Road SCHOLA

Psssssst!

2010-11-14T19:44:00.000-05:00

I'm over here, guys...

SCHOLA

Post Christmas Post

2009-12-28T18:45:00.003-05:00

I shortened my sights a bit. Didn’t find a Buddha under the Christmas tree-ish dried floral arrangement thing in our room, and decided I’d be happy if all I got for Christmas was not a case of head lice. (So far so good. I think.) But I still may buy one for myself before we leave.

Looks like our return flights are going to be even more inconvenient with all the additional security measures. We came over with five carry-ons, but I’m guessing it’ll be easier just to check the whole lot on the way back. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for creating an international incident when airport security discovers Elle’s Crayola Explosion Glow Board in our hand-luggage. I’ll keep my laptop with me of course, and if I end up with a hefty but fragile wooden icon, I’ll keep that with me as well, although I’m not sure if that additional attention will be a good or bad thing. I’m pretty sure Aussie law enforcement would shrug off charges of politically incorrect racial profiling (ya gotta start somewhere, mate), so will I slide through as an obvious non-Muslim or receive extra scrutiny for my potential decoy? And if I get on the plane without any challenges, will I then just incense any onboard fundamentalists?

Generally I am not afraid to fly. There has been only one really bad landing in my lifetime of travel (wind shear slamming us down with a nice little sideways slide down a rainy runway in New Orleans) and I have reconciled myself to the fact that if I survive a mid-Pacific crash, no help will arrive until long after I’ve been devoured by sharks. I’m okay with that. But now I have kids to worry about. And crazies. And I don’t like the fact that Jorge changed his departure and is leaving earlier, because when we reach Los Angeles we split up: Grice flies with me to Miami, and Sarabelle and Elle, who were meant to be accompanied by their father, fly on a different airline back to Fort Lauderdale. Now I’ll be sticking the two of them on a plane by themselves and hoping they’ll be in Miami with their dad to greet me and Grice after the cross-country leg of our trip. Can I request they be seated next to the secret (wink wink) air marshall?

I like to test the TSA employees, see if they’re on their toes or not, by traveling with little surprises. Among other things, I’ve taken a box cutter disguised as a key on a keyring several times without notice and flew over here this time with a long, sharp bamboo stick holding my hair up in a knot. Bought a second hair clip at the same shop that sells the Buddhas after I misplaced the first, then relocated the original so now I have two. Sarabelle looks good with her hair up. I would probably not be the passenger to jump up and subdue a would-be terrorist, but I’d be happy to be able to pass the braver passengers a little something to help out.

Oh, yeah, and if I have to go to the bathroom, just try and stop me.

Those who desire to give up freedom in order to gain security will not have, nor do they deserve, either one.

-- Benjamin Franklin

All I want for Christmas is...

2009-12-20T18:41:00.004-05:00

...a giant carved mango-wood, $5,000 (AU) Buddha head. I’m easy to buy for, really. I’ve had my eye on him for years, from way back when the exchange rate was in our favor. The photo does not do him justice.

Being more practical (and way low on funds), and realizing, ironically, the Buddha’s teaching that desire brings suffering, I will content myself with a photo.

And maybe one of these lesser priced Buddhas.

Or, more realistically, Sarabelle’s water jug Easter Island heads.

Learn to let go. That is the key to happiness.

-- Siddhartha Gautama

Scabs

2009-12-18T05:36:00.001-05:00

We planned to attend the town Christmas party and later the official opening of the new party deck at the tavern Saturday, following our friends’ band around from gig to gig, but due to a little misunderstanding regarding our Aussie joint bank account, namely that Sarabelle was happily spending money she thought was hers on frivolous items, like purses, when in reality it was money I was saving for future necessities, like food, we found ourselves flat broke. Reading the notices for the events in this week’s paper, though, we happily discovered that the town Christmas party is offering a free sausage sizzle, bottles of water, and lollies (breakfast!) and the tavern is offering free finger foods (lunch!) As long as we’ve got fuel we’ll be good for another day.

Maybe we’ll crash a few Christmas office parties next.

Living on Earth may be expensive, but it includes an annual free trip around the Sun.

-- Unknown

We're Back

2009-12-17T11:51:00.002-05:00

The flight, the 14-hour one, was not too terribly uncomfortable and we had our own little TVs to watch. I got to enjoy Bruno, though I had to keep leaning over checking to be sure the kids could not see my monitor, and am even more in love with Sacha Baron Cohen; Julie and Julia (didn’t have to worry about the kids getting a peek at this one, and I also love Meryl more than ever); The Boys are Back, a sweet little Australian movie which caused a big fat tear drop to fall out of my eye (I was tired, okay?); and about the first hour of Funny People, which I hope to finish on the return trip.

