It’s been a year today, since we left Darwin.
A year since I’ve felt that awkward combination of stupidly hot as well as horribly sticky.
A year since I’ve watched the rain come in sheets.
A year since I’ve heard the cacophony of a chorus of frogs.
A year since I’ve seen my mum.
My time hop has been filled with all sorts of memories. I like Time Hop for that; reminding you of the things that you thought important enough to capture at the time.
When you think about moving on, it’s easy to remember the big things. The heart-felt goodbyes and the last time you did something. It’s nice in a way because there is closure to those things. You know this is it.
Then there are other things that kind of sneak up on you. The Last Time’s you never saw coming.
Like who would have thought that the last time we had our date night Fasta Pasta meal, it would be the last time we ate from there ever? They’ve closed down now, ostensibly because we left and weren’t providing them with business. Even when we go back to Darwin for a holiday, we won’t eat there.
Likewise the Hogs Breath Cafe in the city closed down. That place was an institution, and now I’ll never eat a chicken burger from that particular building again.
And I never knew that the last time, was the last time.
There’s also another anniversary coming up this week. Another last moment, that I never really considered at the time.
It was such an innocent moment; one I thought I would repeat time and time again. And the fact of the matter is not that I couldn’t do it anymore, it’s just that somewhere along the line I decided I didn’t want to.
It was the last time I never saw coming.
*Cue overly dramatic music*
It happened the week we arrived in Port Lincoln. I was due for a hair cut and colour; I always do it in early March because of my birthday, but sometime on the long drive south, with little to do but stare at my own reflection in the car’s side mirror, I decided that I needed something done sooner rather than later. My roots were a tragedy and I was moving somewhere new; I needed to not have bad hair.
Our first day in the city we had an interview with the kid’s school, and we also needed to hire some crutches, since a certain someone forgot how to walk on the drive down, and sprained her ankle. Once the blessing of being able to walk from one place to another was again bestowed upon me, I hobbled around Coles and resolutely bought myself a home hair colour, thinking that it would tie me over until I could find myself a good hairdresser.
Little did I know at the time, that it would be the last time I coloured my hair.
I’m not sure why I decided to stop. Maybe because I haven’t found a hair dresser I like, or maybe because the close-to-natural colour I had chucked on, muted the regrowth in some way, and I found I didn’t mind it.
Or maybe, just maybe, I decided that getting a fresh start, and getting to be me, somehow made me embrace my hair the colour that it was. Just as I was learning to embrace myself for who I am.
Although that sounds unusually deep for what is fast becoming known as Random Tuesday. (In my mind at least.)
Either way, as the anniversary of one of our biggest life events comes hither, I find myself reflecting that the decision to not colour my hair is almost as significant as the one to move states, and therefore just as worthy of a mention.
So I want to take a moment here to honour the changes of the last 12 months; the last times I embraced, and the ones that caught me by surprise.
And also to honour my hair. My crowning glory that has forgiven me through multiple colour changes, too many home fringe cuts to count, and on most days, the abuse of a messy doubled up pony tail.
Thank you. You’ve loved me well.
Ever had a last time you didn’t realise at the time?
Do you dye your hair?