You graduate (it feels weird)
You work in London
You meet an American
You move to New York
Right now you don't know it, but all of this happens and more
You fall in love with an American
Who is an atheist descended from communist Jews
Who doesn’t eat vegetables
Is a wonderful cook
And is the most patient, kind, loving and wonderful human you can ever imagine
You love and hate London
You are poor
You live in different parts of the city and are continually amazed by its size and history and beauty
You walk the Camino (again)
You haven’t heard of it yet, but you live in Fort Collins, Colorado. It’s beautiful.
You get sick. The sickest you have ever been, and it’s going to suck.
You get better. It’s going to be a slog, but it happens. And the heaviness and tiredness and depression get easier (I think).
You say goodbye to Abuela
You are in the room when she passes away
And it will be peaceful and beautiful and sad
You live in New York
In Brooklyn specifically – your neighborhood is awesome
You are loved and cared for and held by extraordinary people
And one day,
Five years from now
You will be sitting in an office in Manhattan, around the corner from Grand Central
(Yep, you work there!)
And you will reflect on all that has happened between now and then
All the people you have met
The places you have seen
The things that have made your heart sing and be light
And you will laugh at your Five Year Plan
And wonder
What’s next?
The “five year plan” was this:
Go to drama school
Graduate
Work in London
Meet an English-American
Move to New York
Re-assess where I want to be, and figure out next five years.
If I could talk to you/me/us
In that moment when you’re sitting on the plane
Full of excitement and expectation and hope
What would I say to you? What would you want to know?
I think of Abuelo
Standing on the deck of the P&O Iberia
Leaning against the railing as
Sydney Harbour comes into view
Imagining his life in Australia
Believing that this would be the final destination for his family
When he got sick
Did he think about that moment?
Had his life turned out the way he imagined?
I never thought to ask until now
When I left Australia
I didn’t expect to fall in love so quickly
At the end of the summer Aaron produced a small white box and (unbeknownst to him)
I completely freaked out
Convinced he was about to propose
I was not ready, not even remotely interested in marriage
I was moving to London and going to drama school and I wasn’t about to let a boy get in the way of that
The box contained a pair of earrings
Handmade by one of our friends, a pair of
Beautiful little wasps on nets of honeycomb
They’re still one of my favorite accessories
Aaron didn’t know about the momentary freak out
Until a week or so ago
But first there was London and drama school
Wearing black every day
Finding neutral, and finding center
Learning plosives and fricatives and voiced and unvoiced sounds
Learning about resonance and keeping the larynx high and the importance of being warm
Learning resilience and defeat and gaining and losing my self esteem
Learning to be an effective tree
Learning Sunday in the Park with George and falling in love with that gorgeous rich sumptuous and incredible music and figuring that there must be as many dots in the score as there were in the painting
Going to drama school in a recession was
The best of times and
The worst
Without a job to pay the bills
I was ready to drop out
It was either school fees or rent
Then I was granted a scholarship
There was my aunt, who became my London Mum
L’Mum, as I now call her
And spending my twenty-seventh birthday walking around Highgate Cemetery and seeing a play about 9/11 and eating delicious pizza
Being treated to wonderful dinners and walks along the canals
There was flat-hunting as a foreigner in London
Visiting dingy flats with mouldy walls
And showers next to the bed
A shared toilet in the hallway
And being told I needed to give up half my life-savings for the privilege of living there
There was my tiny room in Clandon Gardens
With its double glazed windows
Room for a bed, and a desk, and not much else
Where one night, delirious from hours of studying
I raced outside and danced in the snow instead of going to bed
It was where Aaron and I spent our first Christmas together
We made polvoron and had Christmas Eve dinner at a pub in Islington
And I learnt that Christmas didn’t have to be stressful
On Christmas Day we stayed home
And watched Firefly and ate Wensleydale cheese
A chance encounter on the tube
Led me to a kindred spirit
And living in a room of my own
In Willesden Green
I had a window seat, and room to twirl in, space to sing and flute
And a huge park just down the road for running in
Speaking of a room of one’s own
Walking the streets once paced by
Virginia Woolf and Mary Wollstonecraft
I immersed myself in feminism
And read my way through the feminist canon
I lived in a 400-year-old house in Ruislip
Ran to the Lido and borrowed books from the library in the converted barn
After a year of listening obsessively to MusicalTalk
I got to be a guest presenter
And became friends with the person who started it all
I saw Idina Menzel and Marvin Hamlisch in concert
And met Sir Tim Rice, who extended his hand and said
“I’m Tim”
I saw Liza Minelli
And Alanis Morrissette and
The Cat Empire and
A Chorus Line, A Doll’s House, Matilda, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Light Princess, and Shrek
