This blog came out of a perfect little storm of life changes. A thesis got to the point at which it could be submitted for assessment, fingers crossed and no guarantees that it won’t come roaring back with curt demands for rewriting. Meanwhile, Telstra’s deadline for closing down the mobile phone network on which my ancient Nokia relied is next November. And the young bloke is now second year uni: just about grown up. What next?
My old phone has been laid to rest. This kind of phone has been known locally as the poet’s phone: owned by impoverished scribblers and used almost entirely to send and receive messages.
The new phone is an astonishing little box of tricks, hypnotic. There are days when I stumble out of bed to the kitchen dizzy after a full hour of exploration of its small screen. Not a good way to start the morning. Apparently I can expect it to last for a couple of years before it needs to be replaced.
At around the time I bought the new phone, I saw a job ad. Now, I’m not looking for a full-time job, but this one was my kind of thing: working for a local council on streamlining their communications, internal and external. I had all the qualifications except one: familiarity with social media. And I realised that if I’m going to look for paid work, even part-time, I need to join the 21st century.
So I revived the moribund Facebook page, learned how to post photos and messages, and started this blog, with help from a friend (thanks, Barb!). Last time I tried this, a few years ago, it seemed impossible to go on Facebook or set up a blog without compromising myself somehow, in terms of privacy or self-promotion or whatever. Now it seems straightforward. I don’t know what’s changed. The last couple of weeks, I’ve been a social media tragic. Next challenge: Instagram (which, incidentally, I am told, is the platform of choice for artists these days).
Then the same friend showed me how to use Pinterest, and this week we’ve been exchanging pins. She picks the most colourful images from my monochromatic clothing collection, and I take the most austere of hers. This, for example: a top made from a Katherine Tilton pattern (Butterick 5891) by the blogger of the Destashification Project. Bringing together a small collection of images you like is surprisingly interesting: it tells you things about yourself. With our different tastes in clothing, Barb and I both think this is lovely.
But the poet’s phone is redundant. It’s my first ever mobile phone, and it’s been going for, let me see – over eight years? There’s nothing wrong with it apart from a chip on the case and the fact that it has no camera and almost no memory. I can’t quite bring myself to throw it away.
But that set me thinking: what have we got that goes on and on? Would it be tempting fate to start listing well-used possessions – the ones that don’t need replacing?
Here’s one. Out in the back yard this sunny, cool morning, hanging washing, I was trying to apply one of the lessons I’ve learnt through sewing: don’t rush, take your time, allow random thoughts to occupy your mind as they put in an appearance and you may find they aren’t random at all. And there, right in front of me, is a classic long-term possession: the extendable washing line, which was here when we moved into this house about twenty-three years ago and is still going strong. It’s so old, the manufacturer’s label has fallen off the front. It has never moved from this spot, except when we put up the wooden lattice to hide the carport, many years ago.
So, in the spirit of Marie Kondo, who thanks her socks for keeping her feet warm and the saucepan for its part in making her meals, I want to thank the washing line for quietly getting on with the important business of drying our clothes using energy direct from the sun, with no technological interface, week after week, year after year, without ever letting us down.