Works for me.

Nana requested a Christmas photo this year and while the thought crossed my mind on several occasions during the past two months, I was left waiting for inspiration to strike. Fortunately, on our half-day sightseeing in Japan, the girls just happened to be wearing green, red, and white sweaters and were in a mood that they did not mind putting their arms around each other in a way that did not suggest intentional bodily harm. Voila! Christmas photo.




There are many scapegoats for our blunders, but the most popular one is Providence.

-- Mark Twain

Happy Christmas

I'm generally not a big fan of Christmas, the pagan celebration co-opted by the Church and ultimately transformed into a secular shopping spree with its greedy commercialism and schmaltzy sentimentalism...

But this year is different. It might just be the best one yet.

The bags are packed, the house is boxed. After days of lifting and straining, and in anticipation of 30 hours bent into a V with my feet up on the seat-back tray trying to get comfortable, Bee's mom, soothed my aching back with a gratis massage treatment yesterday. That was followed by a feast of pastries and candy for dinner at another friend's Not Christmas Party.

In addition to the mid-air movie fest and overnight in Japan, we are looking forward to reconnecting with friends and family, especially long-distant cousins, meeting the slew of new babies, and treating the kids to a few big surprises. After sleeping on a cot for one and a half years, I am also eagerly anticipating sleeping in my own king-sized, Tempurpedic, Tommy Bahama bed with super high-thread count sheets. Jorge will even be returning to Australia with us briefly to ensure we are safely and comfortably tucked into our new rental.

I am dashing down to the markets this morning for a few last-minute Chrissie prezzies for the rellies before we head east tomorrow.


We tend to forget that happiness doesn't come as a result of getting something we don't have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have.

-- Frederick Keonig

Pomp and Circumstance

"Miss," the principal, hands Grice her diploma.



Bee receives her diploma and "Sir," the teacher, calls Grice back for the flowers he forgot to give her.



"...and the winner of the $200 bursary from the Returned and Services League for top female student is..."



Grice with Mr. H, head of the local RSL and our former landlord.




A mother's pride, a father's joy.

-- Sir Walter Scott (Rokeby)

Stress Tests

Opening a whole can of worms here, but that's what I do best, I will now explain the reasons you haven't heard from me, or in the case of recent communications, heard back from me:

-- Emergency room visit (mine), that because of a family history rife with heart attacks, blood clots, aortic aneuryms, and COPD, turned into an overnight observation. Being on my own now, with Jorge back in the States, friends were quick to step in and juggle child and dog care responsibilities. Not to worry, I am hale and hearty, though they have recommended a stress test just to cover all bases.

While I was being examined, the doctor let Elle sit in her office and draw with a special mummy pen brought back from her recent Egyptian vacation. Elle floored her by writing her name in hieroglyphics. The next morning the doctor brought in a scarab necklace as a little present for Elle.

-- Meeting the Overseer, the big gun from my Witness friend's organization who annually travels to all congregations to assure they toe the line, at a special appointment arranged by my well-intentioned friend to respond to my doubts, questions, and evidence contrary to their beliefs. Her concerns were unrelieved as the Overseer failed to provide satisfactory answers. No Kool-Aid was served, Mom.

-- Emergency room visit (Elle) after a dish-washing dance party in the kitchen turned ugly. She doesn't like me to call it 'breakdancing,' and she didn't in fact break anything, but there were some wild aikido-like rolls and lots of spins. Her foot slid under the old, rusty fridge and sliced her ankle open right across the top of the joint. Not much blood, but ligaments and bone were clearly visible. No stitches were involved, they used glue and tape to seal it up with the caveat that if it opened up again within the next 24 hours, she would need to come back, probably for a stitch or two. Is tetanus one of the regular childhood immunizations in Florida?

Our thoughts were diverted on the way to the hospital when we spotted a fluffy little bunny running alongside us down the driveway. So cute, until it turned abruptly into our path: AwwwwwwaaaaaaaAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE! The bunny miraculously escaped flattening and the girls' response provoked gasping laughter for the next several kilometers.

The most frightening events of the night were the drive home in a squall, hoping we would not be washed off the unlit, unguardrailed road into a gully or run over any mysterious hitchhikers as talk turned (unwisely) to horror movies, and wondering if I had remembered to turn off the water in the sink in our hasty exit from the house.

-- Meeting with new landlords to work out moving and property maintenance details and a trip into town for boxes to start packing household items.

-- Tennis tournament that Elle, previously in the lead, was now only tearfully allowed to watch, being sidelined by her injuries. Supposedly. She took advantage of my attention managing the matches to run around and entertain the other children with various acrobatic feats.

-- Emergency room visit (Elle, again) after her ankle wound re-opened. Still no stitches, heavier applications of glue and tape. Next time I'll just visit an office supply store.


The bow too tensely strung is easily broken.

-- Publius Syrus

While most of you were snorkling down heaps of turkey, forty-two side dishes, and pie then lolling in front of the tv in a near coma watching football and spending the entire next day in a spending frenzy, or adamantly refusing to shop, we were almost too busy to notice that one of our favorite holidays was being celebrated on the other side of the world. And, no, for those of you who haven't asked yet and just aren't sure, Australians don't celebrate Thanksgiving. They didn't have happy Pilgrims and helpful Indians. They had convicts. And I'm pretty sure they were none too happy to be here, though after their first year surviving the harsh land they may have been treated to an extra bowl of gruel and a beating.

We had a sleepover with Sarabelle's high school buddy. Yes, on a school night, Mom. There were tennis lessons and beauty appointments (not mine as anyone we visit at Christmas time will attest) and another tennis tournament. I know, I swore them off after the last one. But due to my fever-induced grouchiness and non-responsiveness at our last committee meeting, the extra surprise bonus two-week tourney was foisted on my friend who was overwhelmed and underenthused, so I offered to give her a hand setting up. I knew I would at least be treated to a top-notch cup of coffee. M never skimps and I am not even the least bit insulted when she drops by for a cup and brings her own coffee and plunger pot. Our kids, her daughter, Bee, and Elle, weren't interested in playing in Saturday's novice doubles until they got there and then changed their minds. Elle is currently in the lead so I know what I'll be doing next Saturday. Then there was a bike rally fundraiser for the school's P&C. The kids hoofed it over eleven hilly kilometers around a beautiful country loop road back to the school where they then enjoyed a barbie and a water slide. The older girls opted to pass on Sunday's open doubles and we went for a dip in the creek instead. Last night there was another sleepover with Bee, and here we are. So you can see, things are really winding down...

Bee and Grice ready to go. Bee won the Brightest Outfit prize.



Elle and the littlies prepare to head out.



Elle coming up Heartbreak Hill...



...on the home stretch.



Bee and Grice determined to come in last, and nearly succeeding.



The Waterslide








The purpose of a liberal education is to make one's mind a pleasant place to spend one's leisure.

-- Joseph Joubert

"Cheese"

Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.

-- Thich Nhat Hanh

Economics Lesson

Elle discussing loose teeth and currency exchange rates over the phone with her father: "They're really wobbly! And when they fall out I'm going to save them and bring them back to the States...because I'll get more money!"


-- It is thrifty to prepare today for the wants of tomorrow.

Aesop (The Ant and the Grasshopper)

FYI

I'm not insinuating anybody here needs to be made aware of this particular information, but it might just give you some insight into why we do what we do.


I wish he would explain his explanation.