Much Ado, Rock of Ages, War Horse, and Phantom
Top Hat, Legally Blonde, Betty Blue Eyes, and Loserville
I saw tiny brand new musicals in black box theatres above pubs
And a wonderful re-telling of Arabian Nights
I saw Grounded at the Gate Theatre, and did a workshop with the actor
I wandered through Carnaby St and the twisting, winding alleyways that make up central London
I fell in love with Neal’s Yard and drank chocolate smoothies and bought hand-made soap
I ate haloumi burgers in Brick Lane
And salad from Food for Thought in Covent Garden
I visited the Globe
Stonehenge and St. Paul’s
Bath, Bristol, Brighton and Cardiff
In Oxford, I sat in the sun with Australian friends and watched the rowing
We went to the Shri Swaminarayan Mandir, one of the largest Hindu temples outside of India
Mum took me to Geneva
And flew me to Lanzarote for Vicky’s fortieth
I applied for a job at a supermarket
And was told that 30 hours a week now constituted “part-time”
I trialled at a café where I spent three hours serving customers and clearing tables to be told the manager had changed her mind about needing someone extra, and refused to pay me
I eventually got work at Winter Wonderland
£6 an hour to sit in the freezing cold selling tickets in £5 denominations
I ushered at Central and smiled sweetly for wealthy patrons
When drama school was over, I temped in offices across London
Answering phones for the giants in finance, publishing, and media
The best job was ushering at the Cambridge and getting paid
To watch Matilda eight times a week
I went back to camp
It felt like going home
I discovered the joy of teaching and
Saw Yo-Yo Ma performing at Tanglewood
I walked a labyrinth
Your boy is walking ahead of you
He is walking at a slower pace
He has internalized mindfulness
He does it as a matter of course
Your fall into his rhythm
And breathe
We drove across America together and
I fell in love with Fort Collins
We went to the stupa for my birthday and had a picnic in the park
With market wine and cheese and bread
I spent my second Christmas with Aaron,
My first with his family in Richmond
When I arrived after a long day of travel
Aaron and Jesse had strung fairy lights across the porch
We had “Jewish Christmas”
Watched a movie and ate Chinese food
Aaron and I decided to get married
I waited impatiently for my fiancé visa
Quit my job at the Cambridge
And walked across Spain (again)
I arrived in Fort Collins at the beginning of winter
OpenStage and Old Town
Happy Heart and Wolverine Farm
My first Shakespeare
Volunteering and cycling and, best of all
Being with my love, at last
We packed up the car and drove east
Said goodbye to Ruth
My skin broke out in acne and I felt impossibly tired
And then it was Cancer
And Recovering from Cancer
Depression reared its ugly head and consumed me whole
I flew back to Australia
To say goodbye to Abuela
Sydney felt like an overgrown country town
Coming home to New York was a relief
We said goodbye to Jake
I was able to work again
I went to shows galore
I went to counseling
We visited Maine
And here you are.
Dear Me five years ago,
You go to drama school
You graduate (it feels weird)
You work in London
You meet an American
You move to New York
Right now you don't know it, but all of this happens and more
You fall in love with an American
Who is an atheist descended from communist Jews
Who doesn’t eat vegetables
Is a wonderful cook
And is the most patient, kind, loving and wonderful human you can ever imagine
You love and hate London
You are poor
You live in different parts of the city and are continually amazed by its size and history and beauty
You walk the Camino (again)
You haven’t heard of it yet, but you live in Fort Collins, Colorado. It’s beautiful.
You get sick. The sickest you have ever been, and it’s going to suck.
You get better. It’s going to be a slog, but it happens. And the heaviness and tiredness and depression get easier (I think).
You say goodbye to Abuela
You are in the room when she passes away
And it will be peaceful and beautiful and sad
You live in New York
In Brooklyn specifically – your neighborhood is awesome
You are loved and cared for and held by extraordinary people
And one day,
Five years from now
You will be sitting in an office in Manhattan, around the corner from Grand Central
(Yep, you work there!)
And you will reflect on all that has happened between now and then
All the people you have met
The places you have seen
The things that have made your heart sing and be light
And you will laugh at your Five Year Plan
And wonder
What’s next?
- Published on
There's a little boy, maybe seven or eight, with a sweet and inquisitive face. He's one of those bright kids that given half a chance could be brilliant. Right now, he's restless and bored. These long trips home on the subway are interminable. If only he had something to do.
His mother is exhausted. Exhausted in life and exhausted by him. Why won't he just sit still and be good like his sister? The good child is fast asleep in her lap. The mother leans her head back and closes her eyes.
The boy sees his mother is dozing. He must not make any noise. He stands and faces her, checking to see if she is really asleep or just pretending. Her eyes remain closed. Between her feet on the floor is her backpack. He thinks there maybe something fun in it. A book? A snack? He carefully reaches into the bag. Just when he thinks he has got something, his mother's eyes flick open.
