January 31, 2015 by tommy dalts - 3 Comments

Nothing’s as it seems.

After two weeks of goodbyes tonight was the big one. I’d put off heading to the hospital all day but it was getting late and well past time to bite the bullet. Its been just over two years since I moved back to Melbourne; my step mother had been diagnosed with cancer about a year prior but it wasn’t looking like things were getting any better so I decided that I wanted to be closer to the family. When shit hit really hit the fan about 6 months ago Dad and I took my sister to the zoo to distract her from the boring reality of the hospital. We got talking about travel and he told me I need to go, life’s short. “You can’t wait around.”

If you were to ask me over the years had we been close I would’ve said no. We never hugged, kissed or said ‘I love you’.

Tonight as we shared what felt like our first real hug and said goodbye she whispered “My other son,” and thats when I remembered. I remembered her drying my hair when I got out of the bath as a kid. I remembered her coming on the roller coaster with me at magic mountain because Dad was too scared. I remembered waking up after vomiting in my sleep and her cleaning it up so Dad wouldn’t find out I’d been drinking. I remembered Dad explaining that himself and my mother are affectionate people and that my step mum did love me she just didn’t show it in the same way.

She began to cry and told me not to come back when she dies as there was no point in coming back to look at a white box. Then she said to look after her little girl followed by calling herself a ‘big sook’. There was no ‘I love you’ spoken but I sure as hell felt it.

I cried my way out of the hospital and the whole way home listening to triple J. It was 11pm on a Friday night and the deep house tracks plus my sobs were an interesting combination. As I pulled into the drive way Dad rang and I realised that I wouldn’t be seeing him again before I go and I hadn’t really said anything to him when I left the hospital. I got a hold of myself and we had a quick chat about the trip which pretty much involved both of us saying the cliche right things to each other.

“I’ll be careful..”
“If you need anything..”
“I’ll let you know when I land..”
“Don’t yada yada yada…”
“I won’t yada yada yada…”

I stopped into the house tears streaming down my face. “I don’t want to talk about” I threw at Mum, holding my hand up. I’d ran out of ciggies so I jumped straight back in the car and headed to the petrol station. I stood there waiting for my card to go through, it was taking far too long. I started to worry that when I got my travel cards today I’d messed something up and it wouldn’t go through. My face had dried up by the time it went through and I walked out smokes in hand and bumped straight into my father. Fucking small towns.
“These are for Mum…” it was too easy.
“Fuckin’ ciggarettes” he said rolling his eyes. “Di was worried she upset you before,” he added.
“Its just shit timing.”
“Cunt of a thing that timing business” he smiled and turned to walk off.
“I’ll see you when I get back” I replied as I jumped in the car and he entered the station. I guess I get my deterrence for goodbyes from the old man.

Oh cruel universe, I guess this is my lesson in plans and how they don’t work. I could very easily sit here and curse you for the fact that I came here with the intention of being there for my family and now I’m less then 48 hours way from getting on a plane to the other side of the world. Instead I’m going to thank you. Thanks for the time I did get to spend with my family. Thank you for the friends I made in Melbourne who became my family, I couldn’t have done it without them. Thanks for keeping my old friends around and reminding me that although everything has changed, nothing has. Finally, thank you for reminding me to look below the surface.

April 10, 2013 by tommy dalts - 1 Comment

Handy Man: 1 Tommy: 0

Ill be the first to admit that I’m pretty useless around the house and I’m fully aware that I don’t know my way around a toolbox. My own father laughed at me when I requested a Bunnings Warehouse voucher for my birthday this year.

Our kitchen window wouldn’t shut and hasn’t since we’d moved in. Briggs, being the most organised of the house, has been on the real estates back about getting it fixed and last night she informs me that the handymen or whatever they would like to call themselves will be here in the morning. After a gentle knock on the door to remind me, I drag myself out of bed and relocate to the couch where I know I’ll hear the door knock and fall back asleep, it may be Wednesday for everybody else but for me…it’s Sunday. I doze in and out of sleep and about an hour later I have the pleasure of meeting the handy man and his friend Winston. They’re in their 60s. They’re from the UK. They love to talk.

I retreat to my bedroom which is located just behind the kitchen and of course I can’t get back to sleep, it sounds like there’s a British sitcom being filmed in the next room sans applause from a live audience. It’s all very cute…until this innocent homo becomes the topic of their old man gripe session!

‘I wish they’d bloody told us what was wrong with the window before we got here Winston’ they begin with. Fair enough I think, maybe would’ve helped them out a bit but my sympathy quickly wears off after I’m then described as useless and lazy as they question my employment status and the reasoning to why I was napping on the couch when they arrived. Winston begins a long winded speech about how I am a typical example of what is wrong with my generation as they work on the window. They look outside to see my empty bottles of beer sitting in the courtyard and make a comment about how I probably don’t do anything around the house and make poor ‘Kirsty’ clean up after me.

I’m furious. I begin texting Briggs telling her that I’m going to give them a piece of my mind when they’re done, before I’m interrupted by the old men screaming down our large hall way at me. Obviously they were unaware that I was lying in the next room listening to them describe me in such a delightful way.

With a slight look of guilt on his face the nicer of the two informs me that they need to go get a ‘part’ and they’ll be back shorty. Apparently I have nothing better to do all day then sit around and wait for these old timers.

I guess they caught me on a good day. As much as I’m not cool with people coming into my house and voicing assumptions about me, I decide to take the high road…with a twist. I climb out of bed and immediately do a clean up of the whole 3 beer bottles sitting in the courtyard. They’re back sooner then I think and I get a short lived satisfaction when Winston points out the now clean table outside. That shuts them up.

Silence. Amazing how fast they can work when they want to get out. However out of pure embarrassment or just the stubborn and defiant nature of THEIR generation, I was not to win the last battle. The pair of them BURST through my bedroom door where I’m caught in a vulnerable state lying on my bed.

“The window is fixed, your Lordship!’ They announce with a bow and a cheeky look on their face before stomping back down the hall and out of the house.

Handy Man: 1 Tommy: 0

February 2, 2013 by tommy dalts - 0 comments

House Hunting

It’s a bloody jungle out there in the rental world!

Uni students with rich parents, family’s and agents with the same IQ as my left shoe. The most frustrating aspect I’m finding is the condition of some of these houses. My Dad leases out a property and the amount of time, labour and money he’s put into it amazes me!

I wonder how a landlord can honestly try to rent out a house with possum urine stains all over the roof? Not quiet the scent I want to be arriving home to each night but hey, that’s just me! Old mate, special agent dick head denying all knowledge of the problem really didn’t help the situation.

Found a potential today in St Kilda, bathroom is a bit of an issue but lots of room. Feeling very grateful that I’ve got two really great friends letting me stay at their house!