The promise of Autumn

Autumn has arrived in Sydney and with it cool mornings and nights – although this weekend we are set for another blast of heat. I struggle a lot with the heat and humidity that Summer brings and look forward to this time of the year when evenings draw in and the muted sunlight casts shadows in the trees around our house.

This year Autumn brings its own promise – it’s the first Autumn in a long time where I have the choice to remain under the warm blankets in the morning rather than rushing into the Sydney traffic to get to work. 

I am blessed to be in this position, where I can luxuriate in my warm dressing gown, sipping a hot cup of tea on the lounge and not bothered by deadlines and meetings to attend.

I reflected on this this morning as I sat back listening to the kookaburras and their distinctive laugh outside in the trees, heralding impending rain.

One of my five cats climbed on my lap to knead the warm softness of my dressing gown. They too are enjoying this new arrangement and the chance to be cosseted and cuddled whilst purring and sharing my newly relaxed personal state. 

Some of my friends have asked me if I miss work. Not at the moment. The hospitals at this time of the year are generally gearing up for the Easter break which inevitably heralds the start of the cold and flu season. Ambulances jostle for space in overcrowded emergency departments and managers worry about providing staff and space to cater for the needs of the community, demands that grow each year as our population ages. 

I don't miss it but I feel sympathy for those I have left behind while I wrestle with my new life and plan the days ahead.It’s almost two months into my gap year and time to get into a routine which honours my pledge to complete my memoir. 

I’m writing about a time in my life when I was a young nurse working in Iraq. I was working at the Ibn Al Bitar hospital in Baghdad when Saddam Hussein annexed Kuwait on August 2^nd 1990 and closed the airport in Baghdad. 

Thousands of westerners working in Iraq were prevented from leaving. Although Saddam allowed women and children to leave the following month, myself and hundreds of other female nurses from Ireland and the UK were not allowed to leave. 

We were hostages although Saddam preferred to call us his guests. It was mid-December before I was allowed leave Baghdad. This was approximately one month before operation Desert Storm, the first war to have TV coverage almost 24/7. 

There are very little reports in the world wide media about females being held hostage although it was well known in Ireland at the time. I have finally read some of the newspaper clippings my sister kept for me in Ireland during the hostage crisis.

Although I’ve had these scrapbooks for almost 28 years I haven’t been able to bring myself to read them up until recently. Why? I feared the feelings they might ignite within me. Feelings that I am now ready to deal with and write about. Feelings that can now be expressed without my mind dealing with work related concerns and deadlines. They can finally be released and processed through the power of my pen.

Over the past few weeks memories have been composting in my mind as I sort out what to write and how to write it. In writing jargon I'm a 'pantser' and not a 'plotter' which means I write whatever comes to mind rather than plotting out a course. Structure will come later once I write the bones of the story.

So, this Autumn I am grateful not only for the change of season but also for the change in my life circumstances. 

I can devote time to composting memories, reading, learning the art of creative writing and surrounding myself with fellow memoir writers. 

More importantly I will be working my way towards the end of my first draft of the manuscript. 

As the clock will be turned back this weekend for daylight savings so too will I be turning the clock back to 1990 and revisiting memories of that time.