"GET BACK TO YOUR SEAT," she hisses. "You're gonna to get it when we get home."
The boy sits back down, watching her face the whole time. Will she hit him here?
A group of older boys gets on the train. They are tall. They swagger. They stand in the middle of the carriage. One boy calls out,
"What time is it?"
The group responds,
"Show time!"
The little boy is immediately enthralled.
"Mama, it's showtime!"
She glares at him, resumes her nap.
One by one, the boys perform flips and jumps using the handrails and poles. In between, they do tricks with their baseball caps, seamlessly flipping them up and down their arms and back onto their heads. The boys are noisy. They are brash. They are brilliant. No one tells them to be quiet and sit down.
The little boy stares. He could be one of them one day, if they showed him how. He sits up a little taller when they come by with a hat asking for donations. If only he could drop some money, even just a dollar bill, into the hat. Then they'd notice him, maybe even make him a part of their troupe.
"Mama," he says. Through half-closed eyelids, she snarls at him to be quiet.
His mother is exhausted. Exhausted in life and exhausted by him. Why won't he just sit still and be good like his sister? The good child is fast asleep in her lap. The mother leans her head back and closes her eyes.
The boy sees his mother is dozing. He must not make any noise. He stands and faces her, checking to see if she is really asleep or just pretending. Her eyes remain closed. Between her feet on the floor is her backpack. He thinks there maybe something fun in it. A book? A snack? He carefully reaches into the bag. Just when he thinks he has got something, his mother's eyes flick open.
"GET BACK TO YOUR SEAT," she hisses. "You're gonna to get it when we get home."
The boy sits back down, watching her face the whole time. Will she hit him here?
A group of older boys gets on the train. They are tall. They swagger. They stand in the middle of the carriage. One boy calls out,
"What time is it?"
The group responds,
"Show time!"
The little boy is immediately enthralled.
"Mama, it's showtime!"
She glares at him, resumes her nap.
One by one, the boys perform flips and jumps using the handrails and poles. In between, they do tricks with their baseball caps, seamlessly flipping them up and down their arms and back onto their heads. The boys are noisy. They are brash. They are brilliant. No one tells them to be quiet and sit down.
The little boy stares. He could be one of them one day, if they showed him how. He sits up a little taller when they come by with a hat asking for donations. If only he could drop some money, even just a dollar bill, into the hat. Then they'd notice him, maybe even make him a part of their troupe.
"Mama," he says. Through half-closed eyelids, she snarls at him to be quiet.
- Published on
Watching the movie musical
Of the musical
That has been in my life
Longer than five years
Memories of my interactions with the show
Flood back
Early uni days
In Sydney
When cast albums became accessible
And the internet made
Broadway
Not so far away
And I “discovered”
Jason Robert Brown and
The Last Five Years
Working on the student production
Lighting op with Len
Who became one of my dearest friends
The musty smell of Fig Tree Theatre
Watching the production at Sydney Uni
Directed by Benita, now at Columbia
Starring Blake, now in Blood Brothers
And Lexi, now an opera singer in Berlin
An early date with the boy
Who I thought would be husband
We were engaged in September 2009
And by February 2010
Five years ago
It was all over.
And then it all began.
I quit my day job
I started meditating
I saw JRB in concert
I auditioned for drama school
I moved to London
I fell in love
I walked across Spain
I moved to Colorado
I got married
We moved to New York
I got fucking cancer
I sat in my lounge room and watched
The Last Five Years movie musical
On demand. Because you can do that now.
Seeing New York flit across the screen
Your new home town
Soon you’ll join the line of girls
Belting as high as they can
And you’ve been through that break-up
You’ve felt that euphoria
Goodbye until tomorrow
And you just have to be patient
For the next ten minutes
And that score
The way it catches in your throat
Breaks your heart
And brings back all these memories of
The last five years.
Of the musical
That has been in my life
Longer than five years
Memories of my interactions with the show
Flood back
Early uni days
In Sydney
When cast albums became accessible
And the internet made
Broadway
Not so far away
And I “discovered”
Jason Robert Brown and
The Last Five Years
Working on the student production
Lighting op with Len
Who became one of my dearest friends
The musty smell of Fig Tree Theatre
Watching the production at Sydney Uni
Directed by Benita, now at Columbia
Starring Blake, now in Blood Brothers
And Lexi, now an opera singer in Berlin
An early date with the boy
Who I thought would be husband
We were engaged in September 2009
And by February 2010
Five years ago
It was all over.
And then it all began.
I quit my day job
I started meditating
I saw JRB in concert
I auditioned for drama school
I moved to London
I fell in love
I walked across Spain
I moved to Colorado
I got married
We moved to New York
I got fucking cancer
I sat in my lounge room and watched
The Last Five Years movie musical
On demand. Because you can do that now.
