From our house to yours...

...Merry Christmas Beetles!


"Bah," said Scrooge. "Humbug!"

-- Charles Dickens

YOP!

We are here, we are here!

Made it back relatively unscathed. An early morning flight plus twenty straight hours of on-demand movies and food, and arriving at your destination on the evening of the same calendar day you left equals no jet lag. The dogs made it into Fort Lauderdale two days after us and after visting Gabby (my mother-in-law, who is doing exceptionally well) we headed over to our house on the west coast. Still waiting for the miscellaneous furnishings and the Landcruiser to arrive, but if it all happens to fall off the ship and never gets here, really, I'm okay with that. Doing my best, which is admittedly not much more than hibernating, to get through Christmas.

We're all missing our friends down under. Facebook and Skype help.

Jorge, the girls, and I buzzed out to the island Sunday with the dogs and some friends who dropped by. It was a delightful couple of hours and I'm looking forward to spending many more days out there once the holiday obligations are over and done with.














In the depths of winter I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer.

-- Albert Camus

Ta.

I first saw this video when we stepped onboard a Qantas flight about nine years ago headed back to Florida after deciding Australia was where we wanted to live. It was playing in the background as we streamed into the cabin and settled into our seats. It made me all teary.

It still does.

I'll be wearing my sunglasses on the plane in the morning. Just in case.




I've been to cities that never close down,
From New York to Rome and old London town,
But no matter how far or how wide I roam,
I still call Australia home.

I'm always traveIing, I love being free,
And so I keep leaving the sun and the sea,
But my heart lies waiting over the foam,
I still call Australia home.

All the sons and daughters spinning 'round the world,
Away from their family and friends,
But as the world gets older and colder,
It's good to know where your journey ends.

Someday we'll all be together once more,
When all of the ships come back to the shore,
I’ll realise something I've always known,
I still call Australia home.

-- Peter Allen

Countdown

Yesterday was one of the worst birthdays ever. Besides being stress-filled with movers and cleaners vying for my attention and uncooperative, desperately sad children, we said goodbye to most of our friends. There was no cake. There was sobbing.

Tonight though, our vegetarian friend whose house we are staying at, cooked us a wonderful dinner and dessert, finally emptying his fridge of the detestable but delicious steak he had tucked in there, and took the edge off a long day fraught with numerous last-minute details.

Tomorrow, Cairns.


Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose.

-- Tennessee Williams

Soon

Not quite done packing, though with the movers coming tomorrow I'd better get on it, don't you think? I've only given myself about a month to pack, and every day of the month I accomplished some small packing-related task, but the truth is I work better with a real tight deadline. I've still got one whole day (minus the time to complete one hundred or so other errands), so no worries, she'll be right. Friday and Saturday night we are staying at a friend's house so I can get the place here cleaned up. Sunday the girls and I will take the dogs down to Cairns to prepare them for their trip and we will overnight in town. Our friend will be driving down sometime Sunday with the balance of our luggage. Then early Monday morning we're off.

Here are a few things, besides all the people you've seen in previous photos, that I will miss, in no particular order:

The best yoghurt we've ever tasted.

Angela and Fraser's Sugarworks, and especially Angela. The best mocha (pronounced by locals variously MOE ka, MOCK a, and even MOE cha) and friendliest service in the region. Check out the gallery for our buddy Grub.

The views from my kitchen...





...and bedroom/livingroom windows...





...the architecture...



...and letting the kids go wild. This was last Saturday when a bunch of them floated down Bushy Creek from Churchill...





...to Verri's...



...A three hour trip with no adult supervision.

And these guys, our friends and neighbors, the ones who pointed us in this lovely direction and found our first rental house for us, and their heavenly fresh squeezed juices at the Port Douglas Markets.



Ah well, back to packing, I suppose.


“Don't be dismayed at goodbyes, a farewell is necessary before you can meet again and meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.

-- Richard Bach

It's Official

"Are you here to be branded?" the Mayor asked one of the guests as we entered the shire boardroom. That particular man wasn't, but we were.



First though, the flag had to be located and then displayed. If you look behind Sarabelle you will see it draped over the white board and secured with brightly colored magnets.

After we spoke the affirmation and received our certificates and a specially minted commemorative coin, the national anthem was played on a small boom box. Unfortunately for the people in the room who were not standing within one meter of the equipment like we were, you couldn't hear it. But it was played. Then we were offered tea, coffee, and muffins...



... and headed home as brand new, freshly minted Aussies.




From this time forward,
I pledge my loyalty to Australia and its people,
Whose democratic beliefs I share,
Whose rights and liberties I respect,
And whose laws I will uphold and obey.