-- Lord Byron (Don Juan)

Done

The Melbourne Cup, "the celebration that stops a nation," or, the celebration that ends my obligation as I have come to think of it, has come and gone. I survived the organization and execution of our final fundraiser for the tennis club, bringing in a good chunk of money, and am back to official slacker status. I wasn't inspired to bet on any horses this time around, only Black Tom jumped out at me as I penned his name across 30 or so sweeps boards, but not enough so that I was motivated to plunk down any money, which was good because he didn't come close to winning. Elle won $20 from a Calcutta raffle and then immediately spent $19.99 for a book on Egyptology at the school's book fair when we arrived to pick up Grice. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Jorge heads back in two days, and we are working to get everything wrapped up and settled before he goes. So what do we go and do? We decide to move again. The cattle station is comfortable but it's a long haul into town (and fuel is getting pretty dear) and inhibits our participation in various social events. I would also feel less apprehensive about Jorge being away for who-knows-how-long knowing that we had plenty of friends nearby for support. Things do not become available for rent very often back in Green Acres, the verdant tableland area we spent our first year in, but we've been hearing Doris Day in our heads for years, and once again, things have fallen neatly into place.

Immigrant neighbors with three-of-a-kind children who travel in some of the same musical, student council circles we do and who share a strong sense of wanderlust are packing up and moving over the Christmas holiday to another part of the state for a new job and adventures. They have a house and shed surrounded by rainforest on five and a half neat, mostly level acres with vegetable gardens, fruit trees, a creek, worm farm, and chook house, plus a cubby house, giant tree swing, and flying fox for the kids, and are not concerned as much about rent money as having the "right people" keep an eye on their place. We went over to take a look, thinking that maybe it would just be better to stay put after all, just make do with what we've got, but it was too perfect a fit. They're thinking they will be gone from two to five years and invited us to stay as long as we like during that period. Close enough to cut our drive time to town in half and with the bus picking up right at the end of the road (next year living outside the boundary we would be paying for two students to take the bus -- I estimated over $700 -- plus still have to drive them 15 minutes each way to the bus stop) it will be very convenient. With solar heated water, rain water tanks, and cheap rent we'll save plenty of money. They might even have DSL available there...

Friends have already volunteered and begun making plans to get us moved when we get back from our holiday and the landlords have said, take your time, move in whenever, we'll give you the keys before we leave.


Que sera, sera,
Whatever will be, will be;
The future's not ours, to see,
Que sera, sera,
What will be, will be.

-- Jay Livingston and Ray Evans

Fun

Club Champ



Grice driving on the runway (When I discover the hiding place of the snake I may need a back-up driver.)



Boat ride to Snapper Island



Fun With Fruit, or One Hot Tomahto. Concept by Sarabelle.
(B&W photos shamelessly lifted from Vanity Fair)






Let early education be a sort of amusement; you will then be better able to find out the natural bent.

-- Plato

Cough, cough, hack, hack

Sunburn, fatigue, fever, blisters. Those are just my main excuses for coming in dead last in the women's open. I got the chills in the midst of the finals and couldn't tell if I was coming down with the flu or heat stroke. It was probably a bit of both. And learning today at the trophy presentation that the boys' finals has to be rescheduled for Friday because one of the players is sick and that I am now also in charge of that event, well, let's just say my enthusiasm was greatly diminished. When the coach suggested organizing one more tournament and sausage sizzle before the end of the year, I'm pretty sure I just growled. Fortunately my friend and fellow tennis committee sucker invited me to her house afterward for a cup of coffee, throat lozenges, a large aloe plant, and some beautiful cut flowers from the garden.

Sarabelle ended up girls' open and one half of the girls' doubles champ, and Grice and her partner were girls' doubles runners-up. Sarabelle will go down in history as the first girls' winner in the history of the club, her name engraved on a lovely plaque for ever and ever, amen.

Jorge missed all the festivities staying home to organize the storage room downstairs, the room where he and Elle found the four-foot, freshly-shed, venomous snake skin just outside the door. No sign of our visitor. I am not looking forward to digging through the suitcases when it's time to pack.


A little inaccuracy sometimes saves tons of explanation.

-- Saki [Hector Hugh Munro] The Square Egg

Bits

I haven't posted much. Nothing much has been happening, and with the Red Sox in the playoffs and then in the World Series again, nothing I could have posted would have been more interesting than that to my family members abroad, as evidenced by recent phone calls unfortunately timed to first pitches. Look, you all had 2004. Wasn't that enough?

We are in the throes of planning another summer holiday/Christmas visit to Florida. You can imagine how excited I am about that. Jorge should be traveling over with us and then is planning to remain in Florida after the holidays to get a few contracts underway. Like last year we may have another overnight in Tokyo, which nicely breaks up the trip, but unlike last year we are expecting to bring along Grice's friend, B. We traded B's mom four weeks of a whirlwind trip overseas for her daughter for four weeks caring for our dog. We definitely came out on top in that deal.

Speaking of animals, we have noticed a frilled-neck lizard hanging around the house. Early one Saturday morning for a photo I had Grice chase him around a tree trying to get him riled up enough to show off his frill. A friend happened to mention that they were particularly nasty creatures with very sharp claws who will climb right up and shred your person if it helps them get to where they want to go. So, sorry, no pics for you. On the friendlier animal scene, we've got a pair of blue kookaburras (not the laughing kind) we've been feeding, hoping to train them to come up and eat out of our hands one day.

We have the last round of our tennis club championships coming up this weekend and then I will be officially retiring from tennis. Elle is more interested in aikido right now and Grice may want to try out AFL. Sarabelle will probably continue with tennis, but she can try out for the team at school if she really wants to play.

Interesting Australian euphemisms we've recently encountered:

"Wobbly bits", as in "Do you have cellulite and other wobbly bits?" Seen in a magazine advertisement while waiting for our visa appointment, launching us into explosive giggles while trying unsuccessfully to be all serious for the crabby immigration people. (In spite of our less than serious attitude we still managed to get our Returning Resident Visas renewed, and for five years too!)

"Special cuddles", a very innocuous and roundabout way of saying "sex."

And incongruously, how's this for a friendly how do you do: "Keepin' ya knees togetha, love?"


I claim not to have controlled events, but confess plainly that events have controlled me.

-- Abraham Lincoln

The Simple Life

Despite the less-than-rainforest-green color of our surroundings, actually it's a greyish-green with lots of brown, and the ever-present smell of smoke as wildfires and controlled back-burns smolder all around us on various parts of the station, we're enjoying the drier climate. There is no mold in sight! Things smell better! And it is exciting to think that the The Wet will not be the muddy, mildewy mess it was last year. At least until we hear the cries of, "Bushy's-gon-ovah!" meaning the creek between here and the schools has flooded. The peace and quiet is greatly appreciated too. During the day the rustling trees and birds are about the only sounds and at night it is occasionally completely still. There is very little road noise from the lightly traveled highway that is close enough to see, usually it's a huge road train roaring past when the wind is just right, and very little air traffic. In fact when we hear a helicopter or plane, it is so rare that we bother to look up and see what's going on and wonder who it is (because there are only a few helicopters around and we might recognize them) and whether they might be going to land here. Not like in South Florida where you know it's either the cops or a news 'copter and think, oh god, what now...

Being so much drier, the sky is clearer. It's pretty cool to look up almost every night and see the Mlky Way hanging right overhead, or watch shooting stars and satellites fly by. It must be really impressive, almost oppressive, out in the desert where there is nothing but flat, uninterrupted horizon to stargaze. That has been added to my To Do list.

