Posts
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)
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Chilly
Check out that headline.
Going where the wind don't blow so strange, maybe off on some high cold mountain range.
-- Jerry Garcia
Going where the wind don't blow so strange, maybe off on some high cold mountain range.
-- Jerry Garcia
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Spontaneity
We've got loads of it, you know.
The five of us set out in my vehicle which seats five almost comfortably, plus a dog and all our gear for a week-long adventure. Our plan was to start out at Undara Lava Tubes to witness some ancient geological marvels and work our way down to the historic mining town of Charters Towers to experience some not-so-ancient architectural marvels.
But, of course, it didn't work out like that.
Here we are in front of the windfarm at Ravenshoe (pronounced Ravens-hoe, not Raven-shoe), one of our Tableland neighboring towns, where the temps dipped to a record -7 C/18 F the night before. Elle explained the reason for the cooler weather was that someone left all the fans on.
First stop, Innot Hot Springs where some of us enjoyed a relaxing soak in the heated water...
...and some didn't...
...and some, namely me, seriously considered spending the entire night in a pool of water under a blanket of volcanically heated sand, the only warm spot for hundreds of miles around.
It was at the springs where I met Jane. Whether Plain Jane or Jane Doe or Tarzan's Jane comes to mind, you'd have a pretty accurate image. She told me her story while she stripped down to nearly nothing, bathed, and heated her and her daughter's pot of soup in a pool adjoining my own. She came to Australia from New York six years ago as a backpacker. She homeschools her only child and is greatly concerned about the increase in regulations and decrease in freedoms she perceives here in Australia. Something that's been gnawing away at us as well. Jane is considering a move to a freer society, but hasn't yet figured out where that might be, and may even head back to the States until she does. We had loads to talk about, being of similar minds. Elle was overjoyed to meet her daughter, both Americans, both homeschooled, both six years of age; she reckoned they were nearly twins. We had a very enjoyable afternoon sharing our common bonds.
We made it to the camp ground near Undara, set up both tents, put out a picnic and lolled in the lovely hot sun for an hour or two when we got the phone call. Remember the hush-hush stuff I hinted about earlier? Jorge had applied for a job over on the west side of the Cape York Peninsula, one that would enable us to stay in Australia regardless of whether or not our Florida property sells, one that not only pays well, but provides housing, a vehicle, and tax breaks. It seemed as if he was well-suited to the position, but so much time had elapsed we figured it must not have been a real possibility. They had called leaving a message on our answering machine to say he had been short-listed and wanted to do a phone interview. Jorge returned the call and suggested that since we were halfway there he head on over as he preferred to interview in person, and I wanted to see what we were potentially getting ourselves into, so the next morning off we went.
The Cape York Peninsula, the little triangle up on the top right of the country? It's enormous. Takes nearly 11 hours to get across the base of it, and the "highway" is a single lane road with dirt shoulders that you have to swerve onto for oncoming traffic. The oncoming traffic usually meets you halfway veering off in a cloud of red dust, unless it's a 164-foot long road train, they don't budge. You also have to watch out for livestock. Stations are so huge they're unfenceable; cattle grates cross the main highway every once in a while to mark boundaries. It was not a boring drive at all.
Because we left all our gear behind, we stayed in a motel for the night in the nearby town of Karumba where the mouth of the impossibly indigo Norman River meets the Gulf of Carpentaria. The motel welcomed dog owners, but would not allow the actual dogs into the rooms, so I spent the afternoon and evening sitting on the porch with and sleeping in the car with Lulu. You will not see any pictures of that.
The interview went well, and to celebrate Jorge and I feasted on giant Gulf prawns and seafood chowder sans kids and dog. The girls were finally advised of the situation -- the reason it had been hush-hush is that they would have had a stroke anticipating a move from this place they love so much -- but a quick tour of the town (all it takes being a tiny, remote, outback flyspeck of a place), its interesting old buildings, the house we would potentially live in, the sports complex with the giant pool and tennis courts, and the historic train station (the end of the line, which takes passengers ultimately straight into the big city of Cairns) produced no huge objections, although Sarabelle inquired about the possibility of boarding at a friend's house.