The holiday apartment Jorge rented is pretty comfortable and has a nice pool and cafe for snacks but terrible WiFi service. At different times during the day the signal appears in different rooms, the kitchen table in the morning, the coffee table after noon, and never yet at the supposedly strongest spot down by the pool. We chase around with the laptop and argue over whose turn it is to get on when the little bars finally appear (seems like Grice wins more often than most), or give up and go downtown to the local internet/smoothie shop. It wouldn’t be so annoying if we weren’t paying extra for the service.

Even though we’ve been traveling in an area of a roughly 20 mile circumference encompassing three distinct areas (rural, mill town and resort town), in the short time we’ve been here we’ve seen dozens of friends and acquaintances at planned get-togethers or bumping into them while sitting at cafes, filling up at the gas station, or buying groceries, and everyone has time for a little chat. It’s what I love and missed most about this small-town laid-back place.

I hope that posterity will judge me kindly, not only as to the things which I have explained, but also to those which I have intentionally omitted so as to leave to others the pleasure of discovery.

-- Rene Descartes

From our house to yours...

2008-12-24T07:00:00.003-05:00

...Merry Christmas Beetles!

"Bah," said Scrooge. "Humbug!"

-- Charles Dickens

YOP!

2008-12-23T05:25:00.008-05:00

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.

2008-12-07T14:50:00.002-05:00

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

2008-12-06T06:39:00.003-05:00

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

2008-12-02T14:44:00.004-05:00

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

2008-11-21T03:27:00.002-05:00

"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

2008-11-17T17:54:00.002-05:00

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

2008-11-14T04:25:00.005-05:00

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

2008-10-31T00:00:00.008-04:00

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

2008-10-29T18:06:00.002-04:00

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

2008-10-29T09:01:00.006-04:00

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

2008-10-26T21:19:00.008-04:00

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

2008-10-18T17:55:00.003-04:00

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

2008-10-16T05:26:00.005-04:00

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.

2008-10-13T05:41:00.004-04:00

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

2008-10-13T04:25:00.002-04:00

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

2008-10-10T21:29:00.005-04:00

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

-- Virginia Woolf

Reality? Check.

2008-10-02T00:06:00.005-04:00

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

2008-09-26T18:23:00.005-04:00

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

2008-09-23T18:06:00.002-04:00

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

2008-09-22T07:35:00.004-04:00

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

2008-09-10T21:15:00.006-04:00

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

2008-09-03T19:10:00.002-04:00

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

2008-08-18T19:58:00.004-04:00

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

2008-08-17T23:37:00.002-04:00

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

2008-08-11T19:46:00.002-04:00

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

2008-08-06T20:02:00.009-04:00

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

2008-07-10T03:41:00.003-04:00

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!

2008-07-05T20:40:00.003-04:00

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

2008-06-28T07:35:00.004-04:00

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

Catch-up II

2008-06-02T18:17:00.004-04:00

Next Jorge came for a nearly two-week visit. We all took a break from our routines and headed down to Dunk Island for a few days.

Just as we made it to the bottom of the southernmost range, about a three hour ride from our place, the clutch went out. Completely. And we also discovered the fan had somehow chopped the radiator hose to bits. We had three and one half hours to catch the last ferry to Dunk, and we were still nearly an hour away. But the Fates and a very helpful Toyota service manager smiled on us, and we went from this...

(That's actually Craig the manager under there. In the driveway. Doing the work himself. In his good shirt. When he found the only hose available would take several hours to be delivered, he cobbled one together from bits and pieces. A real MacGyver, that one is. If you're ever in Innisfail and your car falls apart, go see Craig at the Toyota dealership.)

...to this...

...and this...

...with 30 minutes to spare.

While on Dunk we enjoyed some of this...

...some of this...

...a little of this...

(You can only go without a television and Sponge Bob for so long, you know.)

...and a lot of this...

(the view from my semi-permanent lounge chair.)