-- Australian Citizenship Affirmation

Twos-day

Two dogs, two birthdays, two years old.

Two metabolisms: One gets the high fat puppy chow, the other gets the "lite and mature" diet.



Why I don't ever get to sleep in:




We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment.

-- George Eliot

Show Me Yours the Money

Wow, little old Mossman, our quaint, quiet country cane town gets some international attention.

This place is a stone's throw from the grocery store and the high school. I was always tempted to pop into the office and see who the proprietors were; see if I could recognize them in town with their clothes on. Now I won't have to. The funny thing is, we spent a couple days at this resort seven years ago with Jorge's mother during their clothing-mandatory off-season. We had no idea until much later that part of the year it operated as a nudist resort and got odd looks from locals when we mentioned our stay there.


True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.

-- John Milton

Last night was the high school's big Presentation Night when awards are bestowed upon the worthy; class leaders, house captains, and the dux are announced for next year; and the outgoing Year 12s say their official goodbyes. It's a sort of graduation without the pomp and circumstance.

Sarabelle played electric bass first with the orchestra band and later with the jazz band.



Somewhere in between those performances she was due to receive a merit award, but because Grice mentioned not hearing Sarabelle's name called during the practice (even though Grice is notoriously unobservant on occasion), Sarabelle incorrectly assumed maybe some error in her grades had been detected and the award rescinded, so she didn't get in line to go up and receive her certificate. Boy did I feel silly with a camera stuck to my face waiting for her to appear in my viewfinder.

Grice (on the far right below) received an even higher honor, a distinction award, for her efforts. Light was low and my shutter speed slow; I missed the shot of her stage walk and congratulatory handshake.



But I did get plenty of decent photos of other people's kids! These are from my favorite part of the evening, the cultural performances by the Kuku Yalanji doing their rainforest animal dances and then a Torres Straight Island dance. While they are recognized formally at such gatherings as the traditional custodians of the land, they are not always the traditionally dressed custodians.








Don't worry when you are not recognized, but strive to be worthy of recognition.

-- Abraham Lincoln

The Aussie Vote

Australians overwhelmingly back Obama as US president. Besides the general election numbers, see what respondents had to say about The Greatest Country on Earth and its inhabitants.


A man should never be ashamed to own that he has been in the wrong, which is but saying... that he is wiser today than yesterday.

-- Jonathan Swift

Big Day

I spent the day in Cairns, getting a couple of those female-type tests done, the regular annual check-up ones, the ones that would cost me if I had them done back in Florida. Seriously, people, what is wrong with socialized medicine?

I also had another appointment with the immigration officers. We have come so close in our quest for citizenship. We had only to apply and pay the fees, but our hasty departure threatened the success of this venture: Passports must be submitted with the package and application approvals may take up to three months. And we will be needing our passports very shortly. The phone representative I spoke with a couple weeks ago could not advise me on any expediting services and recommended a visit to the office.

My hope was that they could at least make copies of our voluminous documentation and begin the process. The officer wanted to know why it was so important to obtain citizenship when we could still come and go, attend university, and have healthcare with permanent residency status. I explained my biggest concern was that immigration rules might change in the time we are overseas, as they had done already since we undertook this endeavor. First of all, she informed us only the three of us still in Australia could apply. She let me know she could initiate the process but warned it could be hung up by the police check because my first name and surname are fairly common. If a match or partial match to my name appeared, a complete background search would be required at the federal level which could take up to three weeks. And even if I passed the police check and our application could be approved, I would still need to attend a formal citizenship ceremony on Australian soil, foreign embassies excluded, and most likely would not have time to then secure Australian passports for everyone, even with expedited service. Since Australian citizens are required to enter Australia on Australian passports this could be another dead end.

But.

Re-entry for citizens is allowable with only a certificate, though you are almost guaranteed to encounter greater delays, so says the department's online information.

I decided to go for it.

The police check was clear and our application was approved right then and there. The officer advised our next step was to contact our local shire and request a private ceremony at least two weeks out to insure timely delivery of the certificates.

The girl at our shire office questioned the need for a private ceremony. Couldn't I just wait until January 26th, Australia Day, when they are normally performed? After I explained our time frame she asked if we wouldn't mind having our ceremony combined with another group's already scheduled for November 21.

So November 21 it is.




We are one, but we are many,
And from all the lands on Earth we come;
We'll share a dream and sing with one voice:
I am, you are, we are Australian.