We have made friends with the magpie family that lives here. I know now that I'll never be fit for a return to suburbia, not when I can open the back door and gleefully throw the remains of a meal, whatever the dog doesn't eat, right off the balcony into the yard. The birds love it and have become accustomed to me providing treats, unfortunately, they see my mizuna lettuce and cherry tomato plants, in buckets on the front porch, as one big buffet. To persuade them not to bother the dozens of tomatoes that have set and are trying to ripen, I sit in the living room with the sliders wide open and a handful of small rocks at the ready. They think I am feeding them and do not fly away. I'm considering a slingshot. If I ever do return to suburbia, I'm afraid I might end up as the crabby old lady with the yard the kids are afraid to retrieve their balls from.

In addition to the magpies, we've recently been visited by the black cockatoos. There are about half a dozen or so out this morning and now I will take a short break to try to capture this phenomenon...

Okay, here you go... Pretty aren't they? See that flash of red on the underside of the tail? There's another under their wings but it's not so obvious in this shot.



We used to get excited to see the clouds of white, yellow-crested cockatoos that live here, like Fred from Baretta, all cute with the "Freeeeeeze" and the head bobbing (the ones around here do not spout police jargon), until we began to realize what a nuisance they are. Farmers shoot them. A small flock can decimate a fruit crop in a matter of minutes. And they are loud. Constantly, screechingingly loud. So we are not as excited to see the big bullies as we once were. The black cockatoos so far have not lost their ability to charm. They are less common in these parts, less aggressive, and less squawky (more of a gurgly shrieking caw.)

Even though we are farther out of town than we ever were, friends still pop in unannounced. Lulu spent one lovely afternoon racing around with her sister, Asha (on the left in the brown collar), and doggie friends Muffy and Rosie. While the moms relaxed with a cuppa and and the littermates collapsed in a heap on the porch, the sweaty kids cooled off with icy-poles. Living out here where Lulu has plenty of room to roam has greatly improved her behavior, where before, at the other rental, the only flat-out exercise she got was chasing our landlady on her four-wheeler all the way down to the horse paddocks while trying to jump on the back to ride alongside landlady's dog.





Grice is off on a traveling adventure with her bestie and bestie's dad. They are at the stage when touring around with your family is not quite interesting enough and pals must be procured for back-up companionship. They are going out to see some dinosaur fossils and visit a gorge before school starts back next week. Sarabelle is planning to attend a music camp Thursday through Sunday and we are trying to figure out how to work this around the scheduled removal of her stitches on Friday. Being a DIY kind of girl, I've got my own highly unpopular ideas on how this can be accomplished. Elle, demonstrating the powerful catalyst boredom can be and cheerfully adapting to her parents' stubborn refusal to participate in the mass consumer world of children's toys, crafted her own set of building blocks from end cuts of wood Jorge was using to build us a computer desk. They were not as eye-catching in their natural state, so she took out her paint set and began decorating them. At first they were just solid colors, then some sported spots and stripes. A few became caterpillers, ladybugs, watermelons, books, others had humans on one side and aliens on the other... Her sisters thought it looked like so much fun they eventually joined in, and the three of them spent an entire afternoon, hours, out on the porch painting, sharing, cooperating, without one bit of bickering.




Poor and content is rich, and rich enough.

-- Shakespeare (Othello)

Trauma and Drama

Today, the first day of the two-week school holiday, we had our first blood and guts trip to the emergency room. Not bad for three kids in fifteen years, if you don’t count that one late night hospital visit for stomach x-rays when we found a two-year old Elle gagging on a Lego she had swiped unlawfully from her sisters’ room and refused to say whether she had swallowed another one or not…

Sarabelle was out speeding around on the runway with Grice’s bike, standing up coasting, when the chain snapped and she wiped out on the very sharp sealed gravel. It was not particularly bloody, road rash from her head to her feet, but the wound on her knee was gaping and meaty looking.

I was very proud of the way Grice and Elle stood by their sister, helping her up the stairs, retrieving the broken bike, even insisting they stay with her in the treatment room (at least until I noticed Grice had gone white and was on the verge of fainting during the suturing procedure.)

Eight stitches and a tetanus shot later, we are home again.


Blood is thicker than water.

-- John Ray (English Proverbs)

Wild Kingdom

Jorge has always been a stop-the-car-and-save-the-animals kind of guy. He found this one on the way home from work recently and rescued it from an untimely, messy highway death. The kids named it Smacky. I don't know why.





In case any of the authorities are reading this, we are not going to keep it, we know you need an "Official Government License" to possess these creatures. Relax, Smacky is merely recuperating from his traumatic near-miss and will be released one day soon.

Here is our temporary, illegal visitor demonstrating the reason for the appellation "blue-tongued lizard."



My three-year old nephew could not believe his ears when I told him we have kangaroos out in our front yard nibbling the grass every morning, so, see for yourself, B.! Aunt L is not telling tall tales. Except these three were actually in the side yard...



And here's a mama and her joey racing us down the driveway. You can glimpse our humble abode in the background.



Late in the afternoon, just before the sun sets over the mountain, it blazes the most intense orange. This shot's a little blurry, I had only a few seconds to try to capture the effect of the color blasting down our hallway (We're losing the light, people! We're losing the light!) but Lulu was on fire.



Yesterday honking horns alerted us to the fact that some of the unfenced stock were out wreaking havoc on the road. Elle, Lulu, and I watched amused for awhile and then went back inside. Ridgebacks, though they are hounds, are known for their lack of barkiness, being highly intelligent and discriminating with their warnings -- Lulu usually just jumps to attention, stands like a statue, and gives a little "BUH" when she hears something that disturbs her normally napping state -- but she started barking away at the back door so we got up to take a look. The cows were in our back yard. And fortunately Lulu was there to save us.



Then our fearless dog ran them off.




All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

-- George Orwell (Animal Farm)

Catch Up

Sarabelle's first public appearance with the strings ensemble last night went very well, in spite of an attack of pre-traumatic stress syndrome when Grice commented that her sister makes weird faces when she plays and the uniform she had to wear made her "look like an old lady." After the music when the group took their seats for dinner, I gave her a subtle but enthusiastic thumbs up and in reply she shook her head slowly back and forth. She confided later that she had faked it on one piece, one she had not yet learned, and her friend the cello player teased her about playing the tune so well without ever touching the strings. Only they would have known. Sarabelle is very excited because her music teacher invited her this past Friday to take up the electric bass guitar after another student dropped out. "Can you see me in a rock band, Mom!" Um, er, I hadn't really considered it, honey (even though this was always a secret fantasy of mine and even knowing the late, legendary Jaco Pastorius as a friend of friend.) Uncle M will at least be glad to have someone to jam with, and I will at least be thankful that this instrument is slightly more portable. The music teacher, who sat next to me during the remainder of last night's dinner allayed my fears slightly explaining that the instrument is part of the main orchestra and the jazz band. Okay then. Exhale.

She's been on another creative tear lately, running back and forth from practicing her double bass in her bedroom to painting in the kitchen. She made a beautiful wooden tray with dovetailed joints at school and decided to paint it in a mosaic design patterned after a skirt of mine. She would love for me to post a picture of it, and I might, if Lily Pulitzer promises not to sue us for copyright infringement.

Finally, here are some photos from the Broker's visit. Most of mine seem to be from The Blue Hole, where the swimming hole is 99% Croc Free (TM), our cave art bushwalk with Willie up near Cooktown, and the fateful excursion to Chillagoe.


I have no particular talent. I am merely inquisitive.