We headed back to camp and though we still had plenty of time to reschedule a visit to the lava tubes, we stayed one more night and then just packed up and headed home a day early. We saw plenty of geological wonders along the way and took an alternate route home through the mining town of Herberton where we enjoyed the charming vernacular architecture.
Jorge should hear something by Friday...
It's not just a job, it's an adventure.
-- Anonymous (U.S. Navy slogan)
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)
Monday, July 02, 2007
Get your motor runnin'...
Jorge is off buying a tent and a couple extra swags, while I, rather than spending time dawdling on the computer, am supposed to be washing the dog and her pet futon cover because we're all going camping.
Due to our chronic disorganization -- the school holidays are half over and we were able to get the car inspected and serviced only yesterday -- and the acute lack of hotel accomodations, and particularly ones that accept dogs, and our reluctance to dump Lulu at a kennel, and, let's face it, our budget, we are just now, all six of us, heading off for a mini, less-is-more vacation.
I'm a little nervous. I've roughed it with Jorge, and Jorge has taken the girls on several soft camping trips of his own, but I have never camped with the children.
This ought to be fun.
We should come home from adventures, and perils, and discoveries every day with new experience and character.
-- Henry David Thoreau
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
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Gah
We've had another Learning Experience, a term always presented in airquotes around here.
Who knew that shampooing the carpet remnants, salvaged from our landlords' resort, oh, so many years ago, would actually make them worse? Jorge hired a machine to rid the area rugs of what he deemed doggie smell along with the visibly muddy remains of the wet season, but after they were completely dried and replaced back inside the house we discovered the new odor of icky rug shampoo overpowered by cat urine and stinky feet. Apparently thirty years of nasty hotel guests' dirt had been encapsulated in the fine grit that filtered in from its new place up here on a red clay mountain, and Jorge released it all when he blasted it with the steam cleaner.
How bad was it? A thorough spraying with carpet deodorizer didn't lessen its noxious power. We even smelled it in our sleep.
He is now on his way to the dump with both sections of carpet.
This taught me a lesson, but I'm not quite sure what it is.
-- John McEnroe
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
Friday, June 29, 2007
Not the finest of pictures, but overdue...
Trying to get through The Confessions of St. Augustine, part of my effort to read the Great Books of the Western World, with my trusty lapdog keeping me company.
Everyone is enjoying the bumper crop of citrus -- well, maybe not the farmers, come to think of it, at fifty cents per pound -- and people are constantly handing us bags of oranges, tangerines, lemons, and other tasty treats when we run into them or they drop by for a cuppa. I've aways thought gardenias and Chanel No. 5 were my favorite scents, but freshly cut mandarins are right at the top of my list.
You will probably all be thinking how summery this next picture looks, but keep in mind this is the coldest day of the year so far, somewhere around forty degrees Fahrenheit. Yeah. We have no heat and she's in a bathing suit. While I shuffle around with a blanket over my head. Nana would've said, "No sense, no feeling."
And just to give you a glimpse of the incredible beauty here, this is the playing field at Grice's school, just up the road. They were hosting the area's primary schools cross country race. This is what we see everyday. Just riding to the grocery store, the post office, or even the dump is enjoyable. Gorgeous, isn't it?
One ought every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.
-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Where the bloody hell are you?