-- Bruce Woodley and Dobe Newton ("I Am Australian")

Gone Troppo Encore

Saturday we were in Port for a junior busking event. We enjoyed a wide variety of talent including the girls' friend and his partner who impressed us with their magic tricks.



And we were back in Port again Sunday when Sarabelle's high school jazz band opened the Footprints Music Fest's Sunset in the Park event. You cannot beat live music outside on a beautiful spring day. Even if your drummer doesn't show up and your guitarist has to fill in on drums and another friend, in a florescent-yellow-so-not-a-school-band-uniform shirt, fills in on guitar and the wind is blowing your hair and sheet music and you can't see anything except the lights from the equipment the stage guys are testing and you are very uncomfortable because you are inches from the blazing hot lights in the daytime wearing your multi-layered, polyester formal band uniform, the show must go on...



You cannot beat that backstage area either.



Grice and I spread out on a blanket along with the other band families, and waited four hours for the main event, not the headliners, but the headliners' opening act's opening act: The Kan'd Peaches.



After a pleasant afternoon of mostly mellow acoustic music, and lots of beer drinking, the sun finally set and the crowd was ready to crank it up.



With a five song set of Red Hot Chili Peppers, White Stripes, and Arctic Monkeys covers plus two originals, the boys totally rocked the place.








There is no such thing as a great talent without great will power.

-- Honore de Balzac

Gone Troppo

trop po |ˈtrɑpoʊ| |ˈtrɒpəʊ|
adjective Austral./NZ informal
mentally disturbed, supposedly as a result of spending too much time in a tropical climate : have you gone troppo ?
ORIGIN 1940s: from TROPIC + -O.

Port Douglas kicked off its first ever Go Troppo Arts Festival this week. Sarabelle was there Friday evening performing with her high school strings ensemble to open the ten-day celebration at the Low Isles Exhibition out on the old Sugar Wharf. It was a beautiful night on the water, the sun setting behind the mountains, classical music and art inside, and a trio performing acoustic sea chanties outside.

Last night we hit the Central Hotel with a couple friends for the Port Shorts Film Festival. Entries were under three minutes and contained a preselected item, this year's being, "BEAM." Sarabelle was requested to be there by her friend, actor and producer of last year's winner, Pig Boy. While his entry last night was not selected for Best Movie, a collaboration with his partners from Pig Boy won the top prize with a very funny short about an alcoholic loser, Joe Beam, and his overworked liver, starring the friend in the role of the much abused organ.

Next up, the busking competition next Saturday, where another friend of the girls, producer of this stop action short, is performing.

We'll close out the festival Sunday with Art In The Park followed by the Footprints Sunset Concert, where Sarabelle will be playing with her school's jazz band, and their friends' band, Kan'd Peaches, winners of the 2008 Mossman Show Battle of the Bands and 2008 Cairns Battle of the Bands, will also be performing.


The barriers are not erected which can say to aspiring talents and industry, 'Thus far and no farther'.

-- Ludwig van Beethoven

Creepy Crawly

1) With Halloween right around the corner and no celebration in sight -- why, oh, why isn't it a big deal down here, I wonder -- I read Stephen King's latest, Duma Key. Duma Key, in case you're wondering (and even if you're not), is a fictional island just off the southwest coast of Florida, and is connected to our own island, Little Gasparilla by way of Don Pedro, on its scary south side by an equally fictional footbridge. While it was fun to spot familiar places, Dan's Fan City, the Nokomis 7-11, and Casey Key, and frequent mentions of The Bone, "Tampa Bay's Classic Rock Station," there were a couple nights spent wishing I didn't have to get out bed and walk all the way down the hall, about ten whole steps, to the pitch black bathroom.

2) Grice went to a sleepover not too long ago and now we're all enjoying a rerun of The Itchy and Scratchy Show. One of the only things I will not miss about this place. As a potential card-carrying member of the National Pediculosis Association, please join me in celebrating "September Is Head Lice Prevention Month". Oh, damn. It's October.

3) The post office clerk commented when I sent off my absentee ballot the other day (return receipt requested, thank you) that she had seen quite a few of these come through lately. People who hadn't voted in years were making it a point to have theirs counted in this very important election. She predicts a landslide. When questioned about the potential winner, she winked and said she believed it would be "something new!" for America. A woman VP? Nah, we've already done "stupid," so I'm thinking she meant a black guy. Or Ralph Nader. And later that day, turning in Grice's donations for her 40-Hour Famine fundraiser, her teacher, an honest-to-goodness bleeding-heart liberal if ever there was one, tossed out a few favorite bits from Bowling For Columbine and expressed his fervent hopes for a non-McCain/Palin win. (I'd quote him, but many times in conversations with Aussies I'm left feeling as if I need subtitles. Move your lips, people!) I was feeling quite optimistic until I got home and read an article on the Bradley effect.