Seeing New York flit across the screen
Your new home town
Soon you’ll join the line of girls
Belting as high as they can
And you’ve been through that break-up
You’ve felt that euphoria
Goodbye until tomorrow
And you just have to be patient
For the next ten minutes
And that score
The way it catches in your throat
Breaks your heart
And brings back all these memories of
The last five years.
- Published on
me. (almost) thirty and fabulous in NYC.
I’m turning 30 in three days. For the last six years, my dream has been to be 30 and FABULOUS in New York City. I was going to celebrate by picnicking in Central Park, seeing a Broadway show, and drinking fancy cocktails. Instead, I will be preparing for a second round of chemotherapy because I have a life-threatening illness called acute myeloid leukemia.
Cancer sucks. I’m not going to lie. No amount of Julie Andrews-Mary Poppins-Maria Von Trapp inspired positivity is going to change that fact. It has made me very, very sick. It makes me feel utterly, utterly exhausted. It has taken a toll on my loved ones. It has put an unfair strain on my still-less-than-a-year-old marriage. It has made our move to NYC harder, and more complicated.
Six weeks before my 30th birthday, I was faced with my own mortality. I was told that if I did not undergo treatment, I would be dead in a month. It was sobering. Treatment was no picnic. I feel like it was worse for the friends and family who looked on feeling helpless (they were not helpless. Their very presence was a gift), all I had to do was lie there. A week ago, I filled out a form that gave instructions for what to do in the event that I couldn’t make decisions for myself.
In terms of a bad situation, I truly don’t have the worst scenario. For now, I’m at home in Brooklyn (!!), in a sunny and spacious apartment, with my truly wonderful and loving husband. I’m receiving treatment at one of the top hospitals on the planet. I have been given an amazing insight into the truly wonderful support network and web of love I am a part of (as written about previously). I have been able to understand how I have positively impacted on other people’s lives. I am loved, held, and cherished.
Friends and family have started asking what I’d like for my birthday. I honestly can’t think of anything materially. I want to be cured. I want to be well. I want to live for another 50-60 years and snuggle my darling husband and tell him every day for forever how much I love him. I want to sing and dance on Broadway and trip the light fantastic and and teach voice and stage plays and write stories and travel to places I haven’t seen. I want to eat delicious food and grow my own veggies and volunteer in community gardens. I want to explore our new neighborhood. I want to play in NYC. I want to read books, see shows, watch films. I want to meet Julie Andrews and thank her for raising me. I want to meet Patti LuPone and thank her for inspiring me. I want to meet Geoffrey Rush and do a master class with him. I want to work. I want to play. I want to live.
In three days, I will be turning 30. I’m in NYC. I'm bald, and dammit, I'm fabulous. There will be no picnic in Central Park, or a Broadway show, or cocktails. That’ll happen when I’m better (you’re all invited. Details to follow). For now, here are my birthday requests (10 for September 10th). They are things I love and want to share. Please do one, some, or any of the below.
You are welcome to share this post. You are welcome to write and share your stories, I'd love to hear from you (although my replies may be slow... chemo brain is real!).
With love and gratitude,
Lu xx
Cancer sucks. I’m not going to lie. No amount of Julie Andrews-Mary Poppins-Maria Von Trapp inspired positivity is going to change that fact. It has made me very, very sick. It makes me feel utterly, utterly exhausted. It has taken a toll on my loved ones. It has put an unfair strain on my still-less-than-a-year-old marriage. It has made our move to NYC harder, and more complicated.
Six weeks before my 30th birthday, I was faced with my own mortality. I was told that if I did not undergo treatment, I would be dead in a month. It was sobering. Treatment was no picnic. I feel like it was worse for the friends and family who looked on feeling helpless (they were not helpless. Their very presence was a gift), all I had to do was lie there. A week ago, I filled out a form that gave instructions for what to do in the event that I couldn’t make decisions for myself.
In terms of a bad situation, I truly don’t have the worst scenario. For now, I’m at home in Brooklyn (!!), in a sunny and spacious apartment, with my truly wonderful and loving husband. I’m receiving treatment at one of the top hospitals on the planet. I have been given an amazing insight into the truly wonderful support network and web of love I am a part of (as written about previously). I have been able to understand how I have positively impacted on other people’s lives. I am loved, held, and cherished.
Friends and family have started asking what I’d like for my birthday. I honestly can’t think of anything materially. I want to be cured. I want to be well. I want to live for another 50-60 years and snuggle my darling husband and tell him every day for forever how much I love him. I want to sing and dance on Broadway and trip the light fantastic and and teach voice and stage plays and write stories and travel to places I haven’t seen. I want to eat delicious food and grow my own veggies and volunteer in community gardens. I want to explore our new neighborhood. I want to play in NYC. I want to read books, see shows, watch films. I want to meet Julie Andrews and thank her for raising me. I want to meet Patti LuPone and thank her for inspiring me. I want to meet Geoffrey Rush and do a master class with him. I want to work. I want to play. I want to live.