We've been here over a year now, I know, hard to believe, and while it's beginning to really feel like home, there's just one thing that's missing: company. Growing up in Florida there was always someone down from up north wanting to stay in your house and swim in your pool and take them to Disney World and we miss that (mostly because we always scored their leftover ride tickets and had a four-inch thick stack banded together ready for the next trip, but still...) Sure, people say they're coming to see you, and insist they've always wanted to go to Australia, and if they know us at all they'd know they better hurry up and take advantage of our hospitality before we up and move again, but so far, nobody. I'll admit, the airfare is a little pricey and the trip itself requires incredible endurance (like the poor perfectly poised supermodel and her escort who had to sit next to me, rumpled and smelly with grungy cranky kids crawling all over me during one particularly awful fourteen-hour stint -- she only moved to spritz water and apply moisturizer to her hands and face and somehow managed to arrive in her white linen suit without one stain or crease.) Break the cost down by the number of hours involved in traveling and you're probably getting a fairly good deal, but even with those economics, actually getting someone to commit to make the journey has been fruitless.
Until now!
My former boss, our real estate broker, is bringing his new companion and her three kids along for a two-week visit in August. He wants a real Aussie family experience, though staying with us is out of the question unless camping in the backyard appeals, so we are eagerly making arrangements to accommodate them. When he said to his friend, "If I know Jorge, he's probably living in some tiny little place..." he was absolutely spot on. Although in our defense, it is nearly twice the square footage of the island.
Every man is like the company he is wont to keep.
-- Euripides
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
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
More of the same
Beyond the sihouettes of the trees outside our kitchen window, the ones that are daily dropping delicious exotic fruits in the yard, it looks as if the world has disappeared. In a way it has. Fog has been sitting on top of us for a week or so and I am happily ignoring any chores that require I leave my little cocoon. The rainy season is lingering and mixing with the cold weather, but surprisingly it is not dreary, not with a stack of books, a hot cup of tea, and a wool-filled comforter (a.k.a. doona) to keep you company.
What is rather dreary, but in a nice way, is listening to Sarabelle and Grice practice playing their instruments, the double bass and clarinet respectively, attempting to collaborate on various pieces. It reminds me of the gloomy rendition of "Jingle Bells" from The Nightmare Before Christmas, and I have taken to walking around the house announcing, "The King of Halloween has been blown to smithereens..." whenever they strike up the band.
The winter holiday is fast approaching and we are thinking about taking a little mini-vacation somewhere. New Zealand? Tasmania? Yep. It's cold and wet here in the tropics, let's really torture ourselves and head south, especially after I left all our heavy-duty winter coats back in Florida on our Christmas trip to prevent them from turning into big smelly piles of mold. Mostly, any place that gets me far away from the tennis courts in our town will be fine, though, no matter how bitterly cold it might be. After the last tournament I was looking forward to six blissful weeks without tennis, then at the lessons I shill at, the coach announced a mini-invitational he slipped in during the holiday. Of course Sarabelle and Grice were included, and naturally he'd need someone to help him run the event that day, including a sausage sizzle, and then I received an email later that day stating he's realized after sending out the invites, that day doesn't really work for him so I'd be on my own, oh, and he's going to be out of town for the next several days and doesn't want to find that there have been any problems organizing and securing participants when he gets back.
Well.
In typical passive-aggressive style, I will either go on vacation or blow up in spectacular fashion. The choice is obvious.
I personally gave up the Absolute...I fully believe in taking moral holidays.
-- William James
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
Saturday, June 09, 2007
The Big Eight-One
Monday is a holiday and the kids are off school. In case you didn't know, it's Queen Elizabeth's birthday. Go ahead, click on the link (last year's, I know, but they should be updating it soon) and send Her Majesty your birthday greetings (and maybe Charles your sympathies.)
I must say, Camilla looks smashing, doesn't she?
Being an Anglophile, this is one holiday I can really appreciate.
God save our gracious Queen,
Long live our noble Queen,
God save the Queen:
Send her victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us:
God save the Queen.
-- Unknown
It's a magic number
Things do come in threes.
First my laptop crashed, literally (and has fortunately been restored to near perfection after a hard drive replacement from the very generous Apple guys), then the brand new one that Jorge brought back for himself went on the blink almost immediately (it too has now been fully restored to its shiny-new goodness) and then our less-than-one-year-old printer died (planned obsolescence and a low price tag destined it for the dump.)
