September 1st
Sharky gets some stares, let me tell you. From time to time on the inside, we forget what our little caravan looks like and the gawks are perplexing.
Tisi is all done up in a style she call roadtrip op-shop chic. "Did I tell you that I figured out what I have? Heart of a gypsy, soul of a housewife."
Looking at the fine homey set-up out back, I think that neatly sums up both of us.
Girls in the front -- we're sharing the driving* -- and boys in the back, drinking beer. We take a few Thelma and Louise shots, for good measure.
Through Wagga Wagga, we sleep under the stars at a rest stop. Some drunken backseat navigation resulted in a wrong turn at Narrangara.
On the upside, it brought it through Grong Grong.
Wagga Wagga, Grong Grong!
[*Although the guys purchased the vehicle, neither can drive. We assumed they were kidding when they waxed on about the bender they would be undertaking en route. Assumptions are never wise.]
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
The Packing
August 31st
"Dahling, it's our honeymoon!"
We've been referring to each other as 'wife' (or 'wifey' for more endearing occasions) and have decided that this adventure -- at least the drive out -- will be our official honeymoon.
We've popped into downtown Dapto for a little pre-desert op-shopping; Tisi feels the trip calls for a summer dress.
"We're so cute," she says, catching the reflection of us side-by-side in a passing bus.
She's absolutely right.
***
I've lost track of how many separate trips we've taken to The Big W, Coles, Safeway -- back and forth, again and again. We keeping thinking of forgotten necessities, misjudging how many tubs are required, suddenly deciding a pair of Volleys are essential, and so on.
That evening, on our final round, Tisi and I are in quite a state. Tisi's brain is pressing against her skull; I'm all foggy and bitten nails.
At my suggestion of eggs: "No eggs. We can get them in Port Augusta."
I can't argue: my thoughts refuse to focus into anything more detailed than no more, I can't do anymore.
In the grocery check-out line, one of us remembers headlamps. We push the heavily laden cart up to Big W, but it's now closed. Damn.
Out we go to the parking lot and Sharky. Tim and Cal pop out, fancy new headlamps switched on. Tisi and I lament our oversight. Tim tells us to look on our seats, there's a surprise: headlamps of our very own.
***
Tuesday morning.
The final pack is underway. Departure has been delayed until the mail arrives [Sharky's registration papers -- or reggos -- are, well, in the mail. Or somewhere. Uh... yeah]. While the boys lash things to the vehicle, Tisi and I play music in the lounge, she on ukelele, me on a mini-accordion that was tucked among the stacks (oh! if only I could bring it with me!).
We are by no means packing light: juggling gear, hula hoops, teeter board, stilts, a lyra, 3 unicycles, rigging, $200 of unroasted coffee beans (Sosi -- who's meeting us in Warburton -- is from Ethiopia and will be doing a traditional coffee ceremony), a knock-about table, scatter mats, handstand posts, hats, slack-wire, tight-rope, bamboo and skis for building "stuff," tools, plus camping gear, food, and clothes.
Sharky the Hectic-Mobile looks gorgeous in all its circus glory.
"Dahling, it's our honeymoon!"
We've been referring to each other as 'wife' (or 'wifey' for more endearing occasions) and have decided that this adventure -- at least the drive out -- will be our official honeymoon.
We've popped into downtown Dapto for a little pre-desert op-shopping; Tisi feels the trip calls for a summer dress.
"We're so cute," she says, catching the reflection of us side-by-side in a passing bus.
She's absolutely right.
***
I've lost track of how many separate trips we've taken to The Big W, Coles, Safeway -- back and forth, again and again. We keeping thinking of forgotten necessities, misjudging how many tubs are required, suddenly deciding a pair of Volleys are essential, and so on.
That evening, on our final round, Tisi and I are in quite a state. Tisi's brain is pressing against her skull; I'm all foggy and bitten nails.
At my suggestion of eggs: "No eggs. We can get them in Port Augusta."
