Blah, blah, blah update

Still waiting for the courier to deliver my external modem, a retrofit, for the privilege of hooking up to our slower-than-coconut-oil-in-winter home dial-up service.

We’ve got another vehicle, another Toyota Landcruiser, a smaller model than Mrs. Troopie that our neighbors have nicknamed “The Red Devil.” Jorge drives that so I once again have at my disposal the 4 Runner -- now called “Migaloo” (because you know, all our vehicles must have names) after the rare albino humpback whale who annually visits this area’s waters, whose name means “White Fella” in an Aboriginal language – although there is really nowhere for me to go these days. Driving on the left has become second nature, though I still catch myself starting for the passenger’s side door on numerous occasions. Then I pretend like I meant to do that in case anyone is looking.

The sun finally made a long-term appearance and boy, was it worth the wait. It is spectacularly, painfully beautiful here.

Both of our Florida properties are officially on the market. We have prioritized our list of possibilities as follows:

A) 119 acres, riverfront, ponds, 5 bedroom house, pool ($$$)
B) 40 acres, double creekfront, ponds, liveable stables ($$)
C) 5 acres, creekfront, spring, 2 bedroom house, horse ($$)
D) 80 acres, creekfront, ponds, vacant land ($$$)
E) 5 acres, creekfront, swimming hole, vacant land ($)

Whatever sells first and whatever is still available will decide which way we go. Que sera, sera.

Finally, a couple highlights from my week:

-- Cackling Kookaburras at the school bus stop

-- Overhearing big, leathery cane farmers debate which recipe website is most helpful

-- Listening to Elle surmise that the hatch in the ceiling must lead to the basement since everything in Australia is opposite.

-- Seeing the red creep into the socially awkward, techno-geek’s (wait, is that redundant?) face as he relays, after noticing my neoprene computer carrying case doubling as a lap pad, that Mac portables get so hot there have been reports of men’s genitalia being seriously burned, and then realizes this may not be a suitable topic for mixed company.


The secret of being a bore is to tell everything.
-- Voltaire