A Sentimental Evening...
But first the pragmatic morning followed by the afternoon of frustration.
So this morning we diced the huge piece of high density foam we bought upon arrival in Perth a month ago. It cost a packet but t'was essential after finding Dad had no sleeping facilities apart from a crappy single bed (read hammock) and an airbed of cold wobbliness.
We carted it back to Clarke Rubber and the divine staff who frequent the place, chopped it up into the sizes we wanted and for free without the need for proof that we'd bought it there in the first place. It was a little nerve wracking as these 'bits' were then stuffed into the old covers that make up the bed/bench chair components in the van. If our measurements were wrong (the new foam was thicker) then the potential for ruining our next 2 month's worth of sleep were a definite potential.
The old foam was becoming a little 'tired' and was, in all likelihood, not 'high density' to start with. The new chunks fitted perfectly and we now have a much more comfortable sleeping/hanging about/watching movies arrangement. That should make the next 10,000 kilometres soo much comfier. We were starting to get achy from the different bits of wood that poked into shoulder blades and the sagginess in all the wrong spots like lower back support areas. Aaaaahhh! Looking forward to the next leg even more! Now that the morning had been sorted with vannage being ready a picture to punctuate this tale and provide a distraction from the frustration about to ensue...
I give you the image of a nun, possibly from Indonesia or Malaysia, sitting in the middle of Standley Chasm, west of Alice Springs, just as the sun is about to go directly overhead and light up the entire gorge with brilliant oranges. She was quite a beautiful sight although the shutterbug tourists were hopping mad as they were all trying to get a 'clean' shot of the Chasm at noon. They thought she was ruining their opportunity. I thought she added interest to an already overdone image here in Australia. Quite an odd sight to see a touring Christian nun, possibly from a devoutly Islamic country, sitting so calmly and resolutely in the middle of the outback on a hot Spring day.
So, unsuspecting of the afternoon chaos about to ensue, we washed Dad's Peugeot. We'd had it on loan and drove, once only, to the zoo, where it got pooped on by every passing bird. For those who haven't driven into one of the new car washing jet machines, they are quite surreal and high tech. No brushes and it judges just how far away from the vehicle it needs to be. It was like being inspected by a giant robot. Very trippy.
Then we popped out to Perth Airport to collect Rex (or as we fondly like to spell it, 'Wrecks', sometimes known as 'Ship'). Dad is like the eye of a storm. He's a Buddhist so that may account for something. Chaos swirls around him whilst he calmly wanders through it all unbeknownst that he may be the cause. But he's adorable and gets away with moider. The plane was supposed to be 10 minutes late but then, naturally, just as we'd bought some food and a coffee and hunkered down to enjoy a late lunch, it decided to arrive on time. Earlier in fact. Naturally we noticed this important detail only after it had landed.
So I 'tried' to pass through the security entrance as fast as was inhumanely possible but they chose that moment to run every check in their kit. It may have had something to do with every outlaw biker gang in Australia choosing Perth as their National Meeting Spot to Sort Things Out re Government laws to ban them. Lucky Us. Hundreds of them have been arriving here and making the news and papers on the hour, every hour. The police are out in force.
First off, the metal zippers in my leather boots set the security buzzers going so I had to take them off and put them through the x-ray viewer. I then forgot that I had two different sets of keys in my bag, each with a different miniature knife attached, which they didn't like one bit and began to read the riot act to me. So N said he'd mind my bag but they weren't all that bright and kept putting the bag back through the bloody machine. Third pass through and I grabbed the bag and handed it back through the security stargate to N which upset them a tad. By this time I was getting tetchy because Dad is a frail 84yo and generally could do with a helping hand.
This was when the lovely lady with the sticky wand that checks for explosives residue approached me. I growled, scowled, whinged and restrained from lunging until after the machine said I wasn't a terrorist and bolted up the escalator towards Gate 4. And waited, and waited until nervously asking the steward if she'd seen an elderly gent, who moves at the speed of a Galapagos Tortoise? She knew who I meant and said he'd already left.
Sigh. So I bolted back down to find Rex already waiting to collect his luggage accompanied by a true gentleman, going by the name of Bob. Bob had wisely decided that Dad could do with a little help collecting his luggage. I gratefully thanked the wonderful Bob who then went his merry way. I then spent the next 10 minutes lifting off at least 6 heavy suitcases that belonged to other people. Dad's a musican with absolutely no visual skills whatsoever, even when he 'did' have good eyesight. His bag was generic which didn't help and I muttered under my breath that his next Christmas present would be a hot pink suitcase.
After these many fiascos, I forbade him to move while I then spent the next 10 minutes trying to locate N who had been hiding, I mean, sitting innocently, unaware of my frayed nerves, behind a car rental kiosk in the only seat for miles, while I ran around wondering where the hell he'd got to! I hate freekin' airports. I love flying but I hate the crap that's involved in just getting onto, off of, or collecting those that have just gotten off a plane. But I hate to think how long it would've taken Dad to do it on his own. He agreed that he probably shouldn't fly further than Adelaide from now on.