I can't argue: my thoughts refuse to focus into anything more detailed than no more, I can't do anymore.
In the grocery check-out line, one of us remembers headlamps. We push the heavily laden cart up to Big W, but it's now closed. Damn.
Out we go to the parking lot and Sharky. Tim and Cal pop out, fancy new headlamps switched on. Tisi and I lament our oversight. Tim tells us to look on our seats, there's a surprise: headlamps of our very own.
***
Tuesday morning.
The final pack is underway. Departure has been delayed until the mail arrives [Sharky's registration papers -- or reggos -- are, well, in the mail. Or somewhere. Uh... yeah]. While the boys lash things to the vehicle, Tisi and I play music in the lounge, she on ukelele, me on a mini-accordion that was tucked among the stacks (oh! if only I could bring it with me!).
We are by no means packing light: juggling gear, hula hoops, teeter board, stilts, a lyra, 3 unicycles, rigging, $200 of unroasted coffee beans (Sosi -- who's meeting us in Warburton -- is from Ethiopia and will be doing a traditional coffee ceremony), a knock-about table, scatter mats, handstand posts, hats, slack-wire, tight-rope, bamboo and skis for building "stuff," tools, plus camping gear, food, and clothes.
Sharky the Hectic-Mobile looks gorgeous in all its circus glory.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Dapto
August 30th
Tisi is waiting for me on the platform.
Reunited at last! It feels like months.
***
Tim had been right about the train ride: the final leg of the 2hr journey -- beyond the northern beaches and after Sydney's center, south on the country lines -- is beautiful. Snaking around mountains, steep tumbling ravines, past tiny hamlets through groves of immense gum trees, rounding a bend to have the coastline and teal-blue ocean burst into view.
Still no kangaroos, though.
***
After an urgent bathroom dash (couldn't get my pack into the cubicles on the train -- and by "couldn't" I mean, couldn't be bothered), we're sitting on the bench, getting up to speed. Tisi is looking a touch shell-shocked. All she'll let on is that Sharky the Hectic-Mobile needs some "feminine sensibility for organization."
Tim and Callan barrel around the corner. "Hey! Hey! We were wondering what had happened to you!" I looked at Tisi, having assumed she came on her own. A sigh and a strained smile, she looked tired. Fair enough, having come straight from life in Melbourne only yesterday.
***
Sharky the Hectic-Mobile is waiting in front of the house, gleaming orange glory in the afternoon light. A full tour is given: Tim installed the bench seat and seat-belts in the back; things have been tuned up, repainted, and thoroughly cleaned. Much focus is placed on the orange hubcaps. These, I'm told, have made all the difference. All the difference.
Mort painted a beautiful mini-mural of a shark on the side before he left. The boys are so proud of Sharky (with good reason) and are ultra-excited to show it off. I'm slightly apprehensive about driving the beast; it's massive, tall and clunky, no visibility out the back, and -- my favorite -- there hadn't been enough time to install a proper bull bar. 3000km? I'm skeptical, but the repeated assurance is that this -Mobile is all on the up and up.
***
Tim suggests a quick beach excursion. As we jump into Sharky, he hands me and Tisi each a colorful towel his mother had found us for our journey.
"Great. Always pack your towel: covered. Now all that's left: Don't Panic."
Tisi approves of the reference. Yet another reason why it's love.
Upon returning to the house post-swim, Tim can't find his phone. Sharky is searched, but Tim is quite certain he left it at the beach. It's OK, he tells us, because he wants to get a new one. But Tisi and I determine it's a mission and head back to the beach while Tim makes dinner.
We retrace our steps along the sand to where we dropped our stuff, with me repeatedly ringing Tim's number.
"Did you hear that?" asks Tisi, "I'm pretty sure I head something."
I'm considerably more skeptical, barely able to hear her over the wind and the surf.
But then, I do hear something! I start digging and, sure enough, Tim's phone! Tisi turns around in time to catch my victory pose: on knees, head back, phone held high, silhouetted against the sunset (there's a photo of this somewhere -- yes, we recreated the event for documentation purposes).