-- Albert Einstein

Fate

Six years ago on a reconnaissance mission through Far North Queensland we drove up the mountain range we now live on. It was a very cold, foggy morning so we were unable to see anything but the pavement just ahead of our vehicle. Oblivious to the lush green mountains and fields we passed, the area we settled into just over a year ago when we returned, we continued on. We had breakfast in a little café at the top of the range, the first place we could see outside the persistent low-lying clouds. The town was sparse, not much there at all. The landscape was bleak, brown, and dry. We kept on down the highway through an unfenced grazing property, signs warning us to beware of wandering stock. A wildfire was burning unchecked on the roadside. Who in the hell would live out here? was the question I asked myself over and over as we made our way to the next settlement, a dismal, depressing cowtown.

Now, six years later, I know the answer to that question.

We are living on the very same cattle station the wildfire burned.


There's no such thing as chance;
And what to us seems merest accident
Springs from the deepest source of destiny.

-- Johann Friedrich von Schiller

Dark Ages

If you have nothing nice to say, you should say nothing. But I will tell you a few things anyway.

I am living in the Dark Ages. We've moved into our new rental and this weekend is the first we have had to spend some time in it relaxing (or at least not schlepping boxes.) Life on the cattle station is certainly different than living in the rainforest. Yes, Dy, it is very brown, but unlike your water situation (which I'm glad to see has been, if not resolved, at least identified) we have been encouraged by the landlord to use as much water as we need to keep the yard green. Cuts down on the fire hazard. Hopefully the electric meter for the pump is not on our account. You'd think this would be easily determined. As easily determined as whether broadband Internet was available before we moved in. There is a brand new shiny cable installed out front, but so far the wonderful robots at Telstra have only been able to confirm that broadband is unavailable, we have only one dial-up line, and a second line will cost us $300. Wireless? Sorry, that 98% country coverage doesn't include us. Satellite? The government was supposed to fund the "Broadband For All" satellite subsidy back in April but nobody has heard a word since.

And to make matters worse, our phone is not working properly. All calls are presently being made with the fax's handset and its painfully short cord. And, really, making it a moot point anyway, my laptop is dead again. After the Mother's Day Eve Disaster and subsequent hard drive replacement I was cautioned that there could still be some undetectable hairline crack in some board somewhere that could one day just shut the whole thing down. That day was today.

On the positive side of life here, the kids finally have a nice horizontal surface to ride bikes on. They cruise around on the station's airstrip instead of careening down the side of a mountain. I love to watch Elle pedaling around and singing to herself. The world is hers. She could go anywhere. As long as it is on the paved surfaces, not in the grass where all the giant venomous snakes live. That's freedom. And as inconvenient as it is now to have to drive 15 minutes each way to get the kids to and from the bus stop twice a day, it always makes me smile to see the kangaroos hopping across our driveway. There are at least 20 of them. It's sort of like seeing manatees and porpoise out on our island, you might see them every day but it's still a thrill.

Highlights of our friends' visit, which I can now only mention as all photographic evidence is firmly lodged in my dead computer, included a tour of Aboriginal sacred rock art sites and a bush tucker walk. We ate green ants, the ones that tilt their big heads up at you in thoughtful consideration before they bite you. This had nothing to do with the vomiting that occurred later on. We attended a bull ride competition, not part of any big flash traveling rodeo show, but a real local one where we knew many of the riders, who included several of the kids' classmates, and a fair bit of the audience. We also took a bracing swim in beautiful Lake Eacham, a volcanic crater lake, on our way back from a cave tour out in Chillagoe. Chillagoe is where the stomach virus kicked in. We presumed it was the seafood chowder the first batch of ill travelers had eaten (causing me to secretly think of our vehicle as the Sushi Express) until a few that had passed on the chowder then got sick later on and we since discovered that the same bug had simultaneously struck nearly half the population of our little town. Anyway, a dip in the lake made everyone feel better. For a while. Those were a few of my highlights, I'm pretty sure theirs differ.

Meanwhile, Sarabelle celebrated her quinceanera yesterday. At school she has progressed from basic music lessons to being a member of the strings ensemble. They have been invited to play a gig, Sara's first public performance, at a dinner honoring a local philanthropist (and grandfather of her friend, the ensemble's cello player), in two weeks. I only just learned that the monstrosity she is lugging around mastering, the double bass, is only a 3/4-sized instrument.

Sarabelle and Grice have taken up gardening. In a show of pure stubbornness, today Grice dug up the dirt from the garden plot she would have shared with her sister and carted it over in a box on a handtruck to the other side of the yard where she will make her own. Grice also informed Sarabelle that she put a grub in her vegetable patch. Ah, sibling rivalry.

Time to plug the phone cord back into the fax so I check and see that we've received forty-two messages since I logged on. Posting will be few and far between from Ye Olde Cattle Station.


We live in a society exquisitely dependent on science and technology, in which hardly anyone knows anything about science and technology.

-- Carl Sagan

The Trip of Lifetime

It's been a while between posts, I know. We've been all over Far North Queesnland with the Broker and his crew. There are thousands of pictures and loads of good stories, including a few that everyone will no doubt laugh over a few years from now, though I was given over to an unfortunate fit of nervous, inappropriate, uncontrollable giggles right away. One had to do with a suspected case of food poisoning. Who eats seafood in the Outback? Need I say more?

Well I will.

And I wish I had pictures to show the condition of the troop carrier when we finally pulled into town, with its twin set of chunky racing stripes.

I'm sorry, I'm giggling again.

We're in the midst of moving so while my laptop and camera are here, my USB cable is there. You'll just have to use your imagination for a little longer.


Laughter is an interior convulsion, producing a distortion of the features and accompanied by inarticulate noises. It is infectious and, though intermittent, incurable.

-- Ambrose Bierce

Nevermind

I am sitting here typing this from my corner of the couch, the same place I've been sitting for the past several months. I do get up from time to time, occasionally I even go outside, but what I'm trying to say is, we didn't move. Without a signed lease, friends coming to visit, and a call-back for a job interview for Jorge on Tuesday, we are just too up in the air to be moving anywhere right now. Our present landlords are happy to have us stay as long as we'd like.

Even when I think I know what's going on, I don't.


Men must be decided on what they will not do, and then they are able to act with vigor in what they ought to do.

-- Mencius

Tip

If you are ever residing in Australia and need to make changes to your utility accounts and are an "Authorized Person" on the account but not the actual account "Owner," and apparently not authorized enough to actually make changes to said account -- similar to being qualified enough to enter the country under the Skilled Independent Migration category but not qualified enough to hold a job in your field of expertise -- for "Privacy Reasons" and "Security Issues," I highly recommend impersonating the account owner over the telephone. Affecting a foreign accent, or exaggerating your own might be particularly effective.


I'm not really a political satirist. I don't kid myself. I'm more interested in doing the mannerisms and the personality.

--Rich Little


Honesty is praised and starves.

-- Juvenal

Overheard in the car...

Older sister: What would you rather be, a bird or a crocodile?

Elle: A crocodile.

OS: But they're mean! They eat people!

Elle: Well, I would be a nice one and only eat vegetarians.


I share no man's opinions; I have my own.

-- Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev

Rollin' rollin' rollin'

In between trying to put a deal together on one of our Florida properties and watching the deal fall apart, and waiting for word on Jorge's interview to find out if we would be relocating to the other side of the state and then finding out he didn't get the job, and waiting for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows to arrive at our local newsagent's and seeing Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix in Cairns, and finally giving up on our newsagent before someone spoils the ending for us and getting a friend to grab a copy for us on her trip to the big city, and reading said book aloud and attending the local country fair, and making plans for our friend's visit and planning the upcoming tennis tournament (which has since been blessedly cancelled), we've decided to move again.