Jorge, in his infinite kindness, brought home a new printer to allow me to continue working on the tennis club sponsorship letters without interruption, and a wireless modem so we don't all have to huddle around the one tiny table next to the plug anytime someone has to get online. Did I look forward to trying to set up a wireless network on three different operating systems (OSX, Vista, and Sarabelle's XP), knowing that Australia has the reputation as a dumping ground for outdated, defective Asian electronics? Oh, no, I did not. But it went smoothly and I am now ensconced on the couch while Grice huddles at the table with her Sims. Woo hoo, welcome to the twenty-first century.
Three other things that have kept me busy these past three weeks:
1) We are now two-thirds of the way through another junior tennis tournament
2) I've been invited to express my interest in participating on a committee to advise the director-general of Queensland's education department on homeschooling concerns and have replied in the affirmative
3) The tennis club president and I successfully staged a coup, or rather, a sort of mutually beneficial merging, of the district's sporting club (we needed an umbrella organization to cover our incorporation status to go for the big grants and provide the physical property for our efforts to build an additional tennis court; they needed a secretary to keep their incorporation alive. I am now, in effect, writing letters to myself: The tennis club requesting the merge, the sports club welcoming the tennis club onboard, the tennis club thanking the sporting club...
Must practice saying "No."
No, no, no.
Baa, baa, black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, sir, yes, sir,
Three bags full:
One for my master,
And one for my dame,
And one for the little boy
Who lives down the lane.
-- Anonymous
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
Monday, May 21, 2007
That's Entertainment
A few weeks ago Sarabelle, Grice, and I joined up with Grice's friend and her stepdad (both Aussies) and mom (a Kiwi) to compete in the P & C's fundraising trivia night competition. I was a little concerned that the questions would be heavy on the Australiana, like the incomprehensible crossword puzzle book I once picked up, and so we covered our bases by establishing an international team with a vast array of knowledge. Various members specialized in literature, Eastern medicine, history, and Star Wars. Two are teachers, one even gets paid. The girls and I were pleasantly surprised to find quite a few "American" questions and not so pleasantly surprised when we missed nearly every one of them. (Okay, smarties, where does the U.S. flag always fly at full staff? And where is the only official palace in the U.S.?) In spite of a few forehead-slapping errors, we held a respectable tie for first place through every round and then dropped in the final round to a not-too-terribly-embarrassing third place. I assumed having a man on the team would help us in the Sports category, our last and lowest scoring, though to his credit he would have scored us an extra point in General Knowledge, our specially selected bonus category, for the answer "testicles" -- Question: What did men swear on before they swore on the Bible? -- if all the female team members hadn't been too squeamish to actually commit it to paper. (The Story of the World Volume 1: Ancient Times neglected to include that interesting tidbit and I'm certain Sr. Anne failed to mentioned it as well.)
Speaking of sports, not really, but whatever, Evonne Goolagong Cawley dropped by Grice's elementary school to meet and speak with the students. She told the children amusing stories about her early years as a young naive girl being taken off the farm traveling to the big city, Sydney, to train at tennis camp. Her husband of 37 years, British pro Roger Cawley, accompanied her and they were a lot of fun, answering questions from the kids:
Student to Evonne: What was your biggest trophy?
Mr. Cawley: That would be me.
I was invited by our coach, a friend of the Cawleys, as the secretary of the tennis club to photograph Evonne with all our junior club members.
And speaking of fish out of water stories, and in another near-brush with celebrity, or a brush with near-celebrity, Sarabelle was sent home from school with a media release last week. The Australian Broadcasting Company's television series Seachange, a reality show about city slickers making the move to tiny rural coastal communities, is being revived and filming episodes featuring two high school-aged Melbourne girls whose family has relocated to our little part of the world. One of the daughters is in Sarabelle's class.