After Jorge headed back to Florida, the girls and I once again participated in the local Trivia Night fundraiser. I thought we were pretty international last year, but this year's team included an American, New Zealander, and Australian (me, Bee's mom and step-dad) with the new additions of their neighbor, a Finnish retired nuclear physicist (a Manhattan Project contemporary) and his two WWOOFers, a Japanese girl and a French guy. We also had another Australian, a music teacher, to help overcome the language barrier and physical handicaps (a faulty hearing aid and two players who left their reading glasses at home.) I am happy to report we correctly answered all the American questions this time, including my being able to name Pablo Escobar as "Drug Czar." I am from South Florida, you know. This year we held our own tied for second and third mostly, until the end when we made a big move catching up to the top team, losing to them by only 1.5 points in the bonus round.

The girls were on their own team with Bee and some other schoolmates. They determined they couldn't win early on and decided to go for notoriety and place last instead by intentionally giving silly answers (Q: What Latin phrase associated with universities means "nurturing mother"?; A: Mama Mia.) They still beat one of the adult teams.

I've taken my fun where I've found it.

-- Rudyard Kipling (The Ladies)

Catch-up

2008-06-02T16:03:00.005-04:00

Let's see... Since my last post, erm, last month, what's been going on?

Well, first there was ANZAC Day. Here is Sarabelle with a couple band friends pre-performance...

and Grice and Elle checking out the local pride on display at the Courthouse Hotel before the parade and memorial.

Lest we forget...

Afterward we stopped by our Witness friends' house for tea. M (aka Dr. Dolittle), has a kookaburra family she has hand-fed for years. I gave it a go, hoping I would not lose an eye in the process.

Horrible photos, I know, but in my haste to get the girls down to town I left my camera behind and was forced to purchase a disposable.

Then the rollinias came in.

We have two big Rollinia mucosa trees, just outside our door. Last year the landlords came and took them all, passing a few on to us. This year they left the harvest to us and we passed a few on to them. Not many though.

The fruit tastes like a lemony vanilla custard. They're beautiful when you pop them in the fridge for a bit, but even then they don't have a very long shelf life, 2-3 days tops. I think I will go have one right now, before they go off.

Here's what happens when you leave them on the tree too long.

We have been battling the birds ever since.

(That's not a little furry animal in there peeking out by the way, those are seeds left over. And yeah, time to trim those bangs.)

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

-- Abraham Lincoln

Madeleines

2008-05-12T20:26:00.001-04:00

Chris at the Thinking Parents Wiki asks what sights, smells, sounds remind me of home?

Aside from the things that are exactly alike, sugarcane fields, cattle ranches, especially the flowers and palms, and license plates honoring "The Sunshine State", there are loads of things here in Far North Queensland that remind me of South Florida. Receiving our “Cyclone Awareness” guide and tracking map in the newspaper; being suspicious of any body of fresh water other than a swimming pool, and even then that cautious double check you do just in case...; and the summer downpours -- more so if they are accompanied by strangely comforting blasts of lightning and house-shaking thunder as both are fairly rare here -- all prompt memories of their northern hemisphere counterparts.

I thought I smelled my grandfather two years ago when we moved into our first rental house here. As the smell grew stronger, and more disconcerting considering it took place while I showered, a little detective work finally revealed it to be a giant mold colony growing in a fold of the shower curtain left behind by the owners.

Sitting on the couch surrounded by the kids introducing them to classic SNL bits via YouTube, most recently Will Farrell’s “More Cowbell” and his follow-up cameo with Queens of the Stone Age, flings me back in time to the sense of where I was when I first viewed them, on any of several comfortable beds or couches in any of several comfortable houses.

One significant reminder occurs whenever I’m up late at night on the computer. Just like my husband, Lulu, the four-legged member of our family, wakes up, stretches, glares at me still on my laptop way past the time decent folks should be in bed (I swear she even looks at the clock), utters a pained melodramatic groan, and then huffs a great sigh of exasperation before flopping back on her doggie bed.

We are able to find everything in our memory, which is like a dispensary or chemical laboratory in which chance steers our hand sometimes to a soothing drug and sometimes to a dangerous poison.

-- Marcel Proust

Neighbors

2008-04-27T04:05:00.004-04:00

Our friend Em brought this over for us. It's one of three recently shed python skins they found on various parts of their house and landscaping. This is the entire skin, all nine feet of it, from the tip of its nose and eye coverings to the very end of its tail.

She knew we'd appreciate it.

And we did. Some more than others.

I like to keep a bottle of stimulant handy in case I see a snake, which I also keep handy.

-- W. C. Fields

Wednesday

2008-04-23T04:54:00.003-04:00

After her school work was done, and after a little time on Toon Town, Elle had aikido. Miss D, the instructor's wife, and Elle knocked each other around a bit.