It's still in Australia in case you were wondering. (Never can be too sure, can you?) Not far from where we live now kilometer-wise, the kids will still be in the same school, but a completely different terrain, more "the real Australia" as our landlord's agent said. We will be renting a caretaker's house on a massive (even the manager is unsure how many acres or square miles it is) cattle station. It will afford us a great deal more privacy and freedom while saving us a fair bit each month. And now that we've been to the fair, we're ready to finally get some chickens to put in the chook pen out behind the new house.

So this weekend it's pack and unpack one more time.


Move 'em on, head 'em up,
Head 'em up, move 'em on,
Move 'em on, head 'em up
Rawhide

Cut 'em out, ride 'em in,
Ride 'em in, cut 'em out,
Cut 'em out, ride 'em in
Rawhide!

-- Ned Washington (theme from Rawhide)

Chilly

Check out that headline.



Going where the wind don't blow so strange, maybe off on some high cold mountain range.

-- Jerry Garcia

Spontaneity

We've got loads of it, you know.

The five of us set out in my vehicle which seats five almost comfortably, plus a dog and all our gear for a week-long adventure. Our plan was to start out at Undara Lava Tubes to witness some ancient geological marvels and work our way down to the historic mining town of Charters Towers to experience some not-so-ancient architectural marvels.

But, of course, it didn't work out like that.

Here we are in front of the windfarm at Ravenshoe (pronounced Ravens-hoe, not Raven-shoe), one of our Tableland neighboring towns, where the temps dipped to a record -7 C/18 F the night before. Elle explained the reason for the cooler weather was that someone left all the fans on.



First stop, Innot Hot Springs where some of us enjoyed a relaxing soak in the heated water...



...and some didn't...



...and some, namely me, seriously considered spending the entire night in a pool of water under a blanket of volcanically heated sand, the only warm spot for hundreds of miles around.

It was at the springs where I met Jane. Whether Plain Jane or Jane Doe or Tarzan's Jane comes to mind, you'd have a pretty accurate image. She told me her story while she stripped down to nearly nothing, bathed, and heated her and her daughter's pot of soup in a pool adjoining my own. She came to Australia from New York six years ago as a backpacker. She homeschools her only child and is greatly concerned about the increase in regulations and decrease in freedoms she perceives here in Australia. Something that's been gnawing away at us as well. Jane is considering a move to a freer society, but hasn't yet figured out where that might be, and may even head back to the States until she does. We had loads to talk about, being of similar minds. Elle was overjoyed to meet her daughter, both Americans, both homeschooled, both six years of age; she reckoned they were nearly twins. We had a very enjoyable afternoon sharing our common bonds.

We made it to the camp ground near Undara, set up both tents, put out a picnic and lolled in the lovely hot sun for an hour or two when we got the phone call. Remember the hush-hush stuff I hinted about earlier? Jorge had applied for a job over on the west side of the Cape York Peninsula, one that would enable us to stay in Australia regardless of whether or not our Florida property sells, one that not only pays well, but provides housing, a vehicle, and tax breaks. It seemed as if he was well-suited to the position, but so much time had elapsed we figured it must not have been a real possibility. They had called leaving a message on our answering machine to say he had been short-listed and wanted to do a phone interview. Jorge returned the call and suggested that since we were halfway there he head on over as he preferred to interview in person, and I wanted to see what we were potentially getting ourselves into, so the next morning off we went.

The Cape York Peninsula, the little triangle up on the top right of the country? It's enormous. Takes nearly 11 hours to get across the base of it, and the "highway" is a single lane road with dirt shoulders that you have to swerve onto for oncoming traffic. The oncoming traffic usually meets you halfway veering off in a cloud of red dust, unless it's a 164-foot long road train, they don't budge. You also have to watch out for livestock. Stations are so huge they're unfenceable; cattle grates cross the main highway every once in a while to mark boundaries. It was not a boring drive at all.





Because we left all our gear behind, we stayed in a motel for the night in the nearby town of Karumba where the mouth of the impossibly indigo Norman River meets the Gulf of Carpentaria. The motel welcomed dog owners, but would not allow the actual dogs into the rooms, so I spent the afternoon and evening sitting on the porch with and sleeping in the car with Lulu. You will not see any pictures of that.

The interview went well, and to celebrate Jorge and I feasted on giant Gulf prawns and seafood chowder sans kids and dog. The girls were finally advised of the situation -- the reason it had been hush-hush is that they would have had a stroke anticipating a move from this place they love so much -- but a quick tour of the town (all it takes being a tiny, remote, outback flyspeck of a place), its interesting old buildings, the house we would potentially live in, the sports complex with the giant pool and tennis courts, and the historic train station (the end of the line, which takes passengers ultimately straight into the big city of Cairns) produced no huge objections, although Sarabelle inquired about the possibility of boarding at a friend's house.

We headed back to camp and though we still had plenty of time to reschedule a visit to the lava tubes, we stayed one more night and then just packed up and headed home a day early. We saw plenty of geological wonders along the way and took an alternate route home through the mining town of Herberton where we enjoyed the charming vernacular architecture.

Jorge should hear something by Friday...


It's not just a job, it's an adventure.

-- Anonymous (U.S. Navy slogan)

Get your motor runnin'...

Jorge is off buying a tent and a couple extra swags, while I, rather than spending time dawdling on the computer, am supposed to be washing the dog and her pet futon cover because we're all going camping.

Due to our chronic disorganization -- the school holidays are half over and we were able to get the car inspected and serviced only yesterday -- and the acute lack of hotel accomodations, and particularly ones that accept dogs, and our reluctance to dump Lulu at a kennel, and, let's face it, our budget, we are just now, all six of us, heading off for a mini, less-is-more vacation.

I'm a little nervous. I've roughed it with Jorge, and Jorge has taken the girls on several soft camping trips of his own, but I have never camped with the children.

This ought to be fun.


We should come home from adventures, and perils, and discoveries every day with new experience and character.

-- Henry David Thoreau

Gah

We've had another Learning Experience, a term always presented in airquotes around here.

Who knew that shampooing the carpet remnants, salvaged from our landlords' resort, oh, so many years ago, would actually make them worse? Jorge hired a machine to rid the area rugs of what he deemed doggie smell along with the visibly muddy remains of the wet season, but after they were completely dried and replaced back inside the house we discovered the new odor of icky rug shampoo overpowered by cat urine and stinky feet. Apparently thirty years of nasty hotel guests' dirt had been encapsulated in the fine grit that filtered in from its new place up here on a red clay mountain, and Jorge released it all when he blasted it with the steam cleaner.

How bad was it? A thorough spraying with carpet deodorizer didn't lessen its noxious power. We even smelled it in our sleep.

He is now on his way to the dump with both sections of carpet.


This taught me a lesson, but I'm not quite sure what it is.

-- John McEnroe

Not the finest of pictures, but overdue...

Trying to get through The Confessions of St. Augustine, part of my effort to read the Great Books of the Western World, with my trusty lapdog keeping me company.



Everyone is enjoying the bumper crop of citrus -- well, maybe not the farmers, come to think of it, at fifty cents per pound -- and people are constantly handing us bags of oranges, tangerines, lemons, and other tasty treats when we run into them or they drop by for a cuppa. I've aways thought gardenias and Chanel No. 5 were my favorite scents, but freshly cut mandarins are right at the top of my list.



