From our house to yours...

...Merry Christmas Beetles!


"Bah," said Scrooge. "Humbug!"

-- Charles Dickens

On The Move. Again.

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

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

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

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


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

-- Japanese Proverb

The Big Show

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

-- Unknown

Eight is Great

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

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



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



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

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



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





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

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


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

-- Oscar Wilde

Back by Popular Demand!

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

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

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

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

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


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

-- Ray Orben

Catch-up II

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

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

Curtain Up!

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

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

Australia Day

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

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.

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

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

Bits

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

Trauma and Drama

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)

Dark Ages

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

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

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)

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

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