In three days, I will be turning 30. I’m in NYC. I'm bald, and dammit, I'm fabulous. There will be no picnic in Central Park, or a Broadway show, or cocktails. That’ll happen when I’m better (you’re all invited. Details to follow). For now, here are my birthday requests (10 for September 10th). They are things I love and want to share. Please do one, some, or any of the below.
- Write to someone you have been thinking kindly about. Make it a person you have not spoken to in a long time. Do it without expectation of a response. Tell them you’ve been thinking of them and why.
- Buy a copy of The Big Issue, or equivalent street mag, from the next vendor you see.
- Pay attention to your breath for one minute. Don’t worry about whether you’re “doing it right” or breathing “properly”. Just pause and watch your breath go in and out for one minute. Repeat throughout the day as you remember this request.
- Read an actual book. Not on a device, an actual book. Smell the pages. Feel the pages between your fingers. Savor the delicious feeling of being-almost-at-the-end and not wanting it to be finished.
- That instrument you’ve always wanted to learn? Work out right now how you can get a hold of that instrument, and seek out lessons. The internet is an amazing place.
- Seek out your local farmer’s market. Buy something you’ve never seen/eaten before and learn what to do with it.
- If you are willing and able, donate blood and/or platelets. Google it right now to find out where you can do so in your city. If you can’t donate, consider sharing information on how to do so.
- If you are willing and able, sign up to be a donor on the bone marrow registry in your country. You could be a life-saving match for someone. Google it right now to find out where you can do so in your city.
- Be kind to yourself. No really. Stop being so hard on yourself. You are awesome and more loved and valued than you realize.
- Remember that you are alive. Remember your passions and what makes your spine tingle with delight, your heart race, and your soul feel happy. Allow yourself to feel sad when you’re down. It’s ok. This too shall pass. The good, the bad, the ugly. Just be here.
You are welcome to share this post. You are welcome to write and share your stories, I'd love to hear from you (although my replies may be slow... chemo brain is real!).
With love and gratitude,
Lu xx
- Published on
One day the wind changes
And a new nanny blows in from the north
A young lady who is on her own journey
But your four-year-old self has no concept of any of that
She is a magical lovely being
With bright curly hair
And a big smile
She makes everything fun
Your very own Mary Poppins
She is even English!
And she becomes a part of your life. Your family. Your
world.
Eventually, the wind changes
As it must and always will
And your very own Mary Poppins
Heads off again for more adventures of her own
Over the years you all keep in touch
Until it grows sporadic
Life just happens
You go to school
Parents separate
You go to high school and university
And travel
And write
And everybody goes about their days filled with breakfasts, and lunches, and
dinners
And the small things we don’t think about
That mark and pass each day
Until over twenty years have passed
And you’re a year off from thirty
And out of the blue
Your very own Mary Poppins writes to you through your
website
And you discover she lives in Chicago!
You plan to meet up.
You’re nervous. Why?!
It has been close to twenty-five years since you’ve seen each
other!
And you see her, and she’s still your nanny
She’s still magical and lovely
Still has the great big smile, though all her curls are gone
And she has children of her own
(The same age you were once upon a time!)
And even though all this time has passed
Even though all these lives have been lived in the intervening
time
It’s just like being with family, with a very close aunt or big
sister
She asks if you could stay in Chicago and become her
nanny!
You wish you could. You really do.
You never want to leave!
But the wind has changed
And you’re headed off for adventures of your own
You give her a hug
And promise to return
That night, your heart is so full
You can’t even sleep.
It’s not memories, or even topics of conversation,
It’s this sense
That you’ve rediscovered who you are
Where you came from
And who was there
Who made you who you are
And that time and space
Can never separate kindred spirits
People who are supposed to be in our lives
And make it better
The end.
And a new nanny blows in from the north
A young lady who is on her own journey
But your four-year-old self has no concept of any of that
She is a magical lovely being
With bright curly hair
And a big smile
She makes everything fun
Your very own Mary Poppins
She is even English!
And she becomes a part of your life. Your family. Your
world.
Eventually, the wind changes
As it must and always will
And your very own Mary Poppins
Heads off again for more adventures of her own
Over the years you all keep in touch
Until it grows sporadic
Life just happens
You go to school
Parents separate
You go to high school and university
And travel
And write
And everybody goes about their days filled with breakfasts, and lunches, and
dinners
And the small things we don’t think about
That mark and pass each day
Until over twenty years have passed
And you’re a year off from thirty
And out of the blue
Your very own Mary Poppins writes to you through your
website
And you discover she lives in Chicago!
