Wednesday, 21 December 2011

The True Parts.

I drove straight off those mountains with one mission.


My sister Linda lives in Bondi and she made me Spanish Chorizo Chicken and wouldn't let me help or clean. She also made me laugh. Our kids played together and I lay on her couch and felt better.

It's been rough, man. And now, let us consolidate that roughness with Christmas! I just today worked out why it's a hard time for so many .. every single Christmas you've ever had in your life gets remembered. Which is equal parts awesome and terrible.


On the way down, I made a split-second decision to drive past our old childhood house in Mt Riverview .. we lived there from 1980 to 1987. Usually, we never stayed more than a year or two in a house.

So weird .. like I could just walk inside the front door, slam my school bag down, and forage for food.

We used to spread our beach towels on that driveway and lie there after a swim. The sun would beat down and mould our towels to the concrete panels and we'd laugh and stand up and do it again.

My old bedroom window is right there above the carport. Inside that room, written in black texta on the inside panel of the built-in cupboard is written "EDEN BARRIE WAS HERE."

In cursive.

For so many years I'd look out that window and wonder what would become of my life. Where would I go? Who would I meet? I always swore I'd never forget what it felt like to be a kid.

As we drove off, my son said, "So mum, that house has stayed the EXACT same for 32 years."

I told him yes, and realised that a lot of me has stayed the same as well .. the true parts. Which is not such a bad thing, not at all.


"You're a bum
You're a punk
You're an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it's our last."



  1. Wow Eden. You amaze me with every piece of writing. This sent shivers - I felt I could see inside your old house and hear your voice.
    I sent you a DM in twitter btw.

  2. Thank you thank you thank you, you just jolted a memory from a million years ago of my docs and tartan skirts that barely covered my arse ...., good times xxx

  3. The problem with Christmad (I can't correct that typo, it's poetic somehow) is that we're told we should be joyous and full of cheer so we try. The reality for me is it's a time to reflect on the ghosts of Christmas past. The list relationships and broken dreams. I'll smile and sing, but inside I'm remembering that childhood innocence and wishing I was that naive just for a moment.

    Merry Christmas to you and your boys xxx

  4. Thankyou for so generously inviting us into your childhood {home}.

    You have the most amazing way with words.

    I pray you'll write a book ...

    You remind me of my sister in so many ways, I just want her to come home from Scotland so I can give her the tightest squeeze.

    Christmas is tough. I understand. Just get through it. That's all you have to do ... & eat chicken & chorizo xx

  5. From me to you, from a tiny town 1/2 way between the big city, Boston and the beaches of Cape Cod, what I felt in my bones when I saw ur photo is this: there is precious little in this life of myrth and misery, magic and mundane, that isn't made better, even a tiny bit, by digging ones toes in the sand. Ur writing's a joy to me, and I wish for u to b in the moment and merry in these next days.


Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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