People are not disturbed by things, but by the view they take of them.

-- Epictetus

On The Move. Again.

For those of you who haven't heard yet, we are packing our bags and heading back to the other Sunshine State, Florida, in the good ol' U.S. of A.

Besides the downward economic spiral and the dead real estate market and the difficulty of being a family divided that you've seen me blather on about for the past couple years, my mother-in-law is dealing with a serious illness and we want to be there for her. But don't tell her that, okay? She would adamantly insist we not sacrifice or alter our plans in any way because of her troubles. She is very cool like that. And stubborn. But, daring to compare myself to her, I too am determined, so that's that. Only we won't let her know about it. We're just coming back for the school holidays if she asks.

Elle will stay with Jorge in Florida until Sarabelle, Grice, the dogs, and I fly back, possibly around the beginning of December.

Hey, did you notice I said "dogs" plural? Our family got a little bigger last week. Em couldn't take Lulu's sister, Asha, to New Zealand with them, and she's such a sweet dog and Lulu's best friend that I couldn't not take her. I can't wait to turn them loose on the beach at the island and just let them run 'til they drop.


Who travels for love finds a thousand miles not longer than one.

-- Japanese Proverb

Crystal Balls

Interesting to read The Australian's take on the election.


Prophecy: The art and practice of selling one's credibility for future delivery.

-- Ambrose Bierce

10 Reasons Why I Hate Americans

Humor is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue.

-- Virginia Woolf

Reality? Check.

Some of you already know that I have a vivid imagination. And sometimes, late at night especially, I hear things. Sometimes they're false alarms and sometimes there's actually something to them.

Like last week. I heard a bang and a squeal of tires and announced to the girls that I thought I'd just heard an accident on the highway, maybe right at the top of our street. Sound travels very well up the side of our mountain. "Yeah, right," was the general consensus. I was vindicated 15 minutes later when we heard a siren. We knew it was pretty serious when we heard the helicopter about 20 minutes after that. Our neighbors' horse escaped his paddock and was hit by a van with eight passengers. The horse split the van in half and came to rest inside the vehicle behind the driver's seat. The van rolled over, but everybody, except the horse, survived with minor injuries.

And then, the night before last, I awoke to a loud ssshhhhhhh-ing sound. I bolted out of a deep sleep and after finally getting my gummy eyes to focus, noticed the room being lit by a rhythmic pulsing glow which caused further disorientation until I realized the power had gone off and then back on resetting the clocks on the microwave and stove and restarting the ceiling fan. Phew. Then I heard the noise again. A few possibilities shot through my mind: The wind? The water heater cycling on? The water heater springing a leak and shooting high-pressure water all over the place? And then I realized it was coming from directly overhead. Up in the attic, whose floor creates the ceiling of the small nook where I sleep. I held my breath. My fingertips were buzzing with adreneline. It sounded like a sandbag being dragged around. A very heavy sandbag. A very, long, heavy sandbag that could be dragging around on both the left and right side of the alcove ceiling simultaneously. It was a snake. A big one. Lulu, our faithful guardian and protector, looked up at the ceiling and whimpered. Little bits of plaster fell inside the wall behind my head as it shifted around and that's when I remembered a) the news story of the local man who had a snake so large in his attic it collapsed his ceiling; and b) the attic access door in the girls' bedroom. It was headed that way. Luckily the door only swings inward, so unless a big gust of wind chanced to blow it open, as it has done on occasion, I figured that was fairly secure. I wanted to wedge a fishing pole through the door handle but I needed a ladder and I was not going outside in the pitch black to drag it in. Except, really, what did I have to fear, the worst thing out there was already inside my house. Then I set to worrying about the hole in the wall, a snake-sized gap cut to allow the knob on the door between our rooms to swing fully open and not dent the drywall. I propped the door open with a large trunk, doorknob filling the hole, and hoped for the best. I listened hard thinking that if the basilisk started whispering to me I would lose it. After an hour, the noise became almost inaudible and concentrated near the outside wall, where it presumably slipped back outside through the eaves.

I'm guessing (hoping) it was a python and it was just wandering around looking for some tasty vermin and that when it didn't find any (and since we didn't hear anything last night) it decided to keep wandering outside. I'm sure this one wasn't a figment of my imagination, and I'm sure not going up there to find out.


Fantasy, abandoned by reason, produces impossible monsters; united with it, she is the mother of the arts and the origin of marvels.