I encourage and support this notion but don't believe it for a minute! My mum, in the last month of her life, flew from Sydney to Cambodia to see Angkor Waat, returned via Ho Chi Minh city and Java (to see the Buddhist temple in Borobodur, Yogyakarta) to satisfy a life long wish. Her specialist doctor had a fit about it but she went anyway. Glad she did but I don't expect Dad to be any different. Just wondering where he'd pick seeing as he's been just about everywhere you can think of. OMG it'll be the Arctic!
There. It's out of my system. Everything that could've gone wrong, did. This means the next fortnight should be smooth sailing :) This was proved correct as we had a lovely evening beginning with N's fabulous French Onion Soup that had been caramelising and getting yummier by the day, partnered with a scrumptious block of fresh Rocky Road Dad brought back with him. He then decided to go on a nostalgic show'n'tell wander around the house. A book that told stories about Grandpa when he was a JP in the bush handing out judgements in lieu of a real judge to hand. Not seen it before. The history behind the framed medieval music notation on vellum in the hallway. It's been on the wall in every house we've lived in. Apparently it's c1500, Spanish and purchased in Toledo when I was with him as a little girl. There are 4 pages but only the front page is showing in the deep frame.
A framed shadow box that contained miniature asian instruments beautiful handmade to scale. It was a gift from the Chinese government when he judged an international piano competition, ditto with a Japanese woodblock print, delicately covered in beautiful rice paper in an antique gold folder. Many beautiful pictures tucked away in cupboards given to him for judging in Sicily, Italy, France, England, Czekoslovakia etc etc. As a little girl I received his postcards, every other month, from what seemed like terribly exotic locations when you're living on a farm in Tasmania.
He bequeathed me a book on reading 'kana' script with the promise I learn one symbol per day ( I used this book when I was a teenager learning Japanese at highschool. It uses the graphic design premise behind each symbol to explain where the design came from originally and helped me enormously back then). I also inherited my grandfather's Arlec engraving unit along with around 24 vinyl lp records that all contain medieval content of some sort, whether poetry or music. N has started copying them onto the hard drive. I lusted after G'pa's walking stick with the brass eagle handle and the hidden whisky vial but, sadly, it wasn't to be mine.
Although we were planning on leaving Sunday we've been asked to stay, just one more day. So we will. The memories and artefacts are overwhelmingly beautiful at the moment. Dad has lived one helluva life. Could be worth writing about one day... but not tonight... am worn out from a full day. Oh to be bored. Please? Just for one day?? Pretty please??
So this morning we diced the huge piece of high density foam we bought upon arrival in Perth a month ago. It cost a packet but t'was essential after finding Dad had no sleeping facilities apart from a crappy single bed (read hammock) and an airbed of cold wobbliness.
We carted it back to Clarke Rubber and the divine staff who frequent the place, chopped it up into the sizes we wanted and for free without the need for proof that we'd bought it there in the first place. It was a little nerve wracking as these 'bits' were then stuffed into the old covers that make up the bed/bench chair components in the van. If our measurements were wrong (the new foam was thicker) then the potential for ruining our next 2 month's worth of sleep were a definite potential.
The old foam was becoming a little 'tired' and was, in all likelihood, not 'high density' to start with. The new chunks fitted perfectly and we now have a much more comfortable sleeping/hanging about/watching movies arrangement. That should make the next 10,000 kilometres soo much comfier. We were starting to get achy from the different bits of wood that poked into shoulder blades and the sagginess in all the wrong spots like lower back support areas. Aaaaahhh! Looking forward to the next leg even more! Now that the morning had been sorted with vannage being ready a picture to punctuate this tale and provide a distraction from the frustration about to ensue...
I give you the image of a nun, possibly from Indonesia or Malaysia, sitting in the middle of Standley Chasm, west of Alice Springs, just as the sun is about to go directly overhead and light up the entire gorge with brilliant oranges. She was quite a beautiful sight although the shutterbug tourists were hopping mad as they were all trying to get a 'clean' shot of the Chasm at noon. They thought she was ruining their opportunity. I thought she added interest to an already overdone image here in Australia. Quite an odd sight to see a touring Christian nun, possibly from a devoutly Islamic country, sitting so calmly and resolutely in the middle of the outback on a hot Spring day.
So, unsuspecting of the afternoon chaos about to ensue, we washed Dad's Peugeot. We'd had it on loan and drove, once only, to the zoo, where it got pooped on by every passing bird. For those who haven't driven into one of the new car washing jet machines, they are quite surreal and high tech. No brushes and it judges just how far away from the vehicle it needs to be. It was like being inspected by a giant robot. Very trippy.
Then we popped out to Perth Airport to collect Rex (or as we fondly like to spell it, 'Wrecks', sometimes known as 'Ship'). Dad is like the eye of a storm. He's a Buddhist so that may account for something. Chaos swirls around him whilst he calmly wanders through it all unbeknownst that he may be the cause. But he's adorable and gets away with moider. The plane was supposed to be 10 minutes late but then, naturally, just as we'd bought some food and a coffee and hunkered down to enjoy a late lunch, it decided to arrive on time. Earlier in fact. Naturally we noticed this important detail only after it had landed.
