Hello everyone who’s coming up here for Christmas and I greet you with the news that today is the day you should have been here. Who knows, there may be another morning as good as this next week, but you may have already missed the best. That’s the way the rum balls roll sadly. The signs say ‘Woorim Surf Beach’ but we all know that’s an island euphemism for ‘occasional ripples’ and we’re very grateful to have that much, but today: behold the real waves, veritable rollers, at least a meter high. The kiddies on boogie boards are careening into the beach, screeching with delight and doing their best to knock over their younger siblings.
But what really caught my imagination was the mysterious advice written on the lifesaver signage: “sweep North till 10.48, sweep South till 17.09”, accompanied by helpful arrows for those of us yet to come to grips with the concepts of North and South, let alone East or West. So, if I swam out beyond the waves and floated in the water, I could drift up to the North end of Bribie Island until 10.48, when the current would reverse, and bring me back to where I started in time for afternoon tea. What could be more delightfully unexpected that that?
Here’s hoping that the ocean offers up equally blissful delights for you on the day you come to visit.
What an absolutely beautiful morning on the beach for the first day of the school Christmas Holidays. The sea was calm, the air was still and the water refreshingly cool but not cold. I almost went for a swim!
Mr KW romped in and performed his famous back-float, his toes emerging from the ripples occasionally as he drifted majestically towards the Port of Brisbane. It was then I noticed a small pod of dolphins frisking through the water. Mr KW had finally gone New Age and was swimming with the dolphins! What a man; what a hero.
The dolphins were actually about 200 metres out towards Moreton Island, so theoretically, he wasn’t with them so much as disappearing in their wake, but that’s a minor quibble. Good on all of them.
Meanwhile, I’m off to find my togs for tomorrow morning when my first swim of summer will officially take place. Fanfare please horn section.
I’ve been going through my late mother’s box of letters, photos and other memorabilia of importance to her, with a view to organizing it all to be passed on at some time to people who are interested. I came across this floor plan, labelled in Mum’s handwriting.
I’m fairly sure that this is the house they lived in immediately following their marriage, when Dad was working at the hospital in Ayr, North Queensland. What interests me most is the extreme modesty of the house by today’s standards of what is suitable for a young married couple. It looks like a dolls’ house next to the multi-bathroomed monstrosities families currently aspire to, but Mum seemed very excited about it and I’m sure she relished being domestic queen of her own little domain. Yes I know that sounds terribly patronising and defiant of all the feminist principles, but this was post-war 1948 and I suspect the desire for peace and safety overrode everything else.
The first house Mr K and I owned was in Townsvile, clinging desperately to the lower slopes of Castle Hill. It was also tiny but had two bedrooms, one of which the Kafkaboys shared. The laundry was under the house where I spent a lot of time with my buckets of dirty terry towelling nappies. This was a blessing in disguise as it was much cooler down there than upstairs and I was grateful to escape the heat for 30 minutes with a comfortable chair and a good book. In the chaos of parenting small children, you have to grab those precious moments when you can.
I have two children who, for my purposes, I will call DJKafka and BassKafka. They know who they are. DJ Kafka was here recently and commented that I never go to the beach. I used to walk there every morning, picking up litter as I went, a win-win situation. Since cancer paid me a visit (thanks for nothing cancer), I just got out of the habit because it was difficult enough to leave my bed, let alone plough my way through the sand to the sea. Now I have been shamed back into my Daily Amble, for which I’m very grateful.
This is how it looked the first day I went back, and I just couldn’t believe I’d waited so long to do it. Thanks for the motivation DJKafka.
DJKafka also gave me a CD of music from 1974, the year he was born. It is currently on high rotation in my car. The music is unexpected and mysteriously trippy, expanding my mind (as we termed it at the time) in rather unexpected directions. Hmmmm.
Two fat possums, sitting in a tree,
K – I – S – S – I – N -G.
Well they weren’t kissing exactly, that’s a bit of a euphemism
but I thank them both for choosing one of the trees in my garden for their honeymoon.
Come back soon.
We haven’t been on a road trip for years and I’d forgotten how relaxing it is to run away from home and drive off in random directions far away from normal adult responsibilities. Sheer bliss, but in the age of iPad and iPhone, there is a downside. With so much spare time and no work or domestic drudgery to fill the days, we have plenty of time to stalk Twitter, Facebook and other people’s blogs all of which usually escape our attention for months at a time.
So I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to everyone whose blogs I have been cluttering up with random inane comments or whose twitter feeds are suffering from my too frequent attentions. It won’t last much longer. Normal cyber silence will be resumed as soon as possible.
It’s a common problem and becoming worse every day. Elderly people, on the rampage, roaming free, wandering about with their baby boomer sense of entitlement, and generally doing precisely whatever they please. Damn troublemakers, the lot of them.
So picture this. Last night, in the very plush and swanky State Theatre, five minutes before curtain up on the latest Australian Ballet production of ‘Let’s Dance’, a minor kerfuffle broke out in Row C. We were seated comfortably when two interlopers squeezed in and tried to take our seats. They were smartly admonished and told they were in the wrong spot. “This is row B” we sneered and waited for them to scuttle off. “Oh no it isn’t” they and several of their pimply faced friends shouted back, and they were right dammit. Just before security arrived, we vacated the disputed seats with as little grace as possible and sulked off to the next row where we sat behind three young women with giant heads who obviously had no consideration for the people seated behind them.
To be fair, the extremely polite young woman at the door had directed us to the second front row when we arrived but as we are both deaf and chronically disinclined to follow instructions, we had ignored her. I suspect life is going to become more, not less chaotic over the coming years. I’m quite looking forward to the challenge.