When class was over we spent some time cuddling and feeding Penelope, a rescued baby padymelon Miss D and her family are nursing until it can be released back to the wild. Penelope has been in their care for at least six weeks. She was hairless when they first got her. That small you never know if they'll make it or not. So far, so good.

Those are my hands. That's all you're going to see of me today. That's enough.

The five minute drive home was uneventful, but spectacular.

If you look real hard, up on the side of the mountain, just above the center line of the road, it's practically pointing at it, there's a little break in the trees, and right there, that little dot...see it?...that's our landlords' house. The guesthouse we rent is not visible but is located down a little to the left of the Big House. The first house we rented was on a street that turns off to the left just where the road seems to end. Pretty good photo considering it was shot through the windshield. By me. As I was driving. (Miss Booshay understands.)

We were in a hurry to leave the house for akido (blame the aforementioned Toon Town) when we discovered a baby snake under the carport on our way out the door. In our rush to leave, we tipped this container over him to take a look when we got back and maybe identify it. As you can see, it was still there.

Even though we let him go, he was not very happy. We suspect it was venomous. Pretty much anything but a python is around these parts.

A person can stand almost anything except a succession of ordinary days.

-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Home School

2008-04-20T20:46:00.004-04:00

No, we don't stand up and salute any flags saying the Pledge of Allegiance or singing Advance Australia Fair before beginning our school work. We don't have designated times for specific subjects or breaks either. Come to think of it, not much we do resembles a formal educational institution, but when I saw this at a neighbor's garage sale for a bargain price, I could not pass it up. The fact that it came from a local state school that recently celebrated its centenary makes it not only a true antique but a pretty cool souvenir.

Bear in mind that the wonderful things you learn in your schools are the work of many generations. All this is put in your hands as your inheritance in order that you may receive it, honor it, add to it, and one day faithfully hand it on to your children.

-- Albert Einstein

No Worries

2008-04-14T16:07:00.005-04:00

-- The kookaburras go off at exactly 6:00 AM. There is no Daylight Savings Time and no need for an alarm clock.

-- Our friend's husband, a local law enforcement officer, went off to the neighborhood pub early in the evening for a beer or two. Around 10:30 PM, the wife woke up to use the facilities, and while sitting on the loo on an otherwise still night, heard her dear husband belting out a tune down at the pub. He ended up staying until 2:30 AM literally closing the place down. He had to lend a hand at the bar after the publican sampled a few too many of his own wares.

-- Other neighbors who live on the main street in a rambling historic building, had a woman come rushing through their often-open front doors with some convoluted story about missing mates and mixed-up meeting places, asking questions, and hoping for some assistance. The neighbor and her husband were doing what they could to help the visitor and had offered her a cup of tea when looking around, the realization slowly dawned on their guest: Oh my God. This is your house. I thought it was an antique store...!

The capacity for delight is the gift of paying attention.

-- Julia Cameron

Curtain Up!

2008-04-13T19:09:00.003-04:00

I should have learned by now, that any time I say "I'm sure" of something, events usually prove me wrong. Like below, when I said I'm sure we will be back at least once more... in regards to visiting the creek.

The remainder of our break has been spent mostly hanging around the house watching rented DVDs. We enjoyed Elizabeth: The Golden Age, Pride and Prejudice, Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, Pocahontas II: Journey to a New World, the Royal Ballet's Tales of Beatrix Potter, and (before you go thinking you see some Keira Knightley/Geoffrey Rush/British history/British lit thread connecting them all) Sicko, by Michael Moore.

Elle, a born entertainer, finally acknowledged her inclination -- a tendency I have reluctantly witnessed develop since she was an infant -- while watching Pirates of the Caribbean for the second or third time: Mom, how does somebody get to be in a movie? She thinks it would be great fun to get paid to work as an actor. Her sisters and I thought so too, but privately wondered how that would work with her persistent shyness.

One notable exception to our movie marathon was a taste of real culture, a concert we attended yesterday afternoon down in Port. A few local musicians, led by the neighborhood's World Renowned Cellist, put on a children's concert in the incredibly intimate 142 seat theatre. Prior to the final piece, three door prizes were raffled off for the kids. Elle leaned over and whispered that she was nervous in case they might call her number. Sure enough, she was the third winner. I barely had time to confirm that it was her ticket number when, instead of playing shy like the prior winner and insisting I go up with her or in place of her, she popped out of her seat, marched down the center aisle, and jumped up on the stage to claim her prize.

