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