Who could ask for a better omen?! We haven't even left yet and already, we're scoring a 100% success rate on all projects undertaken.
***
The house is packed with bodies and things. Tim, his wife, and two sons, me and Tisi in the lounge, Tim's parents in the semi-attached bungalow, Zelda the Dog.
But it's the piles and piles of stuff, floor to ceiling, that's mind-boggling. I have never seen so many items jammed into so little space. My brain is having fantasies of organizational possibilities. The junk! The treasures! The bowl of tadpoles outside the backdoor!
I spend the evening on a stool at the end of the kitchen counter, sitting very, very still.
The light in the lounge in on a timer that can't be switched off.
We leave in a day.
***
That night, I dream of the Social Research Center and wake up with the ear plugs in my hand.
Tisi is waiting for me on the platform.
Reunited at last! It feels like months.
***
Tim had been right about the train ride: the final leg of the 2hr journey -- beyond the northern beaches and after Sydney's center, south on the country lines -- is beautiful. Snaking around mountains, steep tumbling ravines, past tiny hamlets through groves of immense gum trees, rounding a bend to have the coastline and teal-blue ocean burst into view.
Still no kangaroos, though.
***
After an urgent bathroom dash (couldn't get my pack into the cubicles on the train -- and by "couldn't" I mean, couldn't be bothered), we're sitting on the bench, getting up to speed. Tisi is looking a touch shell-shocked. All she'll let on is that Sharky the Hectic-Mobile needs some "feminine sensibility for organization."
Tim and Callan barrel around the corner. "Hey! Hey! We were wondering what had happened to you!" I looked at Tisi, having assumed she came on her own. A sigh and a strained smile, she looked tired. Fair enough, having come straight from life in Melbourne only yesterday.
***
Sharky the Hectic-Mobile is waiting in front of the house, gleaming orange glory in the afternoon light. A full tour is given: Tim installed the bench seat and seat-belts in the back; things have been tuned up, repainted, and thoroughly cleaned. Much focus is placed on the orange hubcaps. These, I'm told, have made all the difference. All the difference.
Mort painted a beautiful mini-mural of a shark on the side before he left. The boys are so proud of Sharky (with good reason) and are ultra-excited to show it off. I'm slightly apprehensive about driving the beast; it's massive, tall and clunky, no visibility out the back, and -- my favorite -- there hadn't been enough time to install a proper bull bar. 3000km? I'm skeptical, but the repeated assurance is that this -Mobile is all on the up and up.
***
Tim suggests a quick beach excursion. As we jump into Sharky, he hands me and Tisi each a colorful towel his mother had found us for our journey.
"Great. Always pack your towel: covered. Now all that's left: Don't Panic."
Tisi approves of the reference. Yet another reason why it's love.
Upon returning to the house post-swim, Tim can't find his phone. Sharky is searched, but Tim is quite certain he left it at the beach. It's OK, he tells us, because he wants to get a new one. But Tisi and I determine it's a mission and head back to the beach while Tim makes dinner.
We retrace our steps along the sand to where we dropped our stuff, with me repeatedly ringing Tim's number.
"Did you hear that?" asks Tisi, "I'm pretty sure I head something."
I'm considerably more skeptical, barely able to hear her over the wind and the surf.
But then, I do hear something! I start digging and, sure enough, Tim's phone! Tisi turns around in time to catch my victory pose: on knees, head back, phone held high, silhouetted against the sunset (there's a photo of this somewhere -- yes, we recreated the event for documentation purposes).
Who could ask for a better omen?! We haven't even left yet and already, we're scoring a 100% success rate on all projects undertaken.
***
The house is packed with bodies and things. Tim, his wife, and two sons, me and Tisi in the lounge, Tim's parents in the semi-attached bungalow, Zelda the Dog.