-- Francisco Goya

Stumbling Blocks

I passed my citizenship test with flying colours (red, white, and blue, but in a different configuration) and like a Canadian/American dual citizen buddy of mine said about her test, it was surprisingly easy and I'm sure I know more now about the country than the average native.

Perfectionist that I am, I was disappointed to learn the one answer that stalled me slightly, and that I changed before hitting "SUBMIT," was incorrect. ("Submit" is really such a harsh word when you are petitioning a governmental entity for permission to reside in their country.) [Test taking hint: Don't second guess yourself, there's a good chance your first instinct was correct. Your welcome.] I mentioned to Danny, my friendly test moderator and document processor, that I knew which question it was I had wrong when he announced my results.

"When did the White Australia policy end?" I blurted out.

Danny, a black man with possibly some Asian ancestry, raised his eyebrows, cocked his head and gave me a look that indicated he may have heard the question as, "When did they start letting you people in?"

A minute or two after I said it and realized how it sounded, I decided to play dumb (instead of the real dumb I had inadvertently played), figuring anything I added to the conversation at that point would only make it worse.

I've begun filling out the application paperwork, but need Elle's passport to submit (there's that word again), so that will hold us up another month or so.


If knowledge can create problems, it is not through ignorance that we can solve them.

-- Isaac Asimov

Mental whiplash

Well. It took less than twelve hours from the time of my last post for plans to radically change. Even I am surprised at the high-speed 180, and laughing about it.

In an ironic way. But, still, laughing!

Otherwise indomitable Kiwi buddy called me sobbing early yesterday. Her partner, who is not moving to New Zealand with the rest of the family, decided at 3:00 AM, after waking her out of a fitful night's sleep, that even though he had previously arranged with the realtors to take the apartment in town, he simply could not afford to live anywhere but at their house. She spent the remainder of the night sleepless knowing she would not only have to break the very bad news to me, but also deal with the movers who were coming at 9:00 AM to pack her up, and try to locate her daughter's missing passport which hopefully had not been unwittingly tucked into one of the thirty-six boxes destined for the moving van.

No worries! as they say here. I raced over to lend some support. The passport was found, fridges were emptied and wiped out, shoes were scrubbed of all traces of soil, miscellaneous overlooked items pointed out and packed, pets rehoused (her partner will keep Asha until we are ready to return to the States), groceries bought, and even an orthodontic appointment remembered at the very last moment kept. Lots of coffee was consumed.

C'est la vie.


The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

-- Robert Burns

Oh, happy day

Alright, so I'm a prime example of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD.) The skies cleared and I felt much better. Our friends who operate a juice stand at the Sunday markets had fresh squeezed grapefruit juice and now I feel all better.

We will be moving down the street shortly, into our friends' house when they move to New Zealand. It's a nice three-bedroom with a lovely large verandah on twenty-five acres, a fish-stocked dam, orchard, chickens, and a roomy fenced dog run. We decided to take their Ridgeback, Lulu's sister and best friend, Asha. We will also inherit one of the cats to keep the mice at bay. It saves us $300 per month in rent and we don't have to pay any bond. Witness Friend has offered to let us borrow one of her dairy cows about to calve for fresh milk and has volunteered to teach me cheese-making. She will now be a next-door neighbor along with our retired nuclear physicist landlord who we must check on regularly.


Breakfast without orange juice is like a day without sunshine.

-- Anita Bryant for the Florida Citrus Commission

Home Sick Home

After the regular fever-chills-chest cold-oh-god-I'm-dying flu, I was hit by a stomach bug. But I'm coming around. This morning I cleaned out the fridge, which had leftovers from when Jorge was here, and finally got every single dish washed and put away. I even made my bed. And did a couple loads of laundry. And though the house looks a lot better, except for the coffee table (but we won't worry about that just now) and my health has improved, I'm still feeling down.

Maybe it's the weather. It's been rainy and foggy and gloomy ever since Jorge and Elle left. Maybe it's the fact that half my family is on the other side of the planet. Maybe it's because instead of our regular endless green view I'm now staring at a totally denuded, red clay hillside after neighbors cleared their property for grazing. Maybe it's because I'd been sick for over a week straight and when I finally felt strong enough to drive 24 km to the grocery store because I was craving grapefruit juice, there wasn't any. Not at any of the stores I stopped at. And maybe it's because I know that if I was back home I could be at Publix in about 30 seconds, choose from multiple brands of grapefruit juice including my favorite Orchid Island brand, and even have someone else carry it all out to the car for me. Maybe it's because my best buddy in the Southern Hemisphere has announced her intention to pack up and go home to New Zealand. Maybe it's the ever-present mildewy mold smell of this place. Maybe it's having the slim chance of selling our Florida houses reduced to zero when we had to remove them from the market in order to renew our homeowner's policy. Bastards. And of course the fact that now we can't even pretend to look at properties here. Maybe it's the looming deadline of our lease being up in December necessitating the renewed search for another rental...