You plan to meet up.
You’re nervous. Why?!
It has been close to twenty-five years since you’ve seen each
other!
And you see her, and she’s still your nanny
She’s still magical and lovely
Still has the great big smile, though all her curls are gone
And she has children of her own
(The same age you were once upon a time!)
And even though all this time has passed
Even though all these lives have been lived in the intervening
time
It’s just like being with family, with a very close aunt or big
sister
She asks if you could stay in Chicago and become her
nanny!
You wish you could. You really do.
You never want to leave!
But the wind has changed
And you’re headed off for adventures of your own
You give her a hug
And promise to return
That night, your heart is so full
You can’t even sleep.
It’s not memories, or even topics of conversation,
It’s this sense
That you’ve rediscovered who you are
Where you came from
And who was there
Who made you who you are
And that time and space
Can never separate kindred spirits
People who are supposed to be in our lives
And make it better
The end.
- Published on
Farewell Fort Collins!
Blink and you almost miss it.
The pretty grid of streets becomes farmland in less than fifteen minutes.
Hit the freeway.
The mountains recede in the rear view mirror and,
Welcome to Wyoming!
The land becomes flatter
Until there is nothing but flat green to the distant horizon.
Welcome to Nebraska!
Mother Mary at the border.
Endless fields punctuated by giant horizontal, triangular sprinklers
Large metal silos and water towers
Herds of cattle
The occasional horse.
Trains snake their way along tracks in the distance.
Clusters of trees denote houses. Long dusty driveways trail from the house and run parallel to the freeway.
State-sponsored rest-stops with spotless restrooms and vending machines selling candy and soda.
Funky tasting water from the water fountains.
Outside, wind-blown picnic tables sit empty
Signs detail generic area histories.
The Native Americans...
The white “pioneers” and “settlers” ...
Electricity
“Progress”
Imagine traveling through here before asphalt and gas stations and water towers?!
Drive past Lincoln: Capital of Nebraska. President of the USA. Memorial in Washington. Library block and blue “house” at my high school in Sydney (Sydney, Australia - not Sidney, Wyoming).
We zip down the freeway.
Who organizes these endless fields? Switches on the sprinklers? Surveys the land?
Who creates the timetables of those long trains that chug through the landscape?
Or can sometimes be seen sitting still in the middle of nowhere. Where is the driver?
The network of gas stations. The people who staff them.
The road. The road. The road.
Puffy white clouds create patterns of sun and shade over the fields
Head towards darker clouds, and then, hard driving rain on the windshield.
Pass through.
More road, more fields, more clouds.
Wire fences and tilled land as far as the eye can see
Wide open spaces.
Road kill. Religious billboards. And gas stations.
Signs for Kansas City (everything’s up t’ date in...!)
The bridge with the monument and winged horses.
The bridge with the metal and corrugated iron sailing ships.
Welcome to Iowa!
Immediately after the border, the landscape begins to undulate.
We have been on the road for 9 hours.
We pull into Minden, Iowa.
(Min-den? Or Mind-en?)
Outside the Country General Store, a sun-faded sign
You are stomping into Minden!
With a couple standing in a bucket of grapes. There are cut-out spaces for heads and hands. Touristy. Gimmicky. Hilarious.
Travel down the road.
A cemetery lined with red, white, and blue flags.
It seems almost festive, all that color and movement
Flags waving in the wind.
Follow the road and arrows pointing to the motel and
“Central Business District”
Our road and two others converge on the war memorial
A sculptured
Over-sized American eagle, bronzed and bedecked in stars
Sternly stares down Main St
The one-storey motel, ex-legion’s club, community hall, post office, bank, and
Church
All look on in respect.
Further east down the road
A meat-packing and processing facility is bordered by the drug store,
The grocery store sits opposite.
Neat houses with trim lawns and brightly colored pin wheels stand almost regimentally down the street.
West of the memorial -
The fire station/mayor’s office
And more houses
Beyond Main Street, the world is fields of green and metal silos.
The motel is currently staffed by an obese older man.
He breathes heavily. The manager is at the movies with her boyfriend.
He takes us down to our room.
Here you go. Leave that switch on, it’s connected to the fridge. Shower in there. We have cable. 450 channels. We have wifi, I think. Not sure how to work it. I don’t have a computer. Enjoy your stay.
He shuffles back down the hallway. The effort is immense.
We seek out dinner. The grocery store is closed. The manager has returned. Marin. She is Egyptian. How did she end up in Minden, Iowa?
Marin of Minden offers frozen dinners - Salisbury steak with corn and mash.
The hippies, formerly of Fort Collins, who have cooked farmer’s market meals seven days a week for the past six months, try not to recoil rudely in fear of microwave food stuffs.
One dollar only! I make no profit!
We smile. Thank you, but I’m a vegetarian.