What did she win? A gift certificate for DVD rentals.

There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.

-- Oscar Wilde

Break

2008-04-07T18:22:00.003-04:00

The girls are enjoying a week off school for the fall break between terms. I'm not having such a bad time either. We've already been to the creek twice in the past three days and I'm sure we will be back at least once more before school is back in session.

Every now and then go away, have a little relaxation, for when you come back to your work your judgment will be surer. Go some distance away because then the work appears smaller and more of it can be taken in at a glance and a lack of harmony and proportion is more readily seen.

-- Leonardo da Vinci

More Pictures

2008-03-26T22:07:00.002-04:00

Around the house

Bad luck birthday

Yalkula Station

Battle of the Bands

The photograph itself doesn't interest me. I want only to capture a minute part of reality.

-- Henri Cartier-Bresson

Up to Speed

2008-03-19T18:42:00.003-04:00

So yesterday we finally get our high-speed internet hooked up and what do we do first? Catch up on long-neglected correspondence? Check bank account balances? Search for and install necessary software updates? Upload photos for friends and family? Nope. Our priority was to download and watch the first four episodes of LOST Season 4 back to back. We ate up all our allotted high speed limit for the month in one shot and have been knocked back to a slower rate. But it was so worth it. And we still have two episodes to go before we catch up. Don't think that just because we now have to wait 17 hours for each remaining episode to download we won't do it either. At least we can use the telephone at the same time.

In the meantime I am slowwwwwly uploading bunches of photos to my Flickr account (beginning with our Christmas trip to Florida), checking account balances, and sooner or later, though later being more likely, I will get caught up on all my correspondence.

Here are some pictures to get you started...

The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre
Observe degree, priority and place.

-- William Shakespeare (Troilus and Cressida)

Shut down

2008-03-05T20:42:00.002-05:00

Tuesday’s flight was rescheduled for Wednesday. Wednesday’s rescheduled flight was set to go out at 11:00 AM. Then 2:00 PM. And then 7:00 PM. When I finally heard from Jorge, calling, I assumed, to say he had safely arrived at his destination, he was still at the airport. They were now estimating a 9:00 PM departure. He was going to forget it and head home. Two hours later, when he had not arrived, trying to discover whether or not they did indeed take off, I had to go through a ridiculous series of phone calls. The airline 800 number is only active Monday through Friday 8:30 - 5:00. No help there. A call to their reservation service, handled through another major airline, produced a drone who would not tell me whether or not the flight had actually left the airport due to “privacy policy,” despite this information being readily available online and I was stuck on the phone with her to ensure that at least, with only dial-up, I would hear the call waiting signal if Jorge tried to reach us. Another call to a slightly more helpful rep, who placed her own call to the actual desk agent at the airport, who in turn supposedly contacted the flight control tower, and relayed the information that they now expected the flight to depart the airport at midnight. Alas, four of their six aircraft were grounded for repairs, one was grounded due to inclement weather, and the only operable plane was coming in on a flat tire. We apologize for any inconvenience!

This morning, after 8:30 AM, I was told they flew out last night at 7:40 PM and the return flight, arriving at 2:00 PM today, was expected to be on time.

Right.

Meanwhile yesterday, the bus never arrived to pick up the girls in the morning for school, our local bank branch was closed because of staff shortages, the attorney was late coming back from lunch, other key airline employees were absent from work, and two of our favorite eateries were closed, all supposedly on account of the weather, yet Jorge and I were both able to navigate numerous landlslides, flooded areas, and road washouts, and Jorge reached the airport via time-consuming, labryinthine detours. Makes you wonder how much of our current weather crisis is legitimate and how much an excuse to shirk responsibility.

Phone and internet service are prohibitively expensive and internet service is still predicated on usage and contracts with heavy cancellation penalties. Even the fastest connections are not capable of keeping up with the rest of technologically advanced society.

It’s pretty third-world here, for a developed country. How do businesses manage to get work done?

Without continual growth and progress, such words as improvement, achievement, and success have no meaning.

-- Benjamin Franklin

Currents

2008-03-04T09:37:00.003-05:00

The girls and I got a little too excited this evening picking out electric dog training collars online. Elle romped around the living room until Grice’s command “Stop!” and a loud buzzing noise caused her to drop and writhe on the floor. We compared prices and features opting for the models with the longest range. A Rhodesian Ridgeback is nothing but fast and is quickly out of sight chasing kangaroos or your landlord as she zips by on her four-wheeler enroute to the horse paddocks.