Whatever it is, I just want to go home. Home is where the heart is, and it ain't here.


Well, I - I think that it - it wasn't enough to just want to see Uncle Henry and Auntie Em - and it's that - if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with! Is that right?

--Dorothy Gale

Down for the count

Jorge and Elle just called from Houston. They are almost home after some last minute juggling when Qantas caused them to be late for their Los Angeles to Fort Lauderdale connection. I'd been waiting to hear from them to be sure they didn't have any trouble with the new hastily arranged flights I'd scheduled in the meantime. And now I will go back to sleep.

I never understood how people died of the flu, like in the 1918 pandemic. I used to think, jeez, it's just a bad cold, how could it kill you? Those people must have been wimps. Now I know. And a couple days ago, before I discovered the bliss that is over-the-counter codeine-laced cold medicine, death was a welcome option.


To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;

-- William Shakespeare (Hamlet)

Buzzzzzzz

Sarabelle and I attended the open garden/tennis club fundraiser work bee at our coach's house Sunday. Elle stayed home -- she has been complaining of a sore back since Grice used her as a step ladder on a playground last weekend when the three of us participated in a weaving seminar hosted by women of the local Kuku Yalangi (pronounced goo goo YAWL angee) in honor of their grandmother, a tribal elder specializing in basket weaving and local notable who recently died -- I wanted to give her a chance to rest it and make sure it's nothing more serious before her big trip, and Grice stayed home to keep an eye on her.

Sarabelle and I picked up Em on the way over. She was a little under the weather, suffering the effects of a late-night party, but she was prepared to tough it out. Vee wasn't expected to show as her family only had the weekend to get her husband ready for his next two-week, four-wheel tour. Fortunately when we arrived there was one other older couple there from the resort town's tennis club to help, and between the five of us, we got a lot of work done. Sarabelle varnished the bench and my main job was to cut pups off bromeliads and fill in gaps in a large bed, then cage each transplant to protect it from the bandicoots and bush turkeys. I also did a little pruning, mulched another big bed with hay, and hauled some big bags of potting soil around and removed a fridge from the property. My back and neck are a little achey. Normally I would ask Em give me a massage treatment, but she is too busy preparing for an impromptu flight this week to the Philippines to celebrate a cousin's wedding. I'm sure she loves her cousin, but I'm sure she equally loves the idea of missing the open garden.

Coach made up for the imposition by serving us a delightful little tea. There were sandwiches and cookies and home-made muffins plus tea and coffee and champagne served under one of his many elegant little asian-styled pavilions at the edge of a broad, rainforest-fringed expanse of lawn. The older couple didn't drink, Em didn't want to even think about consuming any more alcohol (her headache medicine was beginning to wear off at that point), and Sarabelle is under-age, so that left me and the coach to drink the champagne. And you know it's not like wine, where you can just pop the cork back in and save it for later, once it's open, you have to finish it or throw it away. And it was good. Not like most of the syrupy swill that has to be choked down after the best man's toast (too much like taking medicine, but in order to stave off any potential wedding curses, I always dutifully perform this dreadful task), not exactly Clicquot, but a close Australian approximation. We did not waste it, and gardening chores were so much more pleasant afterward.








We ought to do good to others as simply as a horse runs, or a bee makes honey, or a vine bears grapes season after season without thinking of the grapes it has borne.

-- Marcus Aurelius

The Cone of Uncertainty

It's hanging over my head. Sort of looks like a dunce cap, doesn't it?

Tropical Storm Fay: You can actually see this cone graphically projected continuously on any South Florida news station and it's raining on our parade, threatening Jorge's travel plans. Will it develop into a full-blown hurricane? Will it follow its current projected path? Will it flatten our unsellable but fully insured house? Could we be so lucky?

Rental House: The owner of the rental house I left a deposit on is now considering putting it on the market for sale instead. Needs a week to think about it. There is another house available immediately, an older crummier house on a barren lot in a lesser neighborhood, and though I'm no fan of new-development cookie-cutter houses, they are the same price so I'd prefer the sterile, contemporary, landscaped one. Will she decide in our favor? How much longer will our current landlord put up with us?

