What’s Feeding Your Senses – Rachelle Rechichi
What are you reading?
Right now, I’m reading Virginia Woolf’s Orlando. There is no particular reason why I’m reading it, except that I haven’t, yet. It’s slow-going because I’m having to fit poor Orlando in around other reading: non-fiction books, chapters and essays on creativity. This is “work” so it takes priority. I’m also halfway through Elizabeth Harrower’s A Few Days in the Country: And Other Stories. I’m finding Harrower’s short stories incredibly frustrating in an addictive and enjoyable kind of way. When I’m done with creativity and Woolf and Harrower, I’m planning on experiencing Margo Lanagan’s White Time. I enjoyed Black Juice and Red Spikes, so I figure I must go back to her earlier collection to appreciate the development of her voice.
What are you listening to?
A few weeks ago I saw The Cure perform at Perth Arena. They played a three-hour set, spanning their thirty-year career. As I looked across the sea of heads I wondered how many memories were being dragged up. Fifteen thousand lives had been punctuated in some way by those songs; the happy, sickly pop songs or the drag-you-under epics. I laughed and I cried, and I know I wasn’t the only one.
What are you watching?
I don’t have a television, but I’m lucky enough to have lots of big windows that face the ocean. They provide a live, changing viewing experience. The weather is a powerful force: when storms roll across the sea, their anger often scares me. At night I dream of huge waves crashing onto my balcony. Sometimes in my dreams, there is nothing left and I am surrounded by ocean. Then the sun comes out. The sky is blue and the ocean sings a hopeful song, reminding me that summer is coming with warmth and comfort and cocktails.
What have you got a taste for?
Speaking of cocktails…I am craving summer and the simple tastes that accompany it. Smoothies and salad. Rocket and pear. Minted feta. Sunset and cider. Anything tastes good when the day is lazy. I think I need a holiday.
What touches you?
It seems cliché to express concern for the lack of tactile experience provided by the modern world, however, touch is such an important sense and one that I value highly. A few weeks ago, I stroked my grandmother’s hand as she took her final staggered breaths. It was warm, but withered, and I felt her bones through her thin skin. A few hours later, her hand was cold. It looked the same, but felt very different. I feel privileged to have been able to share that “touch” with her both before and after she died. Now, I’m wearing her wedding ring on my own hand. When I twist the ring where it sits on my thumb, I continue to share that touch with her, although her body is gone.