But it's the piles and piles of stuff, floor to ceiling, that's mind-boggling. I have never seen so many items jammed into so little space. My brain is having fantasies of organizational possibilities. The junk! The treasures! The bowl of tadpoles outside the backdoor!
I spend the evening on a stool at the end of the kitchen counter, sitting very, very still.
The light in the lounge in on a timer that can't be switched off.
We leave in a day.
***
That night, I dream of the Social Research Center and wake up with the ear plugs in my hand.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Something Big
August 30th
Speaking to Kate, "It's kind of like being at a health resort. Right now, I'm drinking this killer green smoothie. Lucas is gonna have me all fixed up for the desert."
"Fixed up? Ali, are you a bike?"
If anyone could help insure top superhero pre-desert-adventure health in 5 days, it's Lucas. He refers to the state as "ninja" ("Jedi" being the next and near-supreme level). Seaweed, coconut oil, energized water, nuts, seeds, and mystery teas. So much fresh fruit and veggies, I AM Captain Vegetable. Plenty of sleep, lots of sunshine, and a good dose of alone time (which will be a rare commodity in the coming weeks).
***
There's no doubt that I'm an outrageously blessed individual, but in the past few weeks, I've been supported to such an extent, I barely touch the ground. Half a lifetime could be spent trying to return these angelic favors, and I could still fall short. The only hope is to express gratitude and love at every turn: thank you, thank you.
I'm going into Something Big; the sense of this builds each day. Maybe that's why the seen and unseen help and guidance has been flooding in at an enhanced rate. It's not exactly excitement, anxiety, or even anticipation (though I'm feeling some of those, too); it's more like the quiet electricity before a storm. A change in air pressure. (Kate asked if it was ear wax). Meeting an angel or Odin. Something Big. I just don't know what yet.
Speaking to Kate, "It's kind of like being at a health resort. Right now, I'm drinking this killer green smoothie. Lucas is gonna have me all fixed up for the desert."
"Fixed up? Ali, are you a bike?"
If anyone could help insure top superhero pre-desert-adventure health in 5 days, it's Lucas. He refers to the state as "ninja" ("Jedi" being the next and near-supreme level). Seaweed, coconut oil, energized water, nuts, seeds, and mystery teas. So much fresh fruit and veggies, I AM Captain Vegetable. Plenty of sleep, lots of sunshine, and a good dose of alone time (which will be a rare commodity in the coming weeks).
***
There's no doubt that I'm an outrageously blessed individual, but in the past few weeks, I've been supported to such an extent, I barely touch the ground. Half a lifetime could be spent trying to return these angelic favors, and I could still fall short. The only hope is to express gratitude and love at every turn: thank you, thank you.
I'm going into Something Big; the sense of this builds each day. Maybe that's why the seen and unseen help and guidance has been flooding in at an enhanced rate. It's not exactly excitement, anxiety, or even anticipation (though I'm feeling some of those, too); it's more like the quiet electricity before a storm. A change in air pressure. (Kate asked if it was ear wax). Meeting an angel or Odin. Something Big. I just don't know what yet.
The Sunshine Coast: Departure
August 23rd
My last day on The Sunshine Coast. I go swimming four times and do my laundry so it will smell like the beach, specifically Peregian, which smells bright and sunny and perfectly content.
I get a big kick out of other people's excitement when I talk about going to Warburton, this shared energy. While saying 'bye, Tom is near giddy when he asks if I'm excited about the adventure.
***
Sometimes, typically after a short amount of sleep, I'll experience that feeling of Instant Awake -- no foggy brain, no body grogginess.
It's around 3:40am, and I am awake. I scurry around, getting my things organized and into the car. Kellie drives to where we're meeting her parents. Hellos, goodbyes, and I'm in the back with Rod the Dog on the 11-hr drive South.
It's 4:16am
Kellie's parents are very nice. Her mom is sweet and her dad, well.... her dad is a lot. He is The Aussie Dad, worthy of The Castle. He gives us regular temperature updates -- "10 o'clock and 32.5 degrees" -- and when Mom tells Kellie's sister on the phone that we left at quarter past 4, Dad quickly and loudly corrects her: 4:16. He's not trying to be funny; precision and accuracy are dead important.