Elle: This uncertainty more approaches dread. Jorge is planning to fly her back with him when he returns to the States for a couple months. I might have lost my mind. I certainly will when she is gone. But, fair enough, he misses the girls terribly and Elle is the only one not stuck to a school schedule. What about her studies? What will I do without her? What will she do without me? Will it be 24-hour TV, Toontown, and takeout? Will she even want to come back?


If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there.

-- Lewis Carroll

Winter

The weather has been cool and clear, so gorgeous you forget for a moment the monsoonal rains and plentiful mold of the other nine months. We decided to take our school work outside. Elle dragged out the swag, which needed a good scrub and airing to eliminate the powdery mildew build-up. We also took our morning tea out in an effort to stay warm.



After the lessons were done and the day warmed, the clothes came off and there was some brief unprotected high-ozone exposure. Lulu was even allowed to briefly share the towel...



...and when she thought no one was looking, she continued her sunbathing.




I have nothing to ask but that you would remove to the other side, that you may not, by intercepting the sunshine, take from me what you cannot give.

-- Diogenes

The Big Show

Well, well, well. Finally found a new post, did you? Surprised?

First of all, the above photo. Let me explain. We had our big, local agricultural show a couple weekends ago and this was a highlight. To me this epitomizes the attraction of a small-town country fair: The owner of this particular diversion, a well-dressed older man, travels around Australia with his Indian Runner ducks, dressing them up for fashion shows (including the obligatory bridal dress finale) and races. He's quite the tailor. The dog is not going to eat the ducks, he is their friend and is only waiting for one of them to step out of line so he can immediately get them back in order. It's his job and he loves it. Photo credit: Crazy Duck Guy.

This show, or fair, is nothing like the scary Broward or Dade County Youth Fairs. My kids were free to wander around with their friends while I chatted with a few other parents and drank giant cups of coffee. While I was not directly supervising them, there were many others pairs of eyes keeping watch over them. It takes a village and all. I had been delaying this post in hopes that I would have a video clip to attach, showing you the band competition Sarabelle participated in, but, alas, I have not yet received my promised disk of the show. Up on a real stage, with lights and professional sound guys, in front of people she mostly did not know, she played in two of the four bands competing, greatly increasing her odds of bringing home some prize money. And that she did. First place went to her boy friend's (note the space) band, and she took second with the school jazz band's rendition of Joe Cocker's "The Letter" and Men At Work's "Land Down Under," and third place with a last-minute ensemble of friends playing "Sweet Home Alabama" and some other songs I can't think of at the moment. She doesn't get it from me, that's for sure.

The tennis club continues to haunt me. Em, Vee, and I, the only moms, who along with Em's partner constitute the entire body of interested, participating parents, were thrown into another fundraiser. This one promised to be fun though. Our coach and president was planning to open his garden for the countrywide Open Garden scheme and suggested our club be the beneficiary of the entrance fees and bake sales proceeds. At the meeting last week, I thought to decide if we were to proceed with this plan, my dreams of a weekend spent drifting around a lovely sunny tropical garden serving tea were shattered when we were instead handed a list and given a tour of the kilometer-long rainforest paths to point out what work had to be done to get his garden in shape. Not just weeding, I'm talking chainsawing, replanting, trash hauling, furniture scrubbing and polishing... When we got to the shed where he indicated the replacement bench for the rotting hulk out on one of the trails, still in its box and told us that "First we'll have to assemble it, and ideally before that we should take it all out and varnish it..." I nearly burst out laughing, except one look at Vee's stony expression told me she didn't think it was terribly funny at all. Of course his "we" was only a figure of speech, he has injured his back and is out of commission. Indefinitely. He won't even be offering lessons this term. We have all committed a couple hours to his "work bee" but with three nominally single moms (all partners being out of town or out of the country on business), one working, one homeschooling, one working and homeschooling, and no other offers of assistance, it just doesn't look very good. I think it's time he and his mysteriously absent wife call in a landscaper. And in an unofficial poll, the majority of members, secretary, and treasurer (the same four of us) have decided we would like to politely decline his kind fundraising opportunity.

That is also a bad weekend for us because Jorge is coming for another brief visit! We may just have to head out of town on another mini-holiday. You never know.

In the meantime, we are thinking about relocating. How many times have you heard me say that? This time it would only be down the hill to our small country town where the girls attend school. It would be nice to be able to walk everywhere -- to the grocery store, the post office, the park, the library, the Gorge, the pool, gymnastic lessons, school, the bank, community events -- especially when diesel is the equivalent of $6.92 per gallon.


I went to the animal fair, the birds and the beasts were there...

