I've been an early riser all my life: when I was still working, I couldn't wait to get back into the one thing that gave my life meaning, and now that I'm in retirement, I can't wait to embrace what's waiting out there for me. One quick look from my bed through a flyscreen darkly, I know what's waiting out there for me, and I don't waste time to get out there and fully embrace it.
First up it's feeding time for the parrots which are waiting for their helping of sunflower seeds; then it's the beady-eyed and almost tame currawong for whom we always stock up on corned beef; by which time the scores of ducks have waddled up from the pond demanding their scoops of chicken pellets; and the two possums - mother and little joey - are already sticking their pink noses out of the possum penthouse waiting for their apple.
Running out of time, I dispense with my usual cooking of porridge and dig into two pieces of what, many years ago, a cardboard manufacturer had found himself in excess of and cleverly repackaged as Weet-Bix. I'm not an Aussie kid but when I run out of time to cook porridge I'm a Weet-Bix kid.
As for the rest of the day, I've got a stack of books waiting for me beside that much-loved sofa on the verandah. It's just a question of deciding which one: Geoffrey Blainey's "Short History of the 20th Century" or Morris West's "A View from the Ridge" or Graham Greene's "A Sort of Life".
Only robbers and gypsies say that one must
never return where one has once been.
S∅ren Kierkegaard
I think Greene's "A Sort of Life" suits my mood today almost perfectly.