And finally, no bad segues here, Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks's joint venture The Pacific, a ten-part miniseries about WWII's Japanese theatre, is set up and planning to be in town for about the next year filming the companion piece to their other war series, Band of Brothers. One of our local beaches is doubling for several little Pacific island beaches. A notice appeared in the local paper and high school newsletter advising residents not to be alarmed if they heard bombs and machine gun fire, those would just be sound checks.
Trifles make the sum of life.
-- Charles Dickens
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
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Mothers' Day
I awoke this morning (or more accurately, re-awoke, having gone back to bed after meeting Sarabelle's ride to work at 5:25 AM), after being allowed to remain in bed with the covers snugly over my head -- my return to the womb or auto-asphixiation, your guess -- to the smell, not of fried eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee, but of bleach and some other powerfully noxious glop. Elle, the only one home as Grice was at a birthday party sleepover, took it upon herself to clean the bathroom for me for Mothers' Day. I'll take that over breakfast in bed any time.
After Grice came home, they presented me with a treasure trove of gifts, gifts that the girls got together on their own and did not involve paste or macaroni noodles. All were handmade from local artisans, vendors at our local cotters market. Australian lavender and Australian bush mint soaps, two beautiful Tarzali silkwood bowls, one jar of coconut lip balm, a bouquet of cut orchids, and a gorgeous blue and white blown glass bud vase. I was truly surprised. They are now busily preparing what will be our evening meal, what looks to be peanut butter cookies and tuna fish.
Maybe the biggest surprise of all is that I am actually able to relate these facts to you. Yesterday morning someone, I won't say who, but it wasn't me, tripped on the cable to the printer and jerked my laptop off the table and onto the floor. I didn't yell and scream as I would have expected, instead I clapped my hands to my face, burst into sobs and collapsed on the couch. It is operable, sort of, limping along at approximately 1/6000th of its normal speed, though I am probably doing irreparable damage by continuing to use it. The rest of the day will be spent trying to recover and burn the most important contents to a DVD before it totally crashes. It'll have to be sent in to see if it can be repaired, so expect delays in posting and corresponding. At this rate, I figure I should be up and running somewhere around January 3, 2019.
Diligence is the mother of good fortune.
-- Miguel de Cervantes
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Revolution
Since we came to Australia we have become a family of tea drinkers.
Whoopee, you say.
What you don't understand, and what to my mind makes it so amazing, is that my mother has been trying to get me to drink tea, or at least offering it to me despite my vigorous and very vocal protests that I don't drink tea, for over twenty years, even knowing that her high consumption of the swampy stuff is responsible for her kidney stones. Share the love, Ma.
We come from a long line of tea drinkers. It's the Irish in them. Or more likely that 25% English they so strongly deny. Dear Aunt ML (I was going to call her Dear Old Aunt ML, but she would not like that so much) can absolutely not function without a cuppa, which I now understand to be symptomatic of a massive caffeine addiction. How many times were we in a rush to get out the door when someone would have to put the kettle on for just one quick cup before we went anywhere? When I get all steamed up hear me shout.
But now? People here drop by without calling ahead. And when they stop in, they expect a cup of tea. Which led to my keeping tea in the house. And a teapot. And you can't just have tea, you must be able to offer bikkies (Translation: biscuits = cookies) and all the accoutrements that go with tea like milk and sugar and clean spoons. If you are really fancy you might try having a few gourmet items on hand like lemon and honey. And then you must know how to properly prepare and serve these items. And with all that preparation you will eventually actually start drinking the stuff, if for no other reason than keeping your hands occupied. I've almost got it down pat and I think I'm nearly ready to take the next big step, having advanced from standbys like Lipton, to the Greys, both the Earl and his Lady, to green tea, to Prince of Wales and Irish Breakfast, camomile, chai, and my favorite, the fabulously smoky Lapsang Souchong: It's time to lose the teabags and go with the loose leaves. I am still unclear on what exactly a tea towel is for, though.