You will probably all be thinking how summery this next picture looks, but keep in mind this is the coldest day of the year so far, somewhere around forty degrees Fahrenheit. Yeah. We have no heat and she's in a bathing suit. While I shuffle around with a blanket over my head. Nana would've said, "No sense, no feeling."



And just to give you a glimpse of the incredible beauty here, this is the playing field at Grice's school, just up the road. They were hosting the area's primary schools cross country race. This is what we see everyday. Just riding to the grocery store, the post office, or even the dump is enjoyable. Gorgeous, isn't it?




One ought every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.

-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Where the bloody hell are you?

We've been here over a year now, I know, hard to believe, and while it's beginning to really feel like home, there's just one thing that's missing: company. Growing up in Florida there was always someone down from up north wanting to stay in your house and swim in your pool and take them to Disney World and we miss that (mostly because we always scored their leftover ride tickets and had a four-inch thick stack banded together ready for the next trip, but still...) Sure, people say they're coming to see you, and insist they've always wanted to go to Australia, and if they know us at all they'd know they better hurry up and take advantage of our hospitality before we up and move again, but so far, nobody. I'll admit, the airfare is a little pricey and the trip itself requires incredible endurance (like the poor perfectly poised supermodel and her escort who had to sit next to me, rumpled and smelly with grungy cranky kids crawling all over me during one particularly awful fourteen-hour stint -- she only moved to spritz water and apply moisturizer to her hands and face and somehow managed to arrive in her white linen suit without one stain or crease.) Break the cost down by the number of hours involved in traveling and you're probably getting a fairly good deal, but even with those economics, actually getting someone to commit to make the journey has been fruitless.



Until now!

My former boss, our real estate broker, is bringing his new companion and her three kids along for a two-week visit in August. He wants a real Aussie family experience, though staying with us is out of the question unless camping in the backyard appeals, so we are eagerly making arrangements to accommodate them. When he said to his friend, "If I know Jorge, he's probably living in some tiny little place..." he was absolutely spot on. Although in our defense, it is nearly twice the square footage of the island.


Every man is like the company he is wont to keep.

-- Euripides

More of the same

Beyond the sihouettes of the trees outside our kitchen window, the ones that are daily dropping delicious exotic fruits in the yard, it looks as if the world has disappeared. In a way it has. Fog has been sitting on top of us for a week or so and I am happily ignoring any chores that require I leave my little cocoon. The rainy season is lingering and mixing with the cold weather, but surprisingly it is not dreary, not with a stack of books, a hot cup of tea, and a wool-filled comforter (a.k.a. doona) to keep you company.

What is rather dreary, but in a nice way, is listening to Sarabelle and Grice practice playing their instruments, the double bass and clarinet respectively, attempting to collaborate on various pieces. It reminds me of the gloomy rendition of "Jingle Bells" from The Nightmare Before Christmas, and I have taken to walking around the house announcing, "The King of Halloween has been blown to smithereens..." whenever they strike up the band.

The winter holiday is fast approaching and we are thinking about taking a little mini-vacation somewhere. New Zealand? Tasmania? Yep. It's cold and wet here in the tropics, let's really torture ourselves and head south, especially after I left all our heavy-duty winter coats back in Florida on our Christmas trip to prevent them from turning into big smelly piles of mold. Mostly, any place that gets me far away from the tennis courts in our town will be fine, though, no matter how bitterly cold it might be. After the last tournament I was looking forward to six blissful weeks without tennis, then at the lessons I shill at, the coach announced a mini-invitational he slipped in during the holiday. Of course Sarabelle and Grice were included, and naturally he'd need someone to help him run the event that day, including a sausage sizzle, and then I received an email later that day stating he's realized after sending out the invites, that day doesn't really work for him so I'd be on my own, oh, and he's going to be out of town for the next several days and doesn't want to find that there have been any problems organizing and securing participants when he gets back.

Well.

In typical passive-aggressive style, I will either go on vacation or blow up in spectacular fashion. The choice is obvious.


I personally gave up the Absolute...I fully believe in taking moral holidays.

-- William James

The Big Eight-One

Monday is a holiday and the kids are off school. In case you didn't know, it's Queen Elizabeth's birthday. Go ahead, click on the link (last year's, I know, but they should be updating it soon) and send Her Majesty your birthday greetings (and maybe Charles your sympathies.)

I must say, Camilla looks smashing, doesn't she?

Being an Anglophile, this is one holiday I can really appreciate.


God save our gracious Queen,
Long live our noble Queen,
God save the Queen:
Send her victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us:
God save the Queen.

-- Unknown

It's a magic number

Things do come in threes.

First my laptop crashed, literally (and has fortunately been restored to near perfection after a hard drive replacement from the very generous Apple guys), then the brand new one that Jorge brought back for himself went on the blink almost immediately (it too has now been fully restored to its shiny-new goodness) and then our less-than-one-year-old printer died (planned obsolescence and a low price tag destined it for the dump.)

Jorge, in his infinite kindness, brought home a new printer to allow me to continue working on the tennis club sponsorship letters without interruption, and a wireless modem so we don't all have to huddle around the one tiny table next to the plug anytime someone has to get online. Did I look forward to trying to set up a wireless network on three different operating systems (OSX, Vista, and Sarabelle's XP), knowing that Australia has the reputation as a dumping ground for outdated, defective Asian electronics? Oh, no, I did not. But it went smoothly and I am now ensconced on the couch while Grice huddles at the table with her Sims. Woo hoo, welcome to the twenty-first century.

Three other things that have kept me busy these past three weeks:

1) We are now two-thirds of the way through another junior tennis tournament

2) I've been invited to express my interest in participating on a committee to advise the director-general of Queensland's education department on homeschooling concerns and have replied in the affirmative

3) The tennis club president and I successfully staged a coup, or rather, a sort of mutually beneficial merging, of the district's sporting club (we needed an umbrella organization to cover our incorporation status to go for the big grants and provide the physical property for our efforts to build an additional tennis court; they needed a secretary to keep their incorporation alive. I am now, in effect, writing letters to myself: The tennis club requesting the merge, the sports club welcoming the tennis club onboard, the tennis club thanking the sporting club...

Must practice saying "No."

No, no, no.


Baa, baa, black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, sir, yes, sir,
Three bags full:
One for my master,
And one for my dame,
And one for the little boy
Who lives down the lane.

-- Anonymous

That's Entertainment

A few weeks ago Sarabelle, Grice, and I joined up with Grice's friend and her stepdad (both Aussies) and mom (a Kiwi) to compete in the P & C's fundraising trivia night competition. I was a little concerned that the questions would be heavy on the Australiana, like the incomprehensible crossword puzzle book I once picked up, and so we covered our bases by establishing an international team with a vast array of knowledge. Various members specialized in literature, Eastern medicine, history, and Star Wars. Two are teachers, one even gets paid. The girls and I were pleasantly surprised to find quite a few "American" questions and not so pleasantly surprised when we missed nearly every one of them. (Okay, smarties, where does the U.S. flag always fly at full staff? And where is the only official palace in the U.S.?) In spite of a few forehead-slapping errors, we held a respectable tie for first place through every round and then dropped in the final round to a not-too-terribly-embarrassing third place. I assumed having a man on the team would help us in the Sports category, our last and lowest scoring, though to his credit he would have scored us an extra point in General Knowledge, our specially selected bonus category, for the answer "testicles" -- Question: What did men swear on before they swore on the Bible? -- if all the female team members hadn't been too squeamish to actually commit it to paper. (The Story of the World Volume 1: Ancient Times neglected to include that interesting tidbit and I'm certain Sr. Anne failed to mentioned it as well.)

