S#73: Get away from it all
We’re here!
CJ and I are on our second honeymoon* at The Palms Apartments, Merimbula. This is precisely where we came on our original honeymoon, except this time we’re on the first floor – which means THIS time we have water views and a proper balcony.
The proper balcony (also, a portrait of the author in her night attire):
It also has a good-sized spa bath in the spare bathroom (having two bathrooms on our honeymoon was a very nice way to ease into sharing a room and house). And complimentary bubble bath, naturally. (Side note: I brought a little plastic duck I was given eons ago, thinking it was full of bubble bath. It wasn’t: it was bubble mix and a blower stick. Every so often, when I least expect it, bubbles float down into my vision. CJ’s guerilla instincts have been drawn out by a duck. Who knew?)
Other than various awesomenesses and beachin’ it, we will spend a lot of time mooching about. This is a Brown Brothers Moscato that I particurly like (and thus “tidied up” from the leftovers at the birthday part last week).
Yeah, this is the life.
Our apartment also has a feature I look for in companions and houses alike: eccentricity. All the Palms apartments (other than the giant Penthouse) are built very, very long so that everyone gets water views. Which is why visitors end up with hallways like this:
The far end is the front door and the main bedroom is right next to it. I’m taking the photo beside the kitchen/living area, which is also (rationally enough) where the AC is located. CJ and I spent the whole week saying things like:
“Hey look! The hallway has a vanishing point.”
“I’m going to fetch my phone from the bedroom. If I’m not back in half an hour it means I got lost.”
“Do we have any snacks for me to eat on the way?”
“I’d fetch the camera from our room, but it’s only three hours until dinner time.”
and so on.
CJ also pointed out it was an ideal location for Australian Rules Indoor Quidditch**. All you need to play is a long (and indestructable) hall and one of those bouncy balls that lights up when you hit them against something. You also require complete darkness.
One person throws the ball hard against a wall. It bounces several times as it goes toward the other person, who attempts to catch it based on the sudden flashes of light.
*repeat*
We considered playing it, but the light fitting is glass and the walls are plaster (which could break or get stained). Oh well.
Let me know if any of you manage to play Australian Rules Indoor Quidditch. . . it would make me so happy.
*not actually true. I don’t mention trips away online until we’re safely back home. So nyah.
**for which we tip our mutual hat to Nick, who has played it many a time.
#280: Kitten
When I was about ten, my family lived on a linguistics town in Papua New Guinea, where people came from around the world to learn some of the hundreds of local languages (we were support staff, keeping the town running).
We looked after a neighbour’s cat while her owners were visiting their home in America. The cat had kittens – five tiny warm bundles, blind and adorable. It was one of the happiest times in my life.
Today, CJ and I visited a friend’s farm and found a pack of kittens. CJ talked to the humans while I dissolved into one big squee.
#118: Lend a cat
As many of you are aware, CJ and I are about to leave on a second honeymoon (two years after the first one, booyah!) so now is the perfect time for an awesomeness I’ve been saving up for a while. When CJ and I go away, we shove the younger, more easygoing Ana into a pillowcase* and drop her at my parents’ house. Then we enlist a friend to housesit the remaining cat (plus fish, plants, etc). It means that each of our cats gets a kind of holiday, and our housesitting friend/s don’t have to deal with the complex and potentialy bloody rules of cat politics (who is allowed to sleep on the bed, who gets fed first, and so on).
Plus, my parents get a ball of fluff for a week or two.
The ball of fluff:
The individual of our household who most deserves a holiday:
We’re counting the days now!
Coming soon: S#73: Get away from it all. S#77: Beach. #112: Horseriding! #110: Ride a wave. And more!
*it’s calming. She travels quite well that way.
#273: Walk in Water
We’re staying in a John Knight Park childhood for one more day. The wonder of running water never quite runs out. John Knight Park has a wonderful bubbling series of miniature waterfalls leading to the lake. Love!
Next time you’re near water, take off your shoes and get in it. That’s an order.
#271: Snake!
There’s a park in Belconnen called John Knight Park, a grassy and shady expanse on the shores of Lake Ginninderra. As I child I picnicked there with my family, paddled in the water (with or without permission), and played on the playgrounds. As a teenager I attended Lake Ginninderra College (which in Canberra means Year 11 and 12), and wandered out between classes to daydream that one day I’d wander there with the boy I liked.