Sarabelle played her first gig on the electric bass this past Friday. One of the area dads, a musician himself, put together a night to showcase our local junior talent. While the weekend edition of the big city paper had several stories about drunken teenage parties getting way out of control, here were our kids, and their families, having a terrific night out with soda, chips, and some surprisingly good live music. It may turn out to be a regular event. Sarabelle’s friend, who is also a boy, played in another band with his two brothers. They had groupies. Screaming girl fans. It was hilarious. But Sarabelle did not find my musings as to whether her American thighs were the inspiration for their cover of “You Shook Me All Night Long” nearly so funny.

Jorge has been here to finalize some real estate dealings and help us move and was able to catch Sarabelle’s performance. Tomorrow, provided the flight is operating, not like today when it was cancelled because “the plane was broken,” and he can even get to the airport in the first place given the huge amount of rain that has fallen in the past 24 hours, he flies over to a little outback town to manage some business interests and then will return to Cairns just in time to say a quick goodbye before heading back to Florida. The plan du jour is for the girls and I to stick it out here at least until July 23, when we can finally make our application for citizenship.

Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away.
-- Marcus Aurelius

Quarantined

2008-02-28T16:59:00.002-05:00

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")

Little Johnny wants to play.

2008-02-18T02:21:00.004-05:00

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

Come again another day

2008-02-17T02:11:00.007-05:00

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

Thinking On My Feet, or, rather, Pacing the Floor

2008-01-30T15:09:00.000-05:00

Our lease on this house is up today and I advised the owners of the other house on five acres that we would not be moving into it since Jorge is not coming back and until last night I was not sure where we would be come February 1. Needless to say, I have had a few sleepless nights. But yesterday afternoon the landlord’s agents finally gave me the green light to stay one more month, giving me time to liquidate and ship the balance of nearly all our belongings, and we also heard back from our old landlords at the flash, mountainside fully-furnished, easy-care cottage who are willing to have us back for a time. The only sticking point with the old landlords was the dog, not that we have one, we got Lulu while we were staying at their place initially, but whether or not she had been fixed yet -- don’t want to be attracting dingoes or the neighbor’s pig dogs -- and coincidentally we have Lulu scheduled at the vet's this morning to be spayed and get her travel requirements, rabies vaccination and microchipping, taken care of. Funny how things work out like that, eh?

So we will be completely mobile, no furniture, household items, extra clothes, tools, or tons of books to weigh us down; just what we can fit in our suitcases and trunks and jump on a plane with, back in much closer to town. With all that thinking on my feet over and done, I may begin to drag them a little now, especially as the time to make our application for citizenship is right around the corner...

In the meantime, Sarabelle and Grice are temporarily back to school (how else would they get to see all their friends and say goodbye?) Sarabelle is still adamantly for staying, Grice is still ambivalent but at least wanted the opportunity to ride the big luxury tour coach (subcontracted and passing for a school bus) down the mountain to get a small taste of high school. Elle looks forward to returning to Florida where there’s television, video games, and Disney World.

No period of history has ever been great or ever can be that does not act on some sort of high, idealistic motives, and idealism in our time has been shoved aside, and we are paying the penalty for it.
-- Alfred North Whitehead

Australia Day

2008-01-26T16:02:00.000-05:00

Initially I wasn’t really sure what this day was all about. It comes at the end of the summer break just before the kids return to school, and though it always arrives on January 26, Monday is an official day off for everybody, banks and businesses closed, so it’s a bit like Labor Day except that they have their own Labour Day in May. There is some flag waving involved along the lines of the Fourth of July, though they already have their own independence day of sorts, Federation Day, January 1. The roots of the celebration commemorate the first landing (or the first invasion to the Aboriginal residents) so it’s a bit like Thanksgiving too, including the emphasis on sports with Maria Sharapova winning the Australian Open in the living room and a ball game on the radio outside, but without the turkey and fuss.

We spent the day with a mixed bag of friends, old ones, new ones, with the Aussies outnumbering the Kiwis, Yanks, and Brits by only one, celebrating our hosts’ son’s birthday as well as the birthday of Em, Bee’s mom, grilling chicken and fish kebabs and snags on the barbie, drinking champagne and homebrewed ginger beer, swatting flies (“...it wouldn’t be Australia without the flies,” according to one partygoer), laughing a lot, admiring our host’s Southern Cross tattoo, one I’m sure he sported prior to January 26, though we had never noticed, and wrapping things up with an impromptu game of cricket.

