My first memory

I was about three and a half when my parents brought my little sister and I back to New Zealand. I was actually born in Adelaide, Australia. I have no memories of Australia itself. But I do remember the flight over. I guess it must have been a momentous thing, being on a big 747. I remember the moss velvet green curtain that separated one section of the plane from another. I don't know what it was, maybe first and second class. But I remember that curtain. It was heavy and shimmery and slightly pleated. And I remember being in the car park in Auckland after we had landed. I remembera bunch of adults standing around, suitcases being slung around. It is all water coloured and static. Perhaps a memory of a memory.

I remember having a big proper birthday party when I turned 5. I remember we had pin the tail on the donkey.

I remember crying for my mother my first day at school. And then later being adopted by some older girls who took me out in to the field and taught me how to make daisy chains. Oh, true independence.

I remember stumbling upon a still-born calf in the paddocks bordering the lifestyle block I grew up on. I remember crying (pattern developing) as I stumbled away from it, my pudgey little thighs pushing through the dense, tall grass as I shook and gulped. I wasn't sad for the little slimey dark shape, all legs. I didn't like dead things.

I remember building forts with the prunings from the kiwifruit vines as my mother worked and fantails dashed in and out of the canopy. I remember peddling our little three wheeler bikes around and around inside our massive home - the kitchen, dining room, lounge and family room of our house were relatively open plan and made a perfect circular track.

It is all light years ago. Another person. Oblivious. The Christmas school break of six weeks or so were an absolute eternity. Years have now become months and days have become minutes. I didn't have to shower at night to wash the day off of me. I didn't slip out of the sleep canal, my first waking thought identifying an error I had made the previous day at work. I dreamt of getting married, of having children, of being just like my mother. In fact, I don't even think I dwelt so much on goals or dreams or expectations. I was too busy running everywhere, or waiting, impatiently, at the large tyre swing at the giant lawson tree for my gum-booted dad to swing me to oblivion.