Elle prefers a cuppa green tea in the mornings and afternoons, Grice sticks with the locally grown black tea with a squeeze of lime, only Sarabelle remains unconverted, but she has mastered laying it all out and serving our frequent guests. Come on over! Anytime! We'll be ready for you.
As I finish up my third chai this evening -- eschewing a dainty china cup and preferring a tall heavy mug -- it dawns on me why I'm still up at 2:00 AM typing madly away.
Cheers.
This is the most magnificent movement of all! There is a dignity, a majesty, a sublimity, in this last effort of the patriots that I greatly admire. The people should never rise without doing something to be remembered--something notable and striking. This destruction of the tea is so bold, so daring, so firm, intrepid and inflexible, and it must have so important consequences, and so lasting, that I can't but consider it as an epocha in history!
-- John Adams
"Take some more tea," the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.
"I've had nothing yet," Alice replied in an offended tone: "so I can't take more."
"You mean you can't take less," said the Hatter: "it's very easy to take more than nothing."
-- Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson)
Whoopee, you say.
What you don't understand, and what to my mind makes it so amazing, is that my mother has been trying to get me to drink tea, or at least offering it to me despite my vigorous and very vocal protests that I don't drink tea, for over twenty years, even knowing that her high consumption of the swampy stuff is responsible for her kidney stones. Share the love, Ma.
We come from a long line of tea drinkers. It's the Irish in them. Or more likely that 25% English they so strongly deny. Dear Aunt ML (I was going to call her Dear Old Aunt ML, but she would not like that so much) can absolutely not function without a cuppa, which I now understand to be symptomatic of a massive caffeine addiction. How many times were we in a rush to get out the door when someone would have to put the kettle on for just one quick cup before we went anywhere? When I get all steamed up hear me shout.
But now? People here drop by without calling ahead. And when they stop in, they expect a cup of tea. Which led to my keeping tea in the house. And a teapot. And you can't just have tea, you must be able to offer bikkies (Translation: biscuits = cookies) and all the accoutrements that go with tea like milk and sugar and clean spoons. If you are really fancy you might try having a few gourmet items on hand like lemon and honey. And then you must know how to properly prepare and serve these items. And with all that preparation you will eventually actually start drinking the stuff, if for no other reason than keeping your hands occupied. I've almost got it down pat and I think I'm nearly ready to take the next big step, having advanced from standbys like Lipton, to the Greys, both the Earl and his Lady, to green tea, to Prince of Wales and Irish Breakfast, camomile, chai, and my favorite, the fabulously smoky Lapsang Souchong: It's time to lose the teabags and go with the loose leaves. I am still unclear on what exactly a tea towel is for, though.
Elle prefers a cuppa green tea in the mornings and afternoons, Grice sticks with the locally grown black tea with a squeeze of lime, only Sarabelle remains unconverted, but she has mastered laying it all out and serving our frequent guests. Come on over! Anytime! We'll be ready for you.
As I finish up my third chai this evening -- eschewing a dainty china cup and preferring a tall heavy mug -- it dawns on me why I'm still up at 2:00 AM typing madly away.
Cheers.
This is the most magnificent movement of all! There is a dignity, a majesty, a sublimity, in this last effort of the patriots that I greatly admire. The people should never rise without doing something to be remembered--something notable and striking. This destruction of the tea is so bold, so daring, so firm, intrepid and inflexible, and it must have so important consequences, and so lasting, that I can't but consider it as an epocha in history!
-- John Adams
"Take some more tea," the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.
"I've had nothing yet," Alice replied in an offended tone: "so I can't take more."
"You mean you can't take less," said the Hatter: "it's very easy to take more than nothing."
-- Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson)
Barefoot and...
...just plain barefoot.
Dy reminded me.
