This time of the year is frenetic for school-visiting writer-types like myself, especially in Victoria (Oz). Some of us visit three schools in a day for a number of weeks. It starts to hurt after a while and the world starts to blur and you get sick of the sound of your own voice. I both hate and love losing myself in it. There are a few things I do to keep my sanity.
I catch up with my writer mates who are working as hard as I am, have a couple of beers and an early night. We laugh a lot.
I zip around on public transport. Not having to drive frees my head up for bigger things.
Mostly kites, but sometimes I fly while I'm attached to the kites. The threat of gravel rash and bone surgery keeps me focussed on the task at hand. Stiff thighs, a bit of bark rubbed off, guts aching from laughing so hard. I have a flying buddy in my son Bryce (aka Beej, nearly eleven) who gets ten metres of air to my five. On the night he took the photo of me above, the moon was eclipsed by the shadow of the earth and Beej did a thirty metre knee-ski on the grass, screaming 'We've invented the flying monkey bar!'.
Breathe, breathe in the air
Don't be afraid to care
Leave, but don't leave me
Choose your own ground
Long you live and high you fly
And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be
Run, rabbit run
Dig that hole, forget the sun
And when at last the work is done
Don't sit down
It's time to dig another one
For long you live and high you fly
But only if you ride the tide
And balanced on the biggest wave
You race towards an early grave