[caption id="attachment_2099" align="alignleft" width="225"]<a href="https:\/\/mountainmedianews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/13\/2013\/11\/Below-the-Salt-bw.jpg"><img class="size-medium wp-image-2099" alt="Eileen Cramer modeling an original costume she made and wore in the dance drama \u201cPilgrimage of Truth\u201d " src="https:\/\/mountainmedianews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/13\/2013\/11\/Below-the-Salt-bw-225x300.jpg" width="225" height="300" \/><\/a> Eileen Cramer modeling an original costume she made and wore in the dance drama \u201cPilgrimage of Truth\u201d[\/caption]\r\n\r\nI have been sitting on a seat, halfway down Windsor Street, on a tiny patch of grass, which separates lower Windsor from upper Windsor. It\u2019s a little bit like the term, \u201cbelow the salt,\u201d from - I think - the Middle Ages when the servants sat at the same table as the masters, only at the far end - below the salt. The houses are of the same terrace design as above the salt but they don\u2019t look so well and they are smaller, with only one window instead of two and opening to a tiny verandah - usually tiled and wide enough for one chair.\r\nThe garden part in both above the salt and below is always the same; about two and a half meters or yards wide and long. On these tiny spaces, street after street, are an amazing variety of jars, tiles, pots, ferns, trees, plants, bushes - Jasmine with lovely perfume at the moment - roses, daisies, exotic statuettes and a few weedy looking stuff, while out on the pavement itself, trees with fine white-greenery and peeling bark dripping down like fringed shawls, and some with great thick roots like boa constrictors disfiguring the pavement.\r\nAnyway, at the dividing line of upper and lower Windsor on a very small patch of grass, which could be called a park, I sat this morning on the only seat, with the warmth of the sun and enjoyed the dreaminess I\u2019ve often felt in Australia. An occasional woman with child-in-pram went past and seemed part of that dreaming... no wonder the Aboriginal legends - most of them - are from \u201cthe dreaming\u201d or \u201cdream-time.\u201d The workman who seemed to have something to do there, walked past and told me I was the first person to sit on that seat! He had only just installed it. Some funny black and white birds with longish beaks stood and looked at me for a while and flew like mad up into the white-grey trees trunks with feathery leaves. On one corner a man was using a trowel to tidy up an arched doorway of a building that is going to look nice when it\u2019s all fixed up. On another corner is an art gallery store, where, last time I was here I saw a painting of myself reclining on a couch, nude, but with a long blond wig on my head and a white dove sitting with outstretched wings on my wrist. The painter was Norman Lindsay, one of a famous artist family. While he was painting the picture, he looked up and said, \u201cOh, it\u2019s wonderful to see a woman with long hair again.\u201d Because then, most women had short hair.\r\nSince being here I have met - in the street, delivering catalogues to mail boxes - a big, beautiful woman from the Kingdom of Tonga, an island off the coast of New Zealand, where I saw in their only airport, the best children\u2019s paintings I have ever seen; and in a taxi I met a driver who came from Timor, somewhere north of Austraila. (He only charged me five dollars instead of seven!) And in another taxi, a Turk who was also nice to me. In the local general store, a Chinese lady (also nice); somewhere else, a man from Peru; and at the pharmacy, a Japanese; and in the eye clinic, a European doctor. On the bus, a nicely dressed - actually the same kind of clothes as I wear - woman who looked Viennese. I told her she looked lovely and she looked sad, Viennese style of sad, and rueful, and said, \u201cI\u2019m an old lady.\u201d So I said, \u201cGuess how old I am.\u201d And she made a \u201cmou,\u201d which is a rounding of the lips to express wonder! And so on...\r\nToday I went to a music afternoon given by \u201cEric\u201d in the local Senior Center. He gave a concert of recorded \u201cComic Opera\u201d of Viennese composers and great singers of the same period as Madame B. and I shed one and a half tears and felt sad - and then inspired and imagined myself dancing for the Seniors, a dance from the waist up, like the one I did called \u201cTouching the Air,\u201d with Eric supplying the beautiful music of Vienna. I expect to be doing something like that at the Senior Center. Meanwhile, the Center\u2019s bus takes people shopping and on cultural outings and sends out quite good meals-on-wheels.\r\nTomorrow, luncheon with Noline and Coralie (yum yum), and tomorrow evening, dinner with Gail and looking out at all the big ships and fine works on the harbor, and wondering which ship Prince Harry will be on; he\u2019s visiting Sydney at the moment.\r\nMust go and heat up a meal-on-wheels. Love, Eileen\r\nPS - Have written three children\u2019s stories for a little book Noline is producing. It\u2019s to be given to children in hospital in their stockings for Christmas Day. 1. \u201cPercival and the Flying Elevator\u201d (elevator escapes the elevator shaft); 2. \u201cAllison\u2019s Doll\u2019s Dress\u201d (a five-year-old makes her doll\u2019s dress); 3. \u201cTania and the Tadpoles\u201d (T. watches tadpoles change into frogs). All true stories except the Elevator, which is really about freedom.