Parental Visit
Ah, Melbourne Cup Day. What a brilliant idea, finally giving me what I always need but never get, namely a weekend to recover from my weekend. Last weekend my parents flew over to Melbourne to visit. Saturday they got the Brunswick Experience, dragging them out to CERES to see the solar cells and the chickens and eat some yummy organic food. Not exactly what they were expecting to find given the extreme urbanness of where I live - I think trees around here all have names, there's so few of them (which is more than I can say for the streets, most of which appear to have no names at all, or at least not ones they want anyone knowing about). A turkish dinner was had in the delightful company of 17catherines and jesusandrew, the food was delicious but sadly the stereo was cranked up to beyond the pain threshold, so we had to flee into the night before the belly dancer turned up.
Sunday was time for the St Kilda Market and a bit of a look around the CBD. My parents have been to Melbourne several times recently, but not in the centre of town itself. My Dad commented that he hadn't seen the area since the 1950s and observed that it had indeed changed. So I took them upstairs to the Mural Hall in Myer, so they could see something that hadn't changed since the 1930s.
We rounded the day out with the drive back to the airport, stopping at a petrol station on the way. Now, some people have a strong feeling that food = love, so they'll cook for people to show their affection. My Dad has a similar thing going, only in his case it's petrol = love. For example, I've never seen him bring my mum flowers, but he likes to take her car out for her just to fill it up with petrol. He used to do the same for me, when I was living at home. Even if I came with him for the company, he would insist on doing the filling himself to "to keep my hands clean". This was a lovely gesture although it had an unintended side effect. It took me a very long time to learn how to operate a petrol pump, because even after years of driving I'd never had any practice. On the rare occasions I'd managed to use up a whole tank of petrol between getting the car home again, I would have to ask an accompanying boyfriend or a service station operator for help. Now of course I'm used to pumping my own petrol (although I still struggle a bit with oil and tyres etc). Still, as I drove back alone down the Tullamarine, reflecting on how good it had been to spend time with my parents again and have the kind of catching-up conversations that you just can't have in a weekly phone call, I couldn't help tearing up every time I glanced at the petrol gauge needle on "F".
Sunday was time for the St Kilda Market and a bit of a look around the CBD. My parents have been to Melbourne several times recently, but not in the centre of town itself. My Dad commented that he hadn't seen the area since the 1950s and observed that it had indeed changed. So I took them upstairs to the Mural Hall in Myer, so they could see something that hadn't changed since the 1930s.
We rounded the day out with the drive back to the airport, stopping at a petrol station on the way. Now, some people have a strong feeling that food = love, so they'll cook for people to show their affection. My Dad has a similar thing going, only in his case it's petrol = love. For example, I've never seen him bring my mum flowers, but he likes to take her car out for her just to fill it up with petrol. He used to do the same for me, when I was living at home. Even if I came with him for the company, he would insist on doing the filling himself to "to keep my hands clean". This was a lovely gesture although it had an unintended side effect. It took me a very long time to learn how to operate a petrol pump, because even after years of driving I'd never had any practice. On the rare occasions I'd managed to use up a whole tank of petrol between getting the car home again, I would have to ask an accompanying boyfriend or a service station operator for help. Now of course I'm used to pumping my own petrol (although I still struggle a bit with oil and tyres etc). Still, as I drove back alone down the Tullamarine, reflecting on how good it had been to spend time with my parents again and have the kind of catching-up conversations that you just can't have in a weekly phone call, I couldn't help tearing up every time I glanced at the petrol gauge needle on "F".