Work

We got up before dawn and headed into Cairns for the monthly government-sanctioned auction. Most of it was beer and liquor from cases water-damaged in Cyclone Larry, but our interest was the teak furniture listed. We came soooo close to purchasing a giant, hand-carved, Indonesian teak canopy bed, it was just us and one other bidder. I was happily waving my paddle until we arrived at our predetermined quitting point. After the competing bidder raised the stakes another $25 guaranteeing them the bed, Jorge poked me and said, “Go!” I obediently continued to raise my paddle with every new poke until I reached a point 150% over our original estimate, then I promptly shoved the paddle into Jorge’s hands and made him ultimately responsible for the bidding. We finally stopped because we’d calculated the additional expense we would incur hiring a truck to move the massive piece, and then paying to have it moved again when we settle into our permanent spot, which would have almost doubled the final price. It still would have been a bargain compared to buying it new, but a logistical nightmare. When we are all settled into what should be our final destination we will go back and hope for another shot at some big exotic furniture. We should have bid on part of a collection of framed autographs with photos. The first one, George Burns’s, was dropped down incrementally from an opening bid of $100 to $20 due to lack of interest, and I, thinking he might go to $10, hesitated. Before I could raise my arm, the auctioneer had passed on it. The auctioneer couldn’t get anybody interested in Billy Joel’s either, he got down to $20 and finally suggested ripping out the picture and at least keeping the frame before moving on. Tom Cruise, Arnold Palmer’s glove, Lindsay Lohan, and the bimbo collection, Paris Hilton, Pamela Anderson, and some other Aussie chick, all sold for $90 - $150. Not that I’m such a big George Burns fan, but at least he’s dead. Elle won a set of porcelain dolls for her birthday present and we picked up a couple of carved Indonesian wood panels before heading to the mall.

We went clothes shopping for a few more short-sleeved shirts, shorts, and socks for school, another quilt, this one wool filled, which provided Jorge and me with our first deep, dream-filled sleep since we moved into this house and allowed me to go to bed without wearing sock liners, thermal socks, my Irish knit sweater and looking like a bag lady -- we really were fooling ourselves thinking we could move one degree farther from the equator; it’s bloody cold here at night -- and Jorge picked up some work clothes.

Yes, Jorge got himself a job. He saw an ad in Thursday’s paper, called to inquire about it, and was told to report Monday morning. It’s been about 30 years since he was a regular employee. His new position? Painter. Very relaxing, very Zen. He’s already thinking he may take a second job building an addition for some new friends on his weekends off. Both jobs pay more than what he would have paid his subs for similar work in the US, and he’s a pretty generous boss. The only trouble might be that Jorge makes all the other painters look bad; he’s too hard a worker, and a bit OCD on top of it all. The ones we watched paint the resort we stayed at took their time starting, had a break for tea, then a long lunch break, and finished up fairly early. It took an awfully long time to get the building done. Jorge will have to try and remember that he is working by the hour now.

The kids also have a business venture planned to take advantage of Port Douglas’s Sunday Market, but I am not at liberty to discuss their top secret plans just yet.

Anybody remember the skit, maybe from In Living Color, with the immigrant family? The dad had fourteen jobs, the wife twelve, and the lazy son only nine. That’ll be us.


Avarice, the spur of industry.

-- David Hume