The first experience that really endeared us to this part of the world was when we stayed at a lodge in Mission Beach six years ago and watched in absolute amazement as the owners' daughter went off to school without shoes. It's too wet they explained. Leather rots. Sneakers stay soaked. We were later shocked to see people waltzing in and out of the grocery store, the grocery store, something that violates the law in Florida (and probably for a very good reason), sans footwear.
We arrived here this time around with Crocs for all and a pair of Birkies for me for those dressier (or "flash" as they say) occasions. I supplemented my shoe collection with a few pairs of high-heeled sandals on our Christmas trip back and have watched them rapidly moulder away along with our luggage, belts, purse, and some tack we salvaged from our last residence. Teething puppies love Crocs so now we're almost entirely shoeless.
Grice sets off for school each day in her uniform, hat mandatory, shoes not. We now play tennis, ride horses, go grocery shopping, visit the library, the post office, the doctor, the bank, get haircuts, dine out, heck, I even went to a meeting the other day, barefoot. As a precaution we can always dig out a pair of someone's flip-flops (or "thongs" as they oh, so wrongly refer to them) or partially digested rubbery clogs shoved under a seat or tossed in the way-back of the car in case of unavoidable emergency public restroom stops. You've got to draw the line somewhere.
Isn't it getting to be winter over here? Why, yes it is. And while I still don't have any proper shoes, I do have plenty of socks. What more does one need?
As the traveler who has once been from home is wiser than he who has never left his own doorstep, so a knowledge of one other culture should sharpen our ability to scrutinize more steadily, to appreciate more lovingly, our own.
-- Margaret Mead
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
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Road blocks
Tuesday evening the listing was delivered to my inbox via the automated updating service: 20 acres at the end of the road, with a bore, creek frontage, and a flow from a small nearby spring trickling through the middle of it. It was the most affordable property available since we arrived. A local realtor also forwarded me his version of the same listing, knowing we are still looking.
Wednesday morning, first thing, after advising Jorge of the potential deal, being quite familiar with the property, map in hand, Elle and I raced over to take another look. The realtor happened to be on site. He had already shown it once and was waiting for his next appointment. After another call to consult with Jorge, we decided to make an offer. I raced back to the property, caught the realtor after his second appointment and communicated our interest. He went back to his office to prepare the paperwork and called to confirm our meeting the next morning for signatures. He also advised me another offer had just come in. The first people who looked at it earlier that morning. Offers would be sealed and presented to the seller, all details of both offers to remain confidential to avoid a bidding war.
Thursday, yesterday, papers had been emailed, signed, and returned via fax from halfway around the globe -- in the middle of the night unfortunately for Jorge -- and were delivered to the seller. The realtor called me around 10:00 PM last night to say our offer, full-price, cash, no contingencies, was not good enough.
That's what we're up against.
That, and taking a loss on our Florida property in order to move it.
Buy high, sell low, or go back with our tail between our legs and live with what we've got, those are our options.
"Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed" was the ninth beatitude.
-- Alexander Pope
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
Sunday, April 29, 2007
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
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Lest We Forget
I have been doing you a favor by not posting lately. Really. Until yesterday you would have had three weeks worth of: He's going, he's staying, he's going, again, oh, wait, he's staying, no, he's going, maybe... And probably would have been very annoyed by our indecison, much as I have been, but yesterday morning we made it official: Jorge got on a plane headed back to the States. In fact we are expecting a call any minute to say he's arrived.
In case you're wondering, there are no attorneys involved, no custody battles ahead. He's just got some work lined up and should be able to float us for a while longer. Salaries here, while fairly high, still can't carry living expenses here plus multiple mortgages there. I'd say we did prety well getting by for the past eleven months. Maybe he'll solve our unsellable property problems while he's there and we can continue on with The Plan.
A reunion is tentatively planned around Christmas.
In the meantime...
