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In between garage sales, downpours, packing, a visit from Jorge, and moving, Grice and Elle picked up what seems to be chicken pox. Nevermind that they had both received the double varicella vaccines early on and had only a 5% chance of ever developing the disease to begin with; nevermind that no one in either the elementary or high school or entire town has heard of another case, they both got spotty and scabby and the doctor and our other medical friend agreed that it was probably a very light case of the pox. I thought they were only bug bites. Elle was not the least bit inconvenienced by her 'illness' and Grice got a letter from the doctor excusing her from school for the entire week, so she was quite pleased.
Look, look, see, see,
Coming down the lane,
Here comes Scott,
Here comes Dot,
Here comes Chicken Jane.
(from "Between the Lions")
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Little Johnny wants to play.
I remember when I was in high school how exciting it was to listen to the radio early in the morning waiting for the snow report.
...blah, blah, blah... (newscaster starts listing outlying areas, the ones people always name when you recognize that accent and ask where they're from and they say "Boston" and then you dig a little deeper and ask whereabouts, and they mention their town's name and then you both know that's most definitely not Boston, just some wussy, wannabe suburb) Boston... quiet now, here it comes... All Schools, No School! (newscaster continues listing insignificant bedroom communities as you either head back to bed or over to the cousins' to hang out)...
Well it was not exactly like that today. Except for the exciting part.
We were up, washed, dressed, fed, brushed, in the car and on our way to the bus. Wow! Look how high the water is! Oh my God! Spear [Creek] is right up the bridge! It's on the road! I wonder how high Rifle [Creek] is? Whoa! Amazing! What about Bushy...?
A few more twists and turns before a line of stopped cars with hazard lights flashing alerted us to the fact that Bushy had most assuredly "gone ovah." There was one loud groan from Sarabelle, who can't bear to miss school, two loud cheers from Grice and Bee (who had slept over), and a "Cool!" from Elle. We were 99% of the way there, we could see the principal's house at the elementary school where the bus stop is, but it was not meant to be. We watched someone tow a car off the bridge that had attempted a crossing and had been swept sideways; chatted with another high schooler about to enjoy a day off, caught up with his mother and debated whether or not our vehicles could make it through the .5 meter water and the accuracy of that roadside depth gauge; and took a wade a little way out onto the flooded bridge before turning the truck around and heading back toward the house.
If this had been South Florida, people would have been cursing out the Army Corps of Engineers or the water management district honchos or their local municipality's water and sewer crews or the DOT, wild because they can't get to where they have to go and wondering who is responsible for this fiasco?! But here? If you can't make it across you either sit tight and wait it out there, or turn around and wait it out somewhere else, preferably at the nearest pub.
After a day of errands in Cairns, accessible by another very wet but more navigable route, the water receded enough to get Bee across Bushy and back home. With more heavy rain expected this evening -- we're sitting beneath a huge monsoonal trough -- Sarabelle opted to stay overnight at Bee's house guaranteeing she does not miss another day of school tomorrow. Grice preferred to return home with me and Elle and take her chances.
Nature, time, and patience are the three great physicians.
-- H. G. Bohn
...blah, blah, blah... (newscaster starts listing outlying areas, the ones people always name when you recognize that accent and ask where they're from and they say "Boston" and then you dig a little deeper and ask whereabouts, and they mention their town's name and then you both know that's most definitely not Boston, just some wussy, wannabe suburb) Boston... quiet now, here it comes... All Schools, No School! (newscaster continues listing insignificant bedroom communities as you either head back to bed or over to the cousins' to hang out)...
Well it was not exactly like that today. Except for the exciting part.
We were up, washed, dressed, fed, brushed, in the car and on our way to the bus. Wow! Look how high the water is! Oh my God! Spear [Creek] is right up the bridge! It's on the road! I wonder how high Rifle [Creek] is? Whoa! Amazing! What about Bushy...?
A few more twists and turns before a line of stopped cars with hazard lights flashing alerted us to the fact that Bushy had most assuredly "gone ovah." There was one loud groan from Sarabelle, who can't bear to miss school, two loud cheers from Grice and Bee (who had slept over), and a "Cool!" from Elle. We were 99% of the way there, we could see the principal's house at the elementary school where the bus stop is, but it was not meant to be. We watched someone tow a car off the bridge that had attempted a crossing and had been swept sideways; chatted with another high schooler about to enjoy a day off, caught up with his mother and debated whether or not our vehicles could make it through the .5 meter water and the accuracy of that roadside depth gauge; and took a wade a little way out onto the flooded bridge before turning the truck around and heading back toward the house.
If this had been South Florida, people would have been cursing out the Army Corps of Engineers or the water management district honchos or their local municipality's water and sewer crews or the DOT, wild because they can't get to where they have to go and wondering who is responsible for this fiasco?! But here? If you can't make it across you either sit tight and wait it out there, or turn around and wait it out somewhere else, preferably at the nearest pub.
After a day of errands in Cairns, accessible by another very wet but more navigable route, the water receded enough to get Bee across Bushy and back home. With more heavy rain expected this evening -- we're sitting beneath a huge monsoonal trough -- Sarabelle opted to stay overnight at Bee's house guaranteeing she does not miss another day of school tomorrow. Grice preferred to return home with me and Elle and take her chances.
Nature, time, and patience are the three great physicians.
-- H. G. Bohn
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Come again another day
It rained last night.
I mean, it rained.
It rained so hard an inexplicable panic gripped me -- me, who has been through hurricanes, violent storms at sea, and even a blizzard. I don't really know what it was that worried me so. Was the roof going to collapse from the sheer volume of water pounding down on it? It sounded like it, but this house has been through a fair number of wet seasons. Was the water going to come up into the house? We're up too high living in a stilt house or what they call a high-set. Would we be stranded here on the property? I love solitude and there's enough food and books to last us a few days. Would we be stranded and lose power and phone service and a crazy old hermit crawl out of the bush and break into our house and try to kill us and then me, the kids, pets, and car would all be swept away in a flash flood as we tried to escape? Something like that...
So I sat up most of the night reading -- Deepak Chopra's fictionalized biography of Buddha, which, surprisingly offered zero comfort -- waiting for the rain to stop, working up the nerve to run out and pull my car back under the house where it belonged and hoping the windows were all rolled up tight.
Even death is not to be feared by one who has lived wisely.
-- Buddha
I mean, it rained.
It rained so hard an inexplicable panic gripped me -- me, who has been through hurricanes, violent storms at sea, and even a blizzard. I don't really know what it was that worried me so. Was the roof going to collapse from the sheer volume of water pounding down on it? It sounded like it, but this house has been through a fair number of wet seasons. Was the water going to come up into the house? We're up too high living in a stilt house or what they call a high-set. Would we be stranded here on the property? I love solitude and there's enough food and books to last us a few days. Would we be stranded and lose power and phone service and a crazy old hermit crawl out of the bush and break into our house and try to kill us and then me, the kids, pets, and car would all be swept away in a flash flood as we tried to escape? Something like that...
So I sat up most of the night reading -- Deepak Chopra's fictionalized biography of Buddha, which, surprisingly offered zero comfort -- waiting for the rain to stop, working up the nerve to run out and pull my car back under the house where it belonged and hoping the windows were all rolled up tight.
Even death is not to be feared by one who has lived wisely.
-- Buddha
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