That’s Australia Day.

Every tradition grows more venerable -- the more remote its origin, the more confused that origin is. The reverence due to it increases from generation to generation. The tradition finally becomes holy and inspires awe.

-- Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

Stage Four

2008-01-22T21:43:00.000-05:00

Five weeks flew by and now we are packing up to return to Australia. Nearly all books and most articles of clothing have been jettisoned as plans remain to fly back to Florida once we tidy up all those loose ends. We finally told the girls and it has been a very emotional 48 hours.

For those persons residing in the States, please, when you hear of our pending return do not reply with “Oh, Good!” or any variation of that thought. Though it’s tempered with sincere delight at seeing us once more, you may end up on our list of people to never speak to again. Just a friendly warning.

I have been trying to convince my head that this is the right decision (and that I ever had any real say in the outcome), but my heart tells me we are making a horrible mistake.
We are rapidly working through Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s five stages of grief, Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance, but seem to have stalled out at least one step before Acceptance. It will be a long time coming I’m afraid.

Despite all my rage
I am still just a rat in a cage.

-- Billy Corgan/Smashing Pumpkins

Works for me.

2007-12-20T16:43:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-15T16:42:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-07T08:01:00.000-05:00

"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

2007-12-01T18:51:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-25T14:46:00.000-05:00

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"

2007-11-22T23:12:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-15T20:37:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-09T20:34:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-09T17:47:00.000-05:00

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

2007-10-28T08:15:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-28T06:57:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-25T05:40:00.000-04:00

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

2007-09-30T17:19:00.000-04:00

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

2007-09-25T02:29:00.000-04:00

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

2007-09-13T22:55:00.001-04:00

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

2007-09-01T21:06:00.000-04:00

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

2007-08-25T22:45:00.000-04:00

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

2007-08-24T20:44:00.000-04:00

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

2007-08-14T20:49:00.000-04:00

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

2007-07-28T00:07:00.000-04:00

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

2007-07-26T19:03:00.000-04:00

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...

2007-07-25T00:29:00.000-04:00

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'

2007-07-24T22:16:00.000-04:00

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

2007-07-11T06:27:00.000-04:00

Check out that headline.

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

-- Jerry Garcia

Spontaneity

2007-07-08T19:08:00.000-04:00

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'...

2007-07-02T23:34:00.000-04:00

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

2007-06-30T21:28:00.000-04:00

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...

2007-06-29T17:44:00.000-04:00

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?

2007-06-26T18:42:00.000-04:00

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

2007-06-20T17:29:00.000-04:00

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

2007-06-09T22:40:00.000-04:00

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

2007-06-09T21:53:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-21T04:56:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-13T00:36:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-10T12:15:00.000-04:00

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...

2007-05-10T08:17:00.000-04:00

...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

2007-05-02T23:32:00.000-04:00

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

2007-04-29T18:02:00.000-04:00

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

2007-04-25T06:03:00.000-04:00

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

2007-04-08T17:17:00.000-04:00

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

2007-04-02T18:05:00.000-04:00

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

2007-03-31T20:53:00.000-04:00

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

Totally Australian, Mate!

2007-03-31T20:19:00.000-04:00

This is a close-up of part of Sarabelle's English assignment to create an ad campaign for an established product. Her team took its inspiration from the controversy over a private consortium's bid to take over QANTAS, Australia's iconic airline.

See how many other Australian icons you can identify.

Ah, well, I suppose it has come to this. Such is life.

-- Edward "Ned" Kelly

Tennis, anyone?

2007-03-31T17:06:00.000-04:00

When Sarabelle wanted to get back into tennis, though we have a perfectly good court just down the road at the park, the only organized events and lessons available were 30 minutes down the mountain. I inquired into the possibility of private lessons with the coach who teaches primary school students up here before classes on the school's court. It turned out he has been trying to get a formal club going up here for some time and before I knew it, I was secretary of the tennis club, and Jorge handyman emeritus. At first Sarabelle was a little put-off by Coach A's technique after the kinder, gentler, friend-of-the-family British coach she had in Florida. Coach A is Australian. I must say his style, loud, commanding, demanding, and funny, is a good motivator and her skills are definitely improving. He got me playing, even with my preference for sedentary activities, first as a shill to attract other adults to the evening lessons, and now because I enjoy it. I might actually be able to play without looking like a complete ass. One of these days. Maybe.

