Confetti & Acorns

The path to Holy Trinity is strewn with confetti and acorns. It reminds me of our weekend adventures in England, when we would all pack into the dark red Volvo station wagon and go to churches and castles. If we happened to pass a fancy car tied up with a white satin ribbon, I'd emphatically insist we stop. In spite of my present resentment of weddings, I was once obsessed.


Up until a few days ago, the path to Holy Trinity led to my favourite op shop. It's tucked away from our High Street, only moments from the haberdashery store that resembles a leftover set from Are You Being Served? and the uniform shop that mends the school blazers of the rich and bullied. I'd walk that path alone after writing class and look for ages and ages.

I found amazing things in that op shop: books for 33.333 recurring cents, 7" records for 50 cents, Alannah Hill blazers for $20. You did need patience to wade through it all, there were times when there was nothing of particular interest or value. You'd see the same things in the racks for months and months, a Honky Tonk record or that taunting electric blue leather jacket. Could I get away with it?

I'll miss that ritual, the records and books, the jewellery and jackets, the confetti and acorns. There was a kind of warm solidarity associated with it: writing and looking at records, instead of marrying and being a lawyer. I doubt I'll ever shed that sense of expectation, but I enjoyed those moments alone when I did.