But all that really matters is that I got into a car, was deposited 11hrs later at Hornsby station, picked up 20 minutes after that outside Roseville station, and was on the couch in Beacon Hill drinking one of Lucas's magical green smoothies in no time.
Ah yes, I am the luckiest person you know.
My last day on The Sunshine Coast. I go swimming four times and do my laundry so it will smell like the beach, specifically Peregian, which smells bright and sunny and perfectly content.
I get a big kick out of other people's excitement when I talk about going to Warburton, this shared energy. While saying 'bye, Tom is near giddy when he asks if I'm excited about the adventure.
***
Sometimes, typically after a short amount of sleep, I'll experience that feeling of Instant Awake -- no foggy brain, no body grogginess.
It's around 3:40am, and I am awake. I scurry around, getting my things organized and into the car. Kellie drives to where we're meeting her parents. Hellos, goodbyes, and I'm in the back with Rod the Dog on the 11-hr drive South.
It's 4:16am
Kellie's parents are very nice. Her mom is sweet and her dad, well.... her dad is a lot. He is The Aussie Dad, worthy of The Castle. He gives us regular temperature updates -- "10 o'clock and 32.5 degrees" -- and when Mom tells Kellie's sister on the phone that we left at quarter past 4, Dad quickly and loudly corrects her: 4:16. He's not trying to be funny; precision and accuracy are dead important.
But all that really matters is that I got into a car, was deposited 11hrs later at Hornsby station, picked up 20 minutes after that outside Roseville station, and was on the couch in Beacon Hill drinking one of Lucas's magical green smoothies in no time.
Ah yes, I am the luckiest person you know.
The Sunshine Coast: The Party
August 22nd
Peter -- Tom's neighbor -- is having one of the full day shindigs he's known for, kicking off with his famous pancakes (I think the secret's in the sesame seeds). The main room is set up with a huge assortment of instruments, amps, and mics. People rotate between playing and socializing on the deck.
The general consensus on my neck is that the pain has emotional roots. Tears that spring up when Malika, a former massage therapist, tries her hand at it, seem to also point in that direction.
And here I am, on a sunny Saturday, surrounded by a group of beautiful women of all ages I've only just met. The men are inside playing music. Bobbie has her arm around my shoulder and Sue leans over to tell me she has chocolate.
***
After the sun goes down, the party continues and I head over to Tom's place for dinner, wine and Internet. I watch as he makes a what-do-I-have-in-the-cupboard on-pot tuna pasta; we have rather similar cooking styles. He starts serving it up and pauses mid-spoonful, "You do eat fish, right?"
I grill him about growing up in East Germany, about what it was like being a teenager when the wall came down. I head off before 10am: an early night as Tom has to be up for the farmers' market by 4am. Tom, it's not a far walk, I'll be fine. No, it's a nice night, I want to walk.
En route, I call my folks and, slightly intoxicated, rave on and on to my dad about how big the sky is here. I mean, BIG! And speculate on the constellations I'm looking at. And whether Venus is still considered the Morning Star in the Southern Hemisphere. And how can people navigate without Polaris. How?!
Meanwhile, Kellie has arrived home from work to find me not there. And has learned, upon speaking to Tom, that I'm on my way ("You let her walk?!"). She calls once. No answer (I'm talking to my parents). She leaves a message. She calls again: no answer (I'm likely mid-rant about how The Southern Cross has nothing on The Big Dipper) and leaves another message. By the time I get to the apartment, she's getting her keys so she can drive around to find me.
I feel bad that my insistence on walking caused her undue worry. And try to make up for it by telling her how big the sky is here.
I mean, Really Big!
Peter -- Tom's neighbor -- is having one of the full day shindigs he's known for, kicking off with his famous pancakes (I think the secret's in the sesame seeds). The main room is set up with a huge assortment of instruments, amps, and mics. People rotate between playing and socializing on the deck.