She looks at me curiously, processing this foreign term, vegetarian.
Ah! I have olives! And crackers? It’s Sunday. Everything closed! But, gas station, just down the road!
Apologetic thank you’s, and we head back to the car.
I love you! Marin calls out.
I eat granola for dinner. Damn hippies!
In the morning, it’s back on the road.
Count the road kill. Count the religious billboards. Count the gas stations.
The big move east,
We’re on our way.
Blink and you almost miss it.
The pretty grid of streets becomes farmland in less than fifteen minutes.
Hit the freeway.
The mountains recede in the rear view mirror and,
Welcome to Wyoming!
The land becomes flatter
Until there is nothing but flat green to the distant horizon.
Welcome to Nebraska!
Mother Mary at the border.
Endless fields punctuated by giant horizontal, triangular sprinklers
Large metal silos and water towers
Herds of cattle
The occasional horse.
Trains snake their way along tracks in the distance.
Clusters of trees denote houses. Long dusty driveways trail from the house and run parallel to the freeway.
State-sponsored rest-stops with spotless restrooms and vending machines selling candy and soda.
Funky tasting water from the water fountains.
Outside, wind-blown picnic tables sit empty
Signs detail generic area histories.
The Native Americans...
The white “pioneers” and “settlers” ...
Electricity
“Progress”
Imagine traveling through here before asphalt and gas stations and water towers?!
Drive past Lincoln: Capital of Nebraska. President of the USA. Memorial in Washington. Library block and blue “house” at my high school in Sydney (Sydney, Australia - not Sidney, Wyoming).
We zip down the freeway.
Who organizes these endless fields? Switches on the sprinklers? Surveys the land?
Who creates the timetables of those long trains that chug through the landscape?
Or can sometimes be seen sitting still in the middle of nowhere. Where is the driver?
The network of gas stations. The people who staff them.
The road. The road. The road.
Puffy white clouds create patterns of sun and shade over the fields
Head towards darker clouds, and then, hard driving rain on the windshield.
Pass through.
More road, more fields, more clouds.
Wire fences and tilled land as far as the eye can see
Wide open spaces.
Road kill. Religious billboards. And gas stations.
Signs for Kansas City (everything’s up t’ date in...!)
The bridge with the monument and winged horses.
The bridge with the metal and corrugated iron sailing ships.
Welcome to Iowa!
Immediately after the border, the landscape begins to undulate.
We have been on the road for 9 hours.
We pull into Minden, Iowa.
(Min-den? Or Mind-en?)
Outside the Country General Store, a sun-faded sign
You are stomping into Minden!
With a couple standing in a bucket of grapes. There are cut-out spaces for heads and hands. Touristy. Gimmicky. Hilarious.
Travel down the road.
A cemetery lined with red, white, and blue flags.
It seems almost festive, all that color and movement
Flags waving in the wind.
Follow the road and arrows pointing to the motel and
“Central Business District”
Our road and two others converge on the war memorial
A sculptured
Over-sized American eagle, bronzed and bedecked in stars
Sternly stares down Main St
The one-storey motel, ex-legion’s club, community hall, post office, bank, and
Church
All look on in respect.
Further east down the road
A meat-packing and processing facility is bordered by the drug store,
The grocery store sits opposite.
Neat houses with trim lawns and brightly colored pin wheels stand almost regimentally down the street.
West of the memorial -
The fire station/mayor’s office
And more houses
Beyond Main Street, the world is fields of green and metal silos.
The motel is currently staffed by an obese older man.
He breathes heavily. The manager is at the movies with her boyfriend.
He takes us down to our room.
Here you go. Leave that switch on, it’s connected to the fridge. Shower in there. We have cable. 450 channels. We have wifi, I think. Not sure how to work it. I don’t have a computer. Enjoy your stay.
He shuffles back down the hallway. The effort is immense.
We seek out dinner. The grocery store is closed. The manager has returned. Marin. She is Egyptian. How did she end up in Minden, Iowa?
Marin of Minden offers frozen dinners - Salisbury steak with corn and mash.
The hippies, formerly of Fort Collins, who have cooked farmer’s market meals seven days a week for the past six months, try not to recoil rudely in fear of microwave food stuffs.
One dollar only! I make no profit!
We smile. Thank you, but I’m a vegetarian.
She looks at me curiously, processing this foreign term, vegetarian.
Ah! I have olives! And crackers? It’s Sunday. Everything closed! But, gas station, just down the road!
Apologetic thank you’s, and we head back to the car.
I love you! Marin calls out.
I eat granola for dinner. Damn hippies!
In the morning, it’s back on the road.
Count the road kill. Count the religious billboards. Count the gas stations.
The big move east,
We’re on our way.
