Elle stumbled out into the living room this morning in classic Elle fashion, underpants and bedhead, flashed her index and middle fingers in a sign of victory, and announced with a big grin, “Two more days…!”

Sure she has been missing her dad all along, particularly when Mom dishes out punishments, but since the extended phone conversation yesterday, our requisitions for goods and clothes, Elle has been especially excited. Dad is bringing back her one special request: Her white high heel sandals (actually Grice’s hand-me-downs from three flowergirl stints.) Totally impractical, I know, but Elle has a shoe fetish. Has ever since she could grasp objects in her chubby, dimply hands. Clothes? Toys? Who needs those when you can strut around in high heels and underpants?

Chris, our house and cat sitter extraordinaire, has officially usurped me as the Queen of Packing. All hail Chris! She was on hand to help Jorge with his transcontinental treasure hunt and managed to fit all the books, clothes, special stuffed animals, and blankies into two, small, airline-sanctioned boxes. Jorge has a few more last minute special items to secure before boarding his flight, namely a tube of Neutrogena Anti-Acne, Anti-Wrinkle Cleanser, because you don’t know how many years it took me to finally find a product that keeps my skin in manageable condition and one that targets that narrow demographic of women with zits in their crow’s feet and my current tube is just about empty; some Dell Crossword Puzzle books, because crossword puzzles here have incomprehensible Australian references; and maybe a Vanity Fair, because you can only occasionally find the UK version here, which unfortunately does not include US editor Graydon Carter’s fabulous anti-Bush tirades.

Two more days…!


You are eternity’s hostage
A captive of time.

-- Boris Pasternak

[Ed. note: Today at the newsagency I Iocated an International edition of Vanity Fair, only two months behind, but it did contain Graydon's Editor's Letter.]

Time Out

“There, there, dear, I’m sure he’ll be back…” accompanied by a sympathetic, knowing smile and the promise of assistance if we need anything, has been the general response when I answer locals’ queries about my husband’s extended (again) absence. Add to this the facts that our rental house has been sold, we have been given notice to leave, rentals here are practically non-existant, the choice properties are being snapped up by wealthy drought refugees from the south, Elle snapped the door off our brand new clothes drier by swinging on it, the real estate market in Florida still stinks, and probably will for some time, and you can see what fun I’ve been having lately. Without jinxing things though, I will say things are starting to look up…

In the meantime, when confronted with too much reality, I soothe myself with a heavy dose of fantasy. In addition to the second season of Lost, I have been catching up on all the movies I’ve been wanting to see but haven’t had time for: Donnie Darko, Finding Neverland, Crash, The DaVinci Code, The Village, Walk the Line, I Heart Huckabees, and Romper Stomper. Continuing in the Australian Legends vein, I think I’m due for a little Mad Max and maybe The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

With a three-day weekend ahead plus a couple more movies, I should be able to get through the next few days until Jorge returns.


Now I’ve got schemes
And I’ve got schemes
Let’s get together and dream some dreams
Let’s go
Time’s a wastin’

-- Carl Smith (sung by Johnny Cash and June Carter at the Grand Ole Opry)

After hearing the story from a friend about how upon responding to the shrieks of her five month old she discovered a huge python in the baby’s crib -- they did what any self-respecting Aussie would do, they put it outside. The snake. Not the baby -- and after I publicly outed myself as a paranoid with a vivid imagination who can’t differentiate between a psychotic murderer and my washing machine, and after breaking my promise to myself and foolishly watching another couple of scary movies, I must tell you this:

Last night around midnight, after being awakened by the two cups of coffee I had swilled right before bed, I climbed back under the covers and heard another noise.

Scritch scrotch,scritch scrotch

Coming from inside the house. In the kitchen, again. And I hadn’t done any laundry lately.

I crept through the house and in the dark could make out a bulky shape moving by the back door. By the size I determined the uninvited guest was not two-legged and by the scratching I determined it was not no-legged.

Please don’t be a rat…please don’t be a rat…please don’t be a rat…

I switched on the porch light to softly illuminate the intruder and found this:



Armed with a broom I tried to gently push the soccer ball-sized mass of spines toward the now open back door but he defensively curled up into the corner and eventually worked himself under the cabinet below the laundry sink. I called Jorge who offered no help, and only laughed about the most elusive creature in our neighborhood, the echidna, one I’d been trying to catch a glimpse of for months since he spotted some by our driveway coming home late one night, being trapped in our kitchen. The kids were woken up to experience nature face-to-face. Sarabelle was put on guard with the broom while I gathered coolers and trunks to cordon off the area. With the lights turned back off, he waddled out the door about ten minutes later.



How long was he in the house? We had been out to dinner for a couple hours. Did he nose the not-so-securely-closed door open while we were out? Or had he strolled in during the day while I had the back door propped open? We’ll never know. But he was inside long enough to wander around unnoticed through the house and leave us a surprise in the unused third bedroom.




Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start away sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!

-- Robert Burns (To a Mouse)

Whoops

Forgot to post some pithy quotations after the previous bunch of photos. I won't let it happen again.

Be not careless in deeds, nor confused in words, nor rambling in thought.

-- Marcus Aurelius Antoninus

Part 3 - Cont'd

Holiday Part 3

Yesterday was busy.

First on the agenda was a visit to the Rainforest Habitat Wildlife Sanctuary which is conveniently located in the same parking lot as our grocery store. We went early for their Breakfast with the Birds program. Bird poop in your orange juice (and on your table and on your seat) is a small price to pay for so much fun. Especially if you come with us, because we get the local price.







Besides the fantastic enormous aviaries, there are other walk-through animal enclosures loaded with native animals. This is a must-see for anyone coming to visit, unless you have ornithophobia or pteronophobia, in which case I recommend you stay far, far away.

After the Rainforest, and after grocery shopping, we returned to find the realtor waiting, unannounced, to show another group of people through the house. After that slight inconvenience, we packed up to meet our friends at a local swimming hole, one we hadn't seen yet.

Then it was movie night. The kids watched Two Brothers and Babe with our swimming hole friends while I cooked dinner, made popcorn, and enjoyed some adult conversation.

Today the movie festival continues with the conclusion of Lost Season One, a series Stephanie convinced me I should not miss and which Sarabelle, Grice, and I are now completely hooked on; a family favorite, The Nightmare Before Christmas since this is probably as close as we will get to trick-or-treating this year; and continuing our Tim Burton worship, Big Fish.

Part 2 - More Mill Pictures

Holiday Part 2

The next day we had to be out of the house because the realtor was showing the place so I planned a tour of the sugar mill. Before we could go though, a visit to a local clothing store was necessary. Safety regulations require closed-toed and closed-heeled shoes, which half of our group did not own (sandals and bare feet get you in everywhere else around here, even the grocery stores, churches, and restaurants. No shirt, no shoes, no drama, mate.) We lucked out on a great sale and even found a beautiful pair of leather boat shoes for one member of our party, one who didn't even need shoes. They were only $10.00 (AUD). How could I pass that up? On to the mill we went.

The sights! Humongous steaming pipes and vats; a massive antique steam engine so close you could touch it, and lose your arm if you were not pulled completely inside the machine and pulped into cane juice (but we were good and stayed inside the very narrow yellow safety lines and were fortunately not wearing any loose articles of clothing); a certain industrial beauty; our friends' dad up on a very high catwalk waving to us.



The sounds! Well, whatever deafening roar we could hear through our mandatory hearing protection. Thunderous clanging, whirring, and a constant hissing. Our guide wore a bull horn strapped to her side but none of her commentary could be heard. Luckily we had been briefed before about the process of making sugar and she held up information cards throughout the tour to explain which part of the operation we were viewing. We also had to don hardhats as part of the safety requirements, but with all the giant machinery, hot pipes, boilers, and steam venting all over the place, a hard hat wouldn't really help. All I could think the whole time I was in there was, "She's gonna blow!"



The smells! Mmmmm. Molasses. And other vague molassesy smells.

And of course we got to taste our way through the plant, sampling the syrup and various refining stages.



One of the difficulties in planning sightseeing activities while Jorge is gone is that if we did want to go anywhere majorly exciting, like, say, the Undara Lava Tubes for example, we would eventually have to do it again when Jorge got back, which is generally too complicated and too expensive. Well, this was pretty incredible so I'm definitely going to have to take Jorge when he gets back, after the kids head back to school. I have an affinity for factories thanks to Fred Rogers and Mr. McFeely. The best episodes of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood were always the ones where he toured a plant, whether it was a crayon, pencil, bowling ball, bubblegum, or shoe factory. Even the mushroom farm episode was pretty cool. Our friend told us to be sure and talk to her husband, he can give us a free private tour. I can hardly wait.

Holiday

Our favorite neighbors, afraid the children would have nothing to keep them occupied during their two-week school holiday, and who don't realize boredom is a wonderful catalyst for creativity, probably because they have no children of their own, stepped in by generously donating their Yahtzee and Trivial Pursuit games, taught us all to knit, and delivered a large supply of twelve-foot, freshly cut bamboo poles from their farm so the kids could build themselves a cubbyhouse.



In between those activities, we've done a fair bit of sightseeing.

First we visited High Falls Farms for brunch...



...and learned from the proprietors that there was a nearby glass studio so we went to take a look. Talk about hot -- and no, I'm not referring to the Swedish glassblower, though he was admittedly in nice shape -- there we were, in the middle of a rainforest clearing baking in the burning sun with three huge furnaces blasting while we watched the artist create a glass bird sculpture and then a ruffle-edged bowl.

Fight the Good Fight

If you can, please help.

Thanks.

Go "Just Cure It!"


Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living!

-- Mother Jones