Our second multi-week, mixed doubles junior tournament wrapped up yesterday. Sarabelle placed second runner-up. She has been invited to join the team that will compete against a group from the Cairns area, and has accepted the challenge to enter a regional tournament in conjunction with the resort town's spring carnivale festivities.

Here is my hillbilly eldest daughter receiving her award barefoot. She forgot her sneakers in the big rush to leave the house. No worries though, only about one-fourth of the kids wear shoes when they play.

Grice, a natural but disinterested player, made it through the three-week event, but then bowed out of yesterday's later matches with the legitimate excuse of ill health. (It's just a cold, Mom.)

Elle, as they say here, couldn't give a stuff about tennis and besides she had found her own trophy, someone else's discarded ten-year old soccer statuette, on a trip with her dad a few weeks back to the Refuse Tip -- that's the dump, not advice to serving staff or the task a demolitions expert performs when rehabilitiating an old explosive device -- and was perfectly satisfied with that. But after seeing the fun her sisters, especially reluctant Grice, and her former schoolmates were having, she decided to start taking lessons and to participate in the tournament as well. The only problem was that in the last junior tournament, right before the Christmas break, she had been competing against the B group of novice players. None of those kids signed up this time, so she was playing doubles (which if you were her partner was really like playing singles against a doubles team) with the advanced kids 4-9 years her senior. The coach decided at the beginning of the event she would get an Encouragement Award just for participating. I kept mum about it. The trophies came out much bigger than we expected and when the kids saw them they wondered if these were display trophies that would only have their names engraved on and would sit enshrined in a case somewhere like a holy relic; they could not believe they got to take these home. Elle was in such awe of the presentation table contents she did not believe me, lowly secretary that I am, when I said the winners would keep these. When the coach presented her with her very own gold colored plasticky prize, she whispered something to him to which he smiled and replied, "Yes, forever!" She reckons it's worth about 5,000 dollars. She's also been invited to play on the junior junior squad which will play against a team from the resort town, and has readily accepted.

We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us;
His present and your pains we thank you for:
When we have march'd our rackets to these balls,
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.
Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler
That all the courts of France will be disturb'd
With chaces. And we understand him well,
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days,
Not measuring what use we made of them.
We never valued this poor seat of England;
And therefore, living hence, did give ourself
To barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common
That men are merriest when they are from home.
But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state,
Be like a king and show my sail of greatness
When I do rouse me in my throne of France:
For that I have laid by my majesty
And plodded like a man for working-days,
But I will rise there with so full a glory
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,
Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.
And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his
Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance
That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands;
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;
And some are yet ungotten and unborn
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn.
But this lies all within the will of God,
To whom I do appeal; and in whose name
Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on,
To venge me as I may and to put forth
My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.
So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin
His jest will savour but of shallow wit,
When thousands weep more than did laugh at it.
Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well.

-- William Shakespeare (Henry V)

Blind-sided

2007-03-08T17:03:00.000-05:00

After I wrote a very pleasant, "Thanks, but no thanks" response for the position of the primary school's P&C (Parent and Citizen) President, Jorge and I attended the annual general meeting to participate in the election of a new board. My heart was light. I was off the hook.

Until sealed written nominations for the position of Vice-President were opened.

Me.

Speechless, someone suggested I take a moment to review the Help! I've Been Elected P&C Vice-President booklet listing the responsibilities of VP, which I eagerly grabbed, not truly considering, stalling, and finding a convenient hiding place for my burning red face.

They proceeded to open sealed nominations for Secretary.

Me, again.

By now my face was magenta.

Repeating the mantra in my head: I'm-homeschooling-my-daughter-I'm-already-secretary-of-the-tennis-club-I'm-homeschooling-my-daughter... I politely declined to the large group of people around the table staring at me, and stuck to my guns even after a very awkward, painfully prolonged period where other nominations were sought and finally extracted from the gathered masses.

If they had opened the nomination for Treasurer and read my name, I'm sure I would have either burst into hysterical laughter or keeled over.

Politics are almost as exciting as war, and quite as dangerous. In war you can only be killed once, but in politics many times.

-- Winston Churchill

What passes for fun...

2007-03-03T03:01:00.000-05:00

This is an 11 x 14 " sketch pad Sarabelle decided to practice her Japanese hiragana on. Not an assignment, not extra credit, just for fun.

Sarabelle signed up for school-sponsored music lessons, choosing the very-difficult-to-lug-home-on-the-bus-and-up-the-mountain double bass. Not a core class, not an elective, just for fun.

It were not best that we should all think alike; it is difference of opinion that makes horse-races.

-- Mark Twain