letter #4
we're all making our own sense of things
Other people like emerging from winter, but I find spring unsettling. The spring in South Australia brings wind and the wind scratches my skin, my eyes, my lungs. It rattles my thoughts, stops me sleeping. In spring, I never know what to wear. I'm still in the habit of dressing for winter, so I wear too many clothes. The weather might be warm, but the buildings are still cold. So I spend each day either slightly hot or slightly cold.
In spring, I lose my equilibrium.
The wind is sometimes hot, sometimes cool, but nearly always carries dust and pollen. My eyes don't itch in the same unbearable way they used to when hayfever first made itself known to me. And if they do, if I feel the telltale stinging I gobble down an antihistamine or sometimes two. But even so I live with a constant itch in the back of my throat; my eyes are always a little bit dry; and at any moment I might sneeze.
I remember the first day I got hayfever. I remember looking at the patch of Salvation Jane and something happened--something physical I mean--and that was when my hayfever began. I went home sneezing, not understanding what was going on. My mother said, 'You've got hayfever.' And that was that.
Of course, I probably didn't get hayfever in that very moment like a person gets a cold or catches the flu. But that's how it felt.
In the 1970s I just had to find a way to get through the hayfevery days. Antihistamines weren't available like they are now. I would rub and scratch my eyes from morning to night. At school, I would stand at the basin in the toilet throwing water into my eyes as hard as I could. Sweet relief that lasted only a nanosecond, but a nano was better than none.
The bottlebrushes are in full flower now, but there was a thunderstorm last night and a bit of rain, and now the street around the corner where the bottlebrushes flower is lined with a carpet of red bristles. Bottlebrushes are one of my favourite plants, and one of the few for which I could tell you its botanical name (callistemon, I even know how to spell it). But the flowers don't last very long and I wish they would flower at a time when we had less wind. Or perhaps I wish that the flowers were stronger, made to withstand the wind.
Last night when I couldn't sleep I lay in bed and said to myself, over and over again, Don't let yourself worry about the sleep, lying still in the dark is restful, enjoy the sensations of being quiet, of being still. Outside the wind was blowing but I closed my eyes against it and repeated the words again. It was a new technique, a gentler one than berating myself for being awake.
I think it worked because even if I am unsettled, I'm not exhausted today.
PS I'm despondent today about the state of Australian politics, even more so than usual. The government senators who voted in support of Pauline Hanson's racist motion about racism should be ashamed, but they won't be. I sent emails to some of the South Australian senators, but I'm just not sure what to do about my politics ... my usual forms of activism feel increasingly pointless, but activism seems more necessary than ever. I have no great point to make and no answer, though if you have one I'd be happy to hear it.