Speaking of sports, not really, but whatever, Evonne Goolagong Cawley dropped by Grice's elementary school to meet and speak with the students. She told the children amusing stories about her early years as a young naive girl being taken off the farm traveling to the big city, Sydney, to train at tennis camp. Her husband of 37 years, British pro Roger Cawley, accompanied her and they were a lot of fun, answering questions from the kids:

Student to Evonne: What was your biggest trophy?

Mr. Cawley: That would be me.

I was invited by our coach, a friend of the Cawleys, as the secretary of the tennis club to photograph Evonne with all our junior club members.

And speaking of fish out of water stories, and in another near-brush with celebrity, or a brush with near-celebrity, Sarabelle was sent home from school with a media release last week. The Australian Broadcasting Company's television series Seachange, a reality show about city slickers making the move to tiny rural coastal communities, is being revived and filming episodes featuring two high school-aged Melbourne girls whose family has relocated to our little part of the world. One of the daughters is in Sarabelle's class.

And finally, no bad segues here, Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks's joint venture The Pacific, a ten-part miniseries about WWII's Japanese theatre, is set up and planning to be in town for about the next year filming the companion piece to their other war series, Band of Brothers. One of our local beaches is doubling for several little Pacific island beaches. A notice appeared in the local paper and high school newsletter advising residents not to be alarmed if they heard bombs and machine gun fire, those would just be sound checks.


Trifles make the sum of life.

-- Charles Dickens

Mothers' Day

I awoke this morning (or more accurately, re-awoke, having gone back to bed after meeting Sarabelle's ride to work at 5:25 AM), after being allowed to remain in bed with the covers snugly over my head -- my return to the womb or auto-asphixiation, your guess -- to the smell, not of fried eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee, but of bleach and some other powerfully noxious glop. Elle, the only one home as Grice was at a birthday party sleepover, took it upon herself to clean the bathroom for me for Mothers' Day. I'll take that over breakfast in bed any time.

After Grice came home, they presented me with a treasure trove of gifts, gifts that the girls got together on their own and did not involve paste or macaroni noodles. All were handmade from local artisans, vendors at our local cotters market. Australian lavender and Australian bush mint soaps, two beautiful Tarzali silkwood bowls, one jar of coconut lip balm, a bouquet of cut orchids, and a gorgeous blue and white blown glass bud vase. I was truly surprised. They are now busily preparing what will be our evening meal, what looks to be peanut butter cookies and tuna fish.

Maybe the biggest surprise of all is that I am actually able to relate these facts to you. Yesterday morning someone, I won't say who, but it wasn't me, tripped on the cable to the printer and jerked my laptop off the table and onto the floor. I didn't yell and scream as I would have expected, instead I clapped my hands to my face, burst into sobs and collapsed on the couch. It is operable, sort of, limping along at approximately 1/6000th of its normal speed, though I am probably doing irreparable damage by continuing to use it. The rest of the day will be spent trying to recover and burn the most important contents to a DVD before it totally crashes. It'll have to be sent in to see if it can be repaired, so expect delays in posting and corresponding. At this rate, I figure I should be up and running somewhere around January 3, 2019.


Diligence is the mother of good fortune.

-- Miguel de Cervantes

Revolution

Since we came to Australia we have become a family of tea drinkers.

Whoopee, you say.

What you don't understand, and what to my mind makes it so amazing, is that my mother has been trying to get me to drink tea, or at least offering it to me despite my vigorous and very vocal protests that I don't drink tea, for over twenty years, even knowing that her high consumption of the swampy stuff is responsible for her kidney stones. Share the love, Ma.

We come from a long line of tea drinkers. It's the Irish in them. Or more likely that 25% English they so strongly deny. Dear Aunt ML (I was going to call her Dear Old Aunt ML, but she would not like that so much) can absolutely not function without a cuppa, which I now understand to be symptomatic of a massive caffeine addiction. How many times were we in a rush to get out the door when someone would have to put the kettle on for just one quick cup before we went anywhere? When I get all steamed up hear me shout.

But now? People here drop by without calling ahead. And when they stop in, they expect a cup of tea. Which led to my keeping tea in the house. And a teapot. And you can't just have tea, you must be able to offer bikkies (Translation: biscuits = cookies) and all the accoutrements that go with tea like milk and sugar and clean spoons. If you are really fancy you might try having a few gourmet items on hand like lemon and honey. And then you must know how to properly prepare and serve these items. And with all that preparation you will eventually actually start drinking the stuff, if for no other reason than keeping your hands occupied. I've almost got it down pat and I think I'm nearly ready to take the next big step, having advanced from standbys like Lipton, to the Greys, both the Earl and his Lady, to green tea, to Prince of Wales and Irish Breakfast, camomile, chai, and my favorite, the fabulously smoky Lapsang Souchong: It's time to lose the teabags and go with the loose leaves. I am still unclear on what exactly a tea towel is for, though.

Elle prefers a cuppa green tea in the mornings and afternoons, Grice sticks with the locally grown black tea with a squeeze of lime, only Sarabelle remains unconverted, but she has mastered laying it all out and serving our frequent guests. Come on over! Anytime! We'll be ready for you.

As I finish up my third chai this evening -- eschewing a dainty china cup and preferring a tall heavy mug -- it dawns on me why I'm still up at 2:00 AM typing madly away.

Cheers.


This is the most magnificent movement of all! There is a dignity, a majesty, a sublimity, in this last effort of the patriots that I greatly admire. The people should never rise without doing something to be remembered--something notable and striking. This destruction of the tea is so bold, so daring, so firm, intrepid and inflexible, and it must have so important consequences, and so lasting, that I can't but consider it as an epocha in history!

-- John Adams


"Take some more tea," the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.
"I've had nothing yet," Alice replied in an offended tone: "so I can't take more."
"You mean you can't take less," said the Hatter: "it's very easy to take more than nothing."

-- Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson)

Barefoot and...

...just plain barefoot.

Dy reminded me.

The first experience that really endeared us to this part of the world was when we stayed at a lodge in Mission Beach six years ago and watched in absolute amazement as the owners' daughter went off to school without shoes. It's too wet they explained. Leather rots. Sneakers stay soaked. We were later shocked to see people waltzing in and out of the grocery store, the grocery store, something that violates the law in Florida (and probably for a very good reason), sans footwear.

We arrived here this time around with Crocs for all and a pair of Birkies for me for those dressier (or "flash" as they say) occasions. I supplemented my shoe collection with a few pairs of high-heeled sandals on our Christmas trip back and have watched them rapidly moulder away along with our luggage, belts, purse, and some tack we salvaged from our last residence. Teething puppies love Crocs so now we're almost entirely shoeless.

Grice sets off for school each day in her uniform, hat mandatory, shoes not. We now play tennis, ride horses, go grocery shopping, visit the library, the post office, the doctor, the bank, get haircuts, dine out, heck, I even went to a meeting the other day, barefoot. As a precaution we can always dig out a pair of someone's flip-flops (or "thongs" as they oh, so wrongly refer to them) or partially digested rubbery clogs shoved under a seat or tossed in the way-back of the car in case of unavoidable emergency public restroom stops. You've got to draw the line somewhere.

Isn't it getting to be winter over here? Why, yes it is. And while I still don't have any proper shoes, I do have plenty of socks. What more does one need?