-- Unknown

Eight is Great

Elle is eight. My baby is eight. Or almost ten -- the age at which she is allowed to get her ears pierced -- if you ask her.

The day before we went down to town. There were indeed presents waiting at the post office.



Look at that face. Is she excited or what? That was some koala Webkinz thing from Nana and Papa.



And a set of secret invisible spy pens. You'd think the poor kid never received a gift in her life. Still haven't trimmed those bangs.

The big day started out with a trip to Em's for coffee and a peek at the baby goats born the night before. I'm not a big fan of goats, unless their jerked or in a vindaloo (it's those sideways pupils that get me), but the babies were pretty darn cute. As of today there are ten. Em was literally up to her neck in baby goats and had to take a shower before we all left for Cairns.



It was a little too chilly for bathing suits, but that didn't stop Elle and Em's son (her best friend) from splashing around.





Next up was sushi downtown and a movie. We ended up seeing Kung Fu Panda. It was better than I expected. But not much. That's all I have to say about that.

We ended up back at Em's and had kebabs for dinner. My mother will be horrified to learn there was no official birthday cake, but even better when we finally got home, Grice made us a pan of brownies from scratch for a nearly-midnight snack.


The old believe everything; the middle aged suspect everything; the young know everything.

-- Oscar Wilde

Back by Popular Demand!

Well, it's really only one cousin and a girlfriend in Florida who requested I post more often, but still, give the people what they want, right?

So, for those who need to know, both of you, we've finished the first of a two-week winter holiday break. There have been a few cups of coffee consumed at a friend's house, dental appointments, a trip to the dump and the post office, and a little shopping with more coffee consumed, and that was all on the first day! Other than that, we've watched a few movies (Juno, finally), slept in, read a little, played on the computer, cleaned the house, and listened to Elle's seemingly hourly updates on her impending birthday. Exciting stuff, glad you asked, hey?

And because we're so busy, and even though I'm a stay-at-home, homeschooling mom with no work schedule to juggle during holidays, I sent Elle to vacation daycamp on two separate occasions. Retired Nuclear Physicist Neighbor was a special guest at camp, bringing his woodworking tools for a demonstration. The kids all came home with beautiful little turned wooden tops. She went the next day as well, under the impression he would be back (again, by popular demand), but we were mistaken. Instead she simply enjoyed another big day of socialization. And no head lice. So we're done.

We missed the fireworks for the Fourth and have been enjoying Uncle M's visit to Gettysburg vicariously (and jealously.) He has been instructed to book a room now for the 2013 event.

The big excitement comes this week: Another dental appointment, another trip to the post office (it is rumored there are presents on the way) and the dump, and then an action-packed day in Cairns. Elle decided for her birthday she wanted to see a movie, eat some sushi, and play at the Esplanade, so we are riding down with Em and her son to do just that. Outfits have been planned already. She is very excited. There has been some debate and trailers viewed online over the choice of movies, but as of today the verdict is Prince Caspian. WALL-E would have been our first pick, but it's not out here until mid-September. Sarabelle may or may not be playing with the strings ensemble for a fundraiser, depending on the availability of the other members, and we might finish out the week with a visit to the big regional rodeo. Yee hah!


A vacation is having nothing to do and all day to do it in.

-- Ray Orben

Work Experience

Sarabelle finished her work experience Friday. Tenth grade students spend one week trying out a job. There were hundreds to choose from, but Sarabelle knew exactly which one she wanted: the most sought after position of the bunch. First come, first served, so she turned her forms in the very next morning after they were handed out and made sure her application was marked number one. She got it.



She spent four of the five days -- one taken off to perform with the school's jazz band at the Eisteddford competition doing Joe Cocker's version of "The Letter" and coming in third place -- getting up early for the trip down to Port and working as a deck hand on a dive boat. And not just any dive boat, but the dive boat.



Here she is coming in from a long day out on the water.



Even though she got to go out in the submersible five times and saw a school of squid and a group of sea turtles sleeping on the bottom the first day alone, it wasn't all fun and games.



In spite of the weather, only a few people got seasick and Sarabelle was not among them. More fortunately, she did not have to do any deck swabbing.

Elle and I stayed down in town all day, fuel prices here being even worse than they are in Florida. What did we do to occupy ourselves? Well, we packed up her school books and a blanket and planned to get some work done, but instead after we dropped Grice off at school we had breakfast at our favorite cafes; went for a walk around Mossman Gorge, the most visited national park in Australia (partly because it's a local hangout) and where all the water in the district comes from...









...made several visits to the library where we read and played chess; window shopped; checked the mail; got ice cream; and played in the park.


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

-- Henry David Thoreau