So I 'tried' to pass through the security entrance as fast as was inhumanely possible but they chose that moment to run every check in their kit. It may have had something to do with every outlaw biker gang in Australia choosing Perth as their National Meeting Spot to Sort Things Out re Government laws to ban them. Lucky Us. Hundreds of them have been arriving here and making the news and papers on the hour, every hour. The police are out in force.
First off, the metal zippers in my leather boots set the security buzzers going so I had to take them off and put them through the x-ray viewer. I then forgot that I had two different sets of keys in my bag, each with a different miniature knife attached, which they didn't like one bit and began to read the riot act to me. So N said he'd mind my bag but they weren't all that bright and kept putting the bag back through the bloody machine. Third pass through and I grabbed the bag and handed it back through the security stargate to N which upset them a tad. By this time I was getting tetchy because Dad is a frail 84yo and generally could do with a helping hand.
This was when the lovely lady with the sticky wand that checks for explosives residue approached me. I growled, scowled, whinged and restrained from lunging until after the machine said I wasn't a terrorist and bolted up the escalator towards Gate 4. And waited, and waited until nervously asking the steward if she'd seen an elderly gent, who moves at the speed of a Galapagos Tortoise? She knew who I meant and said he'd already left.
Sigh. So I bolted back down to find Rex already waiting to collect his luggage accompanied by a true gentleman, going by the name of Bob. Bob had wisely decided that Dad could do with a little help collecting his luggage. I gratefully thanked the wonderful Bob who then went his merry way. I then spent the next 10 minutes lifting off at least 6 heavy suitcases that belonged to other people. Dad's a musican with absolutely no visual skills whatsoever, even when he 'did' have good eyesight. His bag was generic which didn't help and I muttered under my breath that his next Christmas present would be a hot pink suitcase.
After these many fiascos, I forbade him to move while I then spent the next 10 minutes trying to locate N who had been hiding, I mean, sitting innocently, unaware of my frayed nerves, behind a car rental kiosk in the only seat for miles, while I ran around wondering where the hell he'd got to! I hate freekin' airports. I love flying but I hate the crap that's involved in just getting onto, off of, or collecting those that have just gotten off a plane. But I hate to think how long it would've taken Dad to do it on his own. He agreed that he probably shouldn't fly further than Adelaide from now on.
I encourage and support this notion but don't believe it for a minute! My mum, in the last month of her life, flew from Sydney to Cambodia to see Angkor Waat, returned via Ho Chi Minh city and Java (to see the Buddhist temple in Borobodur, Yogyakarta) to satisfy a life long wish. Her specialist doctor had a fit about it but she went anyway. Glad she did but I don't expect Dad to be any different. Just wondering where he'd pick seeing as he's been just about everywhere you can think of. OMG it'll be the Arctic!
There. It's out of my system. Everything that could've gone wrong, did. This means the next fortnight should be smooth sailing :) This was proved correct as we had a lovely evening beginning with N's fabulous French Onion Soup that had been caramelising and getting yummier by the day, partnered with a scrumptious block of fresh Rocky Road Dad brought back with him. He then decided to go on a nostalgic show'n'tell wander around the house. A book that told stories about Grandpa when he was a JP in the bush handing out judgements in lieu of a real judge to hand. Not seen it before. The history behind the framed medieval music notation on vellum in the hallway. It's been on the wall in every house we've lived in. Apparently it's c1500, Spanish and purchased in Toledo when I was with him as a little girl. There are 4 pages but only the front page is showing in the deep frame.
A framed shadow box that contained miniature asian instruments beautiful handmade to scale. It was a gift from the Chinese government when he judged an international piano competition, ditto with a Japanese woodblock print, delicately covered in beautiful rice paper in an antique gold folder. Many beautiful pictures tucked away in cupboards given to him for judging in Sicily, Italy, France, England, Czekoslovakia etc etc. As a little girl I received his postcards, every other month, from what seemed like terribly exotic locations when you're living on a farm in Tasmania.
He bequeathed me a book on reading 'kana' script with the promise I learn one symbol per day ( I used this book when I was a teenager learning Japanese at highschool. It uses the graphic design premise behind each symbol to explain where the design came from originally and helped me enormously back then). I also inherited my grandfather's Arlec engraving unit along with around 24 vinyl lp records that all contain medieval content of some sort, whether poetry or music. N has started copying them onto the hard drive. I lusted after G'pa's walking stick with the brass eagle handle and the hidden whisky vial but, sadly, it wasn't to be mine.
Although we were planning on leaving Sunday we've been asked to stay, just one more day. So we will. The memories and artefacts are overwhelmingly beautiful at the moment. Dad has lived one helluva life. Could be worth writing about one day... but not tonight... am worn out from a full day. Oh to be bored. Please? Just for one day?? Pretty please??