As the traveler who has once been from home is wiser than he who has never left his own doorstep, so a knowledge of one other culture should sharpen our ability to scrutinize more steadily, to appreciate more lovingly, our own.

-- Margaret Mead

Road blocks

Tuesday evening the listing was delivered to my inbox via the automated updating service: 20 acres at the end of the road, with a bore, creek frontage, and a flow from a small nearby spring trickling through the middle of it. It was the most affordable property available since we arrived. A local realtor also forwarded me his version of the same listing, knowing we are still looking.

Wednesday morning, first thing, after advising Jorge of the potential deal, being quite familiar with the property, map in hand, Elle and I raced over to take another look. The realtor happened to be on site. He had already shown it once and was waiting for his next appointment. After another call to consult with Jorge, we decided to make an offer. I raced back to the property, caught the realtor after his second appointment and communicated our interest. He went back to his office to prepare the paperwork and called to confirm our meeting the next morning for signatures. He also advised me another offer had just come in. The first people who looked at it earlier that morning. Offers would be sealed and presented to the seller, all details of both offers to remain confidential to avoid a bidding war.

Thursday, yesterday, papers had been emailed, signed, and returned via fax from halfway around the globe -- in the middle of the night unfortunately for Jorge -- and were delivered to the seller. The realtor called me around 10:00 PM last night to say our offer, full-price, cash, no contingencies, was not good enough.

That's what we're up against.

That, and taking a loss on our Florida property in order to move it.

Buy high, sell low, or go back with our tail between our legs and live with what we've got, those are our options.


"Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed" was the ninth beatitude.

-- Alexander Pope

Another tournament, another trophy. Our little group played a squad match against the resort town yesterday. Elle ended up in a sudden-death match after a three-way tie for second, ultimately placing third.

My day began in a torturous fashion, having to endure 15-minute rounds of sub-juniors who could barely get the ball over the net. The coach thought he was going to take a couple singles players over to the other court leaving me, with so little patience, to manage the festivities, but fortunately for me he stayed put, having to coach, referee, and score each and every match. He's a very stoic man. My expertise was needed for organizing the player draws, recording scores, and keeping the time. I'm very skilled at watching the clock.

After a while, about halfway through, excitement levels began to rise. You could see the kids' games improving and we even had a few real rallies. At one point things got very interesting. A crowd gathered around the sidelines to look at something down on the court, concerned parents ran over to see if there was an injury, and then the entire mob in unison let out a piercing shriek and broke apart like confetti in a party popper. It was only this little guy, but he managed to bring the game to a complete standstill.



We finished up with the awards presentation and a sausage sizzle (oh, how I am dying for a good old Hebrew National), and in the end it was really a fun day.


Accept the challenges so that you may feel the exhilaration of victory.

-- General George S. Patton

Lest We Forget

I have been doing you a favor by not posting lately. Really. Until yesterday you would have had three weeks worth of: He's going, he's staying, he's going, again, oh, wait, he's staying, no, he's going, maybe... And probably would have been very annoyed by our indecison, much as I have been, but yesterday morning we made it official: Jorge got on a plane headed back to the States. In fact we are expecting a call any minute to say he's arrived.

In case you're wondering, there are no attorneys involved, no custody battles ahead. He's just got some work lined up and should be able to float us for a while longer. Salaries here, while fairly high, still can't carry living expenses here plus multiple mortgages there. I'd say we did prety well getting by for the past eleven months. Maybe he'll solve our unsellable property problems while he's there and we can continue on with The Plan.

A reunion is tentatively planned around Christmas.

In the meantime...

Today was ANZAC (Australian New Zealand Army Corps) Day and it's huge! Bigger than Easter -- by the way, I discovered Easter Monday is officially the day for picking up small bits of colored foil from all around your house -- and even bigger than Melbourne Cup Day. It was so big the students were required to wear their full dress uniform, meaning they had to put shoes on. We were treated to a memorable small country town parade led by the local constable and a contingent of active military, followed by retired service personnel and the students from the two local primaries. There were speeches, most notably delivered by Grice and her co-captain, which led to some good humored quips about the Yank and the Pom, and a reading of the names of local fallen from WWI and WWII (a dozen in all.) There was one small hitch when the newly added Kiwi flag (without which the day might only be properly called AAC Day) became terribly tangled and would not go back up from its half-staff position, but otherwise it was a perfect day, followed by a barbecue at the school.


They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

-- Laurence Binyon

Easter Monday

Yesterday was Easter. It was a rather chilly, blustery day, Jorge worked, the girls discovered treats at the foot of their beds in the morning and gorged on candy all day. I nursed a cold, wrote a bit, read more, and drank gallons of hot tea snuggled under a wool blanket.

Today is Easter Monday. I'm not sure what to make of this other than, for most people, it's a day off work. Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, Good Friday, Easter Sunday, I understand those, but Easter Monday? I am going to celebrate that there was no new ant infestation in the kitchen this morning. I hope it will be a regular holiday.


They don't mind it; it's a regular holiday to them -- all porter and skittles.

-- Charles Dickens (Pickwick Papers)

High Anxiety

Hon, we're evacuating the resort. A major earthquake in the Solomon Islands triggered a tsunami that's supposed to arrive in 25 minutes. I have to get all the guests out and I don't know if I'll even be able to get out of here or when I'll be able to call you again...

Grice was safe and sound at her school, along with Elle and me, up nice and high on the mountaintop, but Sarabelle was down there and it would take me 30 minutes to get to the high school if the roads were not jammed with hysterical drivers. And then what? We'd all be swept away in our car?

I called the high school not expecting to get through, but did, remarkably on the first try, and was advised that they were not under orders to evacuate yet, and that they were a regional evacuation center so they should be safe in any case (except, I thought, you're barely above sea level and situated on a major river) but parents were free to pick up their kids.

Jorge got through again and said he was going to get Sarabelle, with maybe a couple panicky Canadian women in tow -- they had asked another couple fleeing the resort if they could ride to higher ground with them in their car, a five-seater, and were told no, there wasn't enough room -- when I heard a news report on the one channel that had any news on about the situation, in between the regular morning show's fashion and cooking segments, that the threat had been downgraded. So we sat tight and waited.

And waited.

And when it became clear we were not going to be subjected to a disaster, I wondered, if the earthquake struck at 6:40 AM (our time) and 15 minutes later the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center in Hawaii issued a warning that is sent out immediately to public safety officials around the world, and we were expecting to feel the effects by 9:55 AM, why were the buses still picking up the children and depositing them at school, why school, which starts at 9:00 AM, had not been cancelled or at least had the buses drive the students back home or evacuated to a safer location, and why was there only one television station intermittently broadcasting the news?


In all things it is better to hope than to despair.

-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Lulu

It's a little hard to see how big she's grown without a visual reference, but in the first pictures I could carry her under one arm and now I can bearly fit her all on my lap (and according to my youngest daughter, it's a pretty voluminous lap.) She comes up three inches above my knees and you can almost pet her without bending over. She is absolutely solid muscle which I discovered when I had to hose out her mouth after she went for a cane toad (Bufo marinus.)



My friend says you can look into the face of a Rhodesian Ridgeback and never really be sure what they're thinking.



Here she is trying to stalk me in the freshly mown yard...



...and here's the last thing a lion ever sees...



(She went from 0 to 60 in one spring, cleared my head and bit me on the behind before I could even turn around.)


I restrain myself a great deal. I don't say it, or I phrase it differently. But now and again I drop a lulu because I cannot resist it.

-- Hugh Leonard