going oddly bowlo

growing up, the Kiwi knew what lawn bowls was, of course, other people's grandparents played it

she could even recognise a bowling green, from spotting them intermittently while on family drives or, as she grew older, while cycling somewhere new on a mission

the Kiwi's mind equates bowling green with rural settings, nestled beside orchards and market gardens, as that was the environment she grew up in, picking fruit and vegetables alongside cuzzies and extended family

much later, the wonderful mother of a very dear friend bowled, on a lovely green directly across from her home on a picturesque spit of the Akaroa Peninsula. There's a memorial seat for her now in this beautiful tranquil setting. The family were British and bowling seemed a quaint, elderly, white, well-off, still thoroughly Brit thing to do.

on arrival in Melbourne, the Kiwi's eldest sister made her aware that bowling clubs were the place for barefoot bowls, weddings, parties, and anything

then the Kiwi met a guy. A lovely, brilliant, loving and lovable man, whose face lit up when he saw her and who quickly became her sun

he was an active member of a bowling club, and a Brit, but his membership was more the Australian version

they visited often and she quickly came to recognise the players and politics, dramas, scandals and sorrows inherent in any such community - who was in, who was out, who'd been caught red-'handed' out back of the club (picture your school bike sheds but populated with geriatrics who should really keep their privates strictly private)

they even bowled occasionally, the Kiwi more than the Brit-Boy, although he first showed her how to roll

the Kiwi joined the club and subbed in a few games - the two would regroup after and regale each other with new tales to laugh at

the Kiwi wanted to spend the rest of her life gathering stories to make him laugh, and watching his smile migrate across his face

she got to spend the rest of his life instead

in the aftermath, the Kiwi returned to his club a few times but it lacked his heart and presence, and she had been seen there as part of him, not as herself

she returned to the flat she had been in the process of leaving and, in turn, to a bowling club one block away, where they spent their first date sharing stories and laughter

the local bowls community was kind, and brusque, and accepting and she worked for the club during the summer party mayhem

and played a few games for them also over the season

then got a job at a different bowling club, which hosts every event imaginable, and became an ancillary part of that community also

as is known with the Kiwi, it all may have gone too far

last week was a busy one at work, where she wrangled small children and obstreporous adults, served sausages and sympathy and schlepped tables, kegs, supplies and bowls

the Kiwi has decided to play a team sport for the first time since school for one season only this year, so has put Tuesday aside to bowl in the pennant comp, where her baking abilities outclass her bowling. (Tuesday is Pennant lite - more social and fun and less of the sports side of the politics, and if it stops being fun, she'll stop taking part)

she also fell into volunteering on Wednesday mornings when free for Bubs and Bowls at her local club, when mums, dads, grands and other carers bring their little ones to socialise while throwing balls, playing in the bouncy castle and trying to maim themselves on anything handy, while the carers get some non-child conversation

it's fun, especially learning the personalities of both carers and children, and how different siblings can be from each other

the past Wednesday was dismal, so only two groups turned up and both left early for story time at the library. A friend of the Brit-boy happened to pass through on the way to their old club for a social game, so the Kiwi joined for an afternoon on the green

'his' bowlo again, but there now on her terms

the season should make for some interesting stories, as the community is filled with characters, and her work place is set in a St Kilda filled with its own stories

watch this space ...