- Published on
Fort Collins. Photo by Tim O'Hara
I arrived in a snowstorm
The thermometer reading -10C (14F)
The trees were bare, the fields brown
I was stressed and tired and sick
From almost a year of waiting
To be with my love
And finally, I was here.
Once upon a time
People came to Colorado for healing
The mountain air prescribed as a curative for
Asthma and anxiety and neuroses of the soul.
After London, I needed healing.
Fort Collins was not in The Plan.
But providence/luck/fortune/life
Bought me here
And the rocky mountains did their job
Along with the kind souls encountered
Perhaps London was a dream. And Sydney another lifetime.
In just the past six months,
My love and I were married
I performed in my first Shakespeare
Priced row upon row of vintage books
Planted peas and potatoes and tiny slender leeks and
Harvested buckets full of greens
We played board games and card games and made sense of puzzles
We watched our way through seasons of HBO hits, and
While my love lectured on ethics
I cycled for miles, in sun, in rain, in snow, in biting cold and raging wind.
In the afternoons, I watched over a small human - my time here accounts for two-thirds of his entire life.
I wrote the first draft of my one person show
I borrowed books from the library and made ample use of their inter-library-loan program
Reading books from Wyoming and Oklahoma and Arkansas.
We found ourselves in a circle of friends
Caring and generous and kind and fun
What took two years in London
Took six months in Fort Collins.
It wasn't always easy. I couldn't work. Couldn't drive. Was restricted by extreme cold.
I had bouts of depression and couldn't access counseling services.
But I was with my love
And it was a wonderful adventure.
Now, new adventures await
And we must say goodbye
The college kids. Old Town. Cycling. The breweries. The canyon. The reservoir. The ‘A’ on the hill. Drip coffee. The eerie whoooooooo of the trains rumbling through town. Wolverine and Happy Heart. The Farmer's Market, Jodar Farms and Donoma Farms, The Cave Girl, Mt Everest and Youngs and the Chinese restaurant with the kids behind the counter. OpenStage and CSU and taichi and yoga. The library, the archives, the Poudre River, and the Spring Creek Trail. The park, the lake, running down wide streets.
An entire town is impossible to capture in list form.
We leave when the trees are full of green and
At the tail end of a “wild weather” week -
Thunder storms, and rivers ready to burst their banks, and the threat of tornados.
The sky provides a free light show on our final night, and eventually
It rains.
In the morning, we sweep the floors
Say goodbye to our first place together,
And close the door,
Giving thanks
That we have lived here.
The thermometer reading -10C (14F)
The trees were bare, the fields brown
I was stressed and tired and sick
From almost a year of waiting
To be with my love
And finally, I was here.
Once upon a time
People came to Colorado for healing
The mountain air prescribed as a curative for
Asthma and anxiety and neuroses of the soul.
After London, I needed healing.
Fort Collins was not in The Plan.
But providence/luck/fortune/life
Bought me here
And the rocky mountains did their job
Along with the kind souls encountered
Perhaps London was a dream. And Sydney another lifetime.
In just the past six months,
My love and I were married
I performed in my first Shakespeare
Priced row upon row of vintage books
Planted peas and potatoes and tiny slender leeks and
Harvested buckets full of greens
We played board games and card games and made sense of puzzles
We watched our way through seasons of HBO hits, and
While my love lectured on ethics
I cycled for miles, in sun, in rain, in snow, in biting cold and raging wind.
In the afternoons, I watched over a small human - my time here accounts for two-thirds of his entire life.
I wrote the first draft of my one person show
I borrowed books from the library and made ample use of their inter-library-loan program
Reading books from Wyoming and Oklahoma and Arkansas.
We found ourselves in a circle of friends
Caring and generous and kind and fun
What took two years in London
Took six months in Fort Collins.
It wasn't always easy. I couldn't work. Couldn't drive. Was restricted by extreme cold.
I had bouts of depression and couldn't access counseling services.
But I was with my love
And it was a wonderful adventure.
Now, new adventures await
And we must say goodbye
The college kids. Old Town. Cycling. The breweries. The canyon. The reservoir. The ‘A’ on the hill. Drip coffee. The eerie whoooooooo of the trains rumbling through town. Wolverine and Happy Heart. The Farmer's Market, Jodar Farms and Donoma Farms, The Cave Girl, Mt Everest and Youngs and the Chinese restaurant with the kids behind the counter. OpenStage and CSU and taichi and yoga. The library, the archives, the Poudre River, and the Spring Creek Trail. The park, the lake, running down wide streets.
An entire town is impossible to capture in list form.
We leave when the trees are full of green and
At the tail end of a “wild weather” week -
Thunder storms, and rivers ready to burst their banks, and the threat of tornados.
The sky provides a free light show on our final night, and eventually
It rains.
In the morning, we sweep the floors
Say goodbye to our first place together,
And close the door,
Giving thanks
That we have lived here.