I’ve been there for parties, barbeques, and dates. I’ve walked from one end to the other countless times, and often fallen asleep in the soft grass.
But before I knew it as John Knight Park, I knew it as “The Snake Playground”. One of the playgrounds is a veritable castle of tin and plastic slides (the former is extra exciting on a hot day), ladders and poles and bridges – all leading up to the highest chamber, where numerous snakes weave in and out of the wall gratings, guarding (presumably) great and terrible treasures.
I distinctly remember screaming while one of those snakes slowly swallowed me whole (if memory serves, my brother was giggling. Typical). I also remember wrestling a two-headed fiend, screaming for my life.
But best of all, perhaps, is the distinctive bulge some other child left behind one fateful day.
I think it’s a rite of passage on the North side for children who’ve grown up to return to the snake platform and be quietly surprised that the snakes don’t writhe in an untamed mass – don’t even TRY to eat visitors – and are in fact made of metal and paint. AND, to add insult to injury, there’s less than half a dozen actual snakes – when memory states they were beyond counting. There’s a moment of grief as all the memories choose to either edit themselves into a different shape, quietly disappear, or defiantly stay themselves – bloodthirsty and triumphant.
Mine stayed. Naturally.
CJ’s stayed too. He grew up on a farm North of Canberra, so when his family visited the city they were drawn to John Knight Park just as mine was.
And it’s worth noting that my teenage daydreams turned out rather better than plausibility would suggest. Perhaps my childhood daydreams aren’t as silly as they seem.
So if you take a pleasant ramble through John Knight Park on a sunny day, don’t forget to cast your eyes upward – way up to the very heights of the highest playground. If the childhood giggles filtering down from above turn suddenly to screams of terror – run. And don’t look back.
#274: Three books in three days
On Friday I received a wonderful prize from http://ripping-ozzie-reads.com/: The entire “King Rolen’s Kin” trilogy by Rowena Cory Daniells.
They’re beautiful, aren’t they?
They’re also – as you may have guessed from my title – utterly gripping. I usually avoid epic family histories (although I’ve enjoyed Jack Whyte and Robin Hobb in the past) but Daniells knows how to instantly and permanently make her reader care about her characters. The stress was almost unbearable – particularly since “King Rolen’s Kin” is six people, three of whom carry the story (although Byren Kingson is definitely the main character, and deservedly so).
I read hundreds of books each year, and not many grip me so tightly. Within a few pages, I knew I’d struck reading gold.
Last year I felt this same delighted flush of discovery over Sandy Fussell, Scott Westerfeld, and Pamela Freeman (who neatly but coincidentally fall into the categories of children’s, young adult, and adult reading – this trilogy is probably M-rated, but suitable for most young adults). Among hundreds of books, those three stood out head and shoulders above everyone else. This year Daniells is the first to give me that sweet shock of discovery.
Unfortunately Daniells has one big fault the others don’t have: the endings don’t work in the same intense emotional way as the beginnings and middles. After finishing the three books, I should feel enormously satisfied and at peace. Every time my mind throws up a reminder of all the worry I felt over the characters, I should feel either completely happy or completely sad (depending on how it all worked out). But the enormous payoff/catharsis I was expecting didn’t quite happen.
I know what happened to everyone who matters; I know the fate of the kingdom. But I don’t feel it the way I should.
Since this is something critiquers have said to me in the past, I know exactly what the problem is: reactions. When someone dies in a book, the other characters need to grieve (or sometimes celebrate). There are a lot of devastating losses in the book – and one extraordinarily tragic choice – but the vast majority of deaths are barely touched on emotionally. There are lots of blossoming romantic relationships, too, and as a reader I need to feel sure how it “ended” – with a first kiss, a marriage, his/her marriage to a rival, or a death. And a heartfelt reaction of sorrow, if the relationship is lost – not just a few sentences in passing.
J.K. Rowlings spent too much time on Harry Potter’s feelings in the later books of the series (making readers wish he’d just shut up and move on). Daniells has gone in the opposite direction, where her characters barely blink to lose people that should stop them in their tracks (even if it was only for a few seconds in real time – the great advantage of a book is that a few seconds can fill several pages).