Today was ANZAC (Australian New Zealand Army Corps) Day and it's huge! Bigger than Easter -- by the way, I discovered Easter Monday is officially the day for picking up small bits of colored foil from all around your house -- and even bigger than Melbourne Cup Day. It was so big the students were required to wear their full dress uniform, meaning they had to put shoes on. We were treated to a memorable small country town parade led by the local constable and a contingent of active military, followed by retired service personnel and the students from the two local primaries. There were speeches, most notably delivered by Grice and her co-captain, which led to some good humored quips about the Yank and the Pom, and a reading of the names of local fallen from WWI and WWII (a dozen in all.) There was one small hitch when the newly added Kiwi flag (without which the day might only be properly called AAC Day) became terribly tangled and would not go back up from its half-staff position, but otherwise it was a perfect day, followed by a barbecue at the school.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
-- Laurence Binyon
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
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Easter Monday
Yesterday was Easter. It was a rather chilly, blustery day, Jorge worked, the girls discovered treats at the foot of their beds in the morning and gorged on candy all day. I nursed a cold, wrote a bit, read more, and drank gallons of hot tea snuggled under a wool blanket.
Today is Easter Monday. I'm not sure what to make of this other than, for most people, it's a day off work. Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, Good Friday, Easter Sunday, I understand those, but Easter Monday? I am going to celebrate that there was no new ant infestation in the kitchen this morning. I hope it will be a regular holiday.
They don't mind it; it's a regular holiday to them -- all porter and skittles.
-- Charles Dickens (Pickwick Papers)
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)
Monday, April 02, 2007
High Anxiety
Hon, we're evacuating the resort. A major earthquake in the Solomon Islands triggered a tsunami that's supposed to arrive in 25 minutes. I have to get all the guests out and I don't know if I'll even be able to get out of here or when I'll be able to call you again...
Grice was safe and sound at her school, along with Elle and me, up nice and high on the mountaintop, but Sarabelle was down there and it would take me 30 minutes to get to the high school if the roads were not jammed with hysterical drivers. And then what? We'd all be swept away in our car?
I called the high school not expecting to get through, but did, remarkably on the first try, and was advised that they were not under orders to evacuate yet, and that they were a regional evacuation center so they should be safe in any case (except, I thought, you're barely above sea level and situated on a major river) but parents were free to pick up their kids.
Jorge got through again and said he was going to get Sarabelle, with maybe a couple panicky Canadian women in tow -- they had asked another couple fleeing the resort if they could ride to higher ground with them in their car, a five-seater, and were told no, there wasn't enough room -- when I heard a news report on the one channel that had any news on about the situation, in between the regular morning show's fashion and cooking segments, that the threat had been downgraded. So we sat tight and waited.
And waited.
And when it became clear we were not going to be subjected to a disaster, I wondered, if the earthquake struck at 6:40 AM (our time) and 15 minutes later the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center in Hawaii issued a warning that is sent out immediately to public safety officials around the world, and we were expecting to feel the effects by 9:55 AM, why were the buses still picking up the children and depositing them at school, why school, which starts at 9:00 AM, had not been cancelled or at least had the buses drive the students back home or evacuated to a safer location, and why was there only one television station intermittently broadcasting the news?
In all things it is better to hope than to despair.
-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Lulu
It's a little hard to see how big she's grown without a visual reference, but in the first pictures I could carry her under one arm and now I can bearly fit her all on my lap (and according to my youngest daughter, it's a pretty voluminous lap.) She comes up three inches above my knees and you can almost pet her without bending over. She is absolutely solid muscle which I discovered when I had to hose out her mouth after she went for a cane toad (Bufo marinus.)
My friend says you can look into the face of a Rhodesian Ridgeback and never really be sure what they're thinking.
Here she is trying to stalk me in the freshly mown yard...
...and here's the last thing a lion ever sees...
(She went from 0 to 60 in one spring, cleared my head and bit me on the behind before I could even turn around.)
I restrain myself a great deal. I don't say it, or I phrase it differently. But now and again I drop a lulu because I cannot resist it.
-- Hugh Leonard
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
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