The general consensus on my neck is that the pain has emotional roots. Tears that spring up when Malika, a former massage therapist, tries her hand at it, seem to also point in that direction.
And here I am, on a sunny Saturday, surrounded by a group of beautiful women of all ages I've only just met. The men are inside playing music. Bobbie has her arm around my shoulder and Sue leans over to tell me she has chocolate.
***
After the sun goes down, the party continues and I head over to Tom's place for dinner, wine and Internet. I watch as he makes a what-do-I-have-in-the-cupboard on-pot tuna pasta; we have rather similar cooking styles. He starts serving it up and pauses mid-spoonful, "You do eat fish, right?"
I grill him about growing up in East Germany, about what it was like being a teenager when the wall came down. I head off before 10am: an early night as Tom has to be up for the farmers' market by 4am. Tom, it's not a far walk, I'll be fine. No, it's a nice night, I want to walk.
En route, I call my folks and, slightly intoxicated, rave on and on to my dad about how big the sky is here. I mean, BIG! And speculate on the constellations I'm looking at. And whether Venus is still considered the Morning Star in the Southern Hemisphere. And how can people navigate without Polaris. How?!
Meanwhile, Kellie has arrived home from work to find me not there. And has learned, upon speaking to Tom, that I'm on my way ("You let her walk?!"). She calls once. No answer (I'm talking to my parents). She leaves a message. She calls again: no answer (I'm likely mid-rant about how The Southern Cross has nothing on The Big Dipper) and leaves another message. By the time I get to the apartment, she's getting her keys so she can drive around to find me.
I feel bad that my insistence on walking caused her undue worry. And try to make up for it by telling her how big the sky is here.
I mean, Really Big!
The Sunshine Coast: Stars and Neighbors
August 21st
Kellie's neighbor stops to share a few pleasantries: the weather, the water, no whales.
"I lived in Canada. In a shit-town in Ontario."
"What one?"
"London."
"No! Why?! I know people from London. I've even been there. Once."
"Only love brings you to live in London, Ontario."
When Kellie moved in, she asked her neighbor to let her know whether there was anything she could do. Being neighborly and whatnot. Her neighbor informed her that she's highly sensitive to sound, and the metal toilet roll holder attached to the shared cement-block wall was an extreme irritant and to "just, you know, be aware of it, I suppose...."
Kellie took it off and gave it to her neighbor as an offering of goodwill.
***
Tom picks me up so I can take in some sights. We head to the National Park and I see a goanna (it's like a mini-dinosaur!). Tom's bag is stolen out of the truck and we run around for a bit, dealing with that "shmozzle" (as Tom refers to it).
At sunset, I go for a long walk on the beach and, after dark, see the most perfect shooting star.
That night, my dreams have a large cast of characters -- friends, family, familiar faces -- all coming by to say hello and wish me well.
Kellie's neighbor stops to share a few pleasantries: the weather, the water, no whales.
"I lived in Canada. In a shit-town in Ontario."
"What one?"
"London."
"No! Why?! I know people from London. I've even been there. Once."
"Only love brings you to live in London, Ontario."
When Kellie moved in, she asked her neighbor to let her know whether there was anything she could do. Being neighborly and whatnot. Her neighbor informed her that she's highly sensitive to sound, and the metal toilet roll holder attached to the shared cement-block wall was an extreme irritant and to "just, you know, be aware of it, I suppose...."
Kellie took it off and gave it to her neighbor as an offering of goodwill.
***
Tom picks me up so I can take in some sights. We head to the National Park and I see a goanna (it's like a mini-dinosaur!). Tom's bag is stolen out of the truck and we run around for a bit, dealing with that "shmozzle" (as Tom refers to it).
At sunset, I go for a long walk on the beach and, after dark, see the most perfect shooting star.
That night, my dreams have a large cast of characters -- friends, family, familiar faces -- all coming by to say hello and wish me well.
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