Daniells is a genius in three ways: Tension, characters, and sensory detail (the world felt completely real). I know her a little bit in the online sense, and I’m willing to bet her next trilogy is even better than this one.
I’m going to go and read it – but not until I have three days free in a row.
#270: Classy Picnic
It’s so nice when awesomeness lands in one’s lap.
One of my friends had a birthday, and celebrated with a “classy picnic” – confidently leaving the interpretation up to his friends. Brave move, sir.
Does this girl remind anyone else of Mary Poppins (and yes, she’s British, highly intelligent, and very capable of letting others know when their manners are not up to par)?
The birthday gentleman is the one in a top hat and shorts.
I always seem to end up with a top hat at these things.
The curious thing about the picnic wasn’t the outfits. It was the – well, the love. Like most humans, my friend inhabits several very different spheres. This was one of those rare parties where the spheres actually mixed, and enjoyed mixing. I knew more than half of the people by various means, but I spent most of my time talking to a group I’d never met before – and it was fun (which is all the more remarkable considering I have a social anxiety disorder that severely impairs my ability to function). It was one of those rare moments in time when the weather is perfect, the food is good, and the company is effortlessly enjoyable.
Without trying, my friend brought out the best in all of us. He doesn’t know it, but he actually does that a lot.
S#99: Mmmm, sprinkles!
Today’s awesomeness mission was to bake a cake or cookies for a bunch of friends, utilising the awesome power of sprinkles.
I haz fulfilled my mission.
Here’s the meringues I made (crusty on the outside, chewy on the inside, and sprinkled with leftover margarita sugar):
My recipe:
4 egg whites
1.5 c. sugar
healthy splash of vanilla
Preheat oven to 220 degrees Celsius. Beat egg whites until stiff. Add sugar (gradually. . . ish) and vanilla. Drop by teaspoonful onto greased trays. Sprinkle with something shiny and/or chocolate.
Turn off oven and leave in for five hours.
Eat leftover meringue mixture.
Eat cooked meringues.
Blog.
Take remaining meringues to party.
#33: Photograph a tree
When the British first came to Australia, they really disliked eucalyptus trees. They didn’t shade you; they looked ragged; and they were everywhere.
Like most Australians, eucalypts are my favourite tree. They are evergreen, with a beautiful silvery sheen and a pale grace.
So here’s a pretty pretty picture of a tree.
What do vampires and eucalyptus trees have in common?
They’re dead but they’re still pretty.
Coming soon: swim under the stars, horseriding, and sprinkles.
#269: I Quit!
Every job has disadvantages. The disadvantage of private tutoring (my main source of income*) is that it is casual work – very, very casual. So casual that even when I actually have work, and no-one cancels, people very often either (a) Forget I’m coming, and (b) Forget to pay me, or (c) Both.
Generally I plaster on a polite smile and remind them to pay me – usually once or twice is more than enough. Other times, people make me feel bad for asking. Other other times, it takes more than one or two reminders.
At the end of the school year, as my income dropped by its annual 90% for the two months until mid-February, one family owed me $105. I called them about ten times, and was told four times that, “She’ll call you back as soon as she gets in.” She never did – in fact, she happened to almost never be the one answering the phone. She was always “out” or when I called her work she had “just gone to the car” and so on. I physically went to her workplace, and so did CJ, and on both occasions (which we’d arranged with her) “something came up” and she wasn’t there. She “lost contact details” about four times.
A couple of nights ago I was startled when she actually answered her phone, and enormously relieved when she said she’d had the cash waiting for me for weeks, and would be at her work all day the next day.
I went there. No-one was there. I called all three of her numbers twice during the extremely hot half hour I waited for her to show up. Two were turned off (including her mobile), and one was answered by her partner who said he didn’t know where she was.
I decided to amuse myself by calling all three numbers every hour from then on. CJ also visited her workplace during those hours, and again saw no sign of life.
After leaving around twenty messages saying, “Hi this is Louise. I’m just wondering what’s happening. Talk to you soon!” the lady answered.
CJ and I went to her house (on the literal edge of Canberra) and picked up the money. I remained polite, but I let her know that I would not be able to continue with her.
Not very awesome, really. The one awesome thing is that I never, ever need to deal with her again.
Also, our leather footstool spontaneously produced this smiley face.
oooOOOOOOOooooooo
*if you don’t count CJ
