I Believe in Magic

When I was a kid I half-believed in magic. I remember hoping that my homework would be finished when I woke up - but only the hard homework.  I recall clearly that it was my sewing. In Grade 3, I had to hem a hanky. It took me all year as I did a hundred stitches to the inch. At the end of the year, Mum cut off the mangled edges and I did it all again in Grade 4. This was the only homework I left out at night for the fairies or some magician. Apparently it was too hard for all of them.

Years later, when I dropped a pile of books trying to balance them and open the door, I wished for some magic that would just open the door in front of me when I approached.  That magic happened, reinforcing my belief. I also remember being at an airport, doing the long slog to the furtherest departure gate. I was thinking that a little bit of magic could provide a moving walkway. Hey presto! Magic.

During the past few weeks I have been trying to get the Solos website updated as part of my PR/Media role. There is masses of information on the site but it seems to have been done by different people at different times. I'd like to have a revamped site with the same style of writing and a layout that flows from page to page. If I can get it done fairly quickly, I can relax and just keep it up to date for the rest of my time on the committee.

You are probably thinking that I don't know enough to do this. You are so right. Fortunately we have a webmaster, Mark.  I send stuff to him and he uploads it to the web page. Well, that is the idea. What actually happens is that I write an article or gather material from members, run it past the committee for approval, and send it to Mark. Mark then tells me why it won't fit onto the page or why he can't remove what is already there or why I am trying to put it in the wrong place. I have about 4 entire pages all ready to go and waiting for Mark. Unfortunately, Mark is a farmer, has been through the fires recently, and gets to the website when he can.

I display my ignorance at every turn. My home page has been done and I thanked Mark for adding something to the page. He informed me that he only added a link to another page. Isn't that magic? I thought so too, until I realised that now I have another page to work on. It is interesting, isn't it, that you can underline a word or phrase or address and then, like Aladdin's 'open sesame', you are somewhere entirely different. As you can see, I am working far out of my comfort zone. I thought that because I could write the text, this job would be a breeze. Well, no, not really! I know that any task will take more time and effort than I planned.

I have had years of relying on my lovely daughter who works in IT. Even from a distance, I have been able to send stuff or let her connect to my computer, and things get sorted quickly. Now, being reliant on someone else, has been a bit of a problem. I am on a roll and just want to get everything done while my webmaster is not travelling and is tied up with problems at home. I don't think I am a control freak. I just like to be in control!

However, at the end of the process, we will have a revamped website, I will probably have learned something and I will be able to put it down to Mark, Monica and the Magic of the Underline..

Strangers on the Road

Some of the strangest people I meet on the road are our own Solo members. I can’t comment about any of them, partly because I am probably as strange as any, but also because I have to see them again. It’s best not to alienate fellow travellers, though I am sure that many revel in their strangeness.

The strangers I want to talk about as people I meet on the way. I have found over the past few years that frustrated travellers, stuck at home and still working for a living, are keen to talk to me. Often, they ask to have a look at the layout of the van with a dream of doing something similar.  In Glen Innes recently, Ian was interested in the van and had a good look around. When I commented that my insect screen at the back had been put up and had fallen down several times, he invited me around to his place to look at his etchings – I mean to his work shed so that he could fix it for me. I spent a pleasant two hours talking to his wife and drinking coffee while he laboured in the heat to secure the screens. And they have stayed up, thank you Ian.

Last night in Cessnock where I was overnighting in the motel parking, I went to the Leagues club next door for a drink and company.  A couple of fellows, Michael and Terry, directed me to the café and invited me to join their Trivia team after my coffee.  I didn’t contribute much but I enjoyed their company for a couple of hours and together we sneaked up from third from the bottom to third from the top on the Trivia League. Unfortunately, we didn’t crack the $1200 jackpot for the last three very difficult question. I should go back next week when it jackpots to $1250.

I have tried to get to Toastmasters meetings along the way.  It is very rare not to be invited to park in someone’s driveway. Several times I have followed someone home and got very comfortable for the night. With these meetings, though, because they are usually in larger towns or cities, there is usually plenty of parking in suburban streets close to the meeting venue. With meetings finishing at 9pm or later, most of the residents are at home and it is easy to find a spot among cars in the street. Although we call it Stealth Camping, it is perfectly legal and, with my small motorhome, I fit easily into a parking bay and am not conspicuous. It is certainly safer than finding a camp spot out of town at that time of night.

Sometimes I meet the same people several times on the road but even fleeting contact in a camp can be interesting. Where I am at the moment (Kurri Kurri – I have circled back) there are a variety of people. A couple in a big bus with eight kids have been here for a few days. The kids are home schooled, apart from three who would be under school age. They are very good – really energetic on bikes and skateboards, racing around constantly – but they seem to look after each other and I haven’t heard a fight or argument. Unbelievable! Mum is a real earth mother with flowing skirts, dreadlocks with coloured beads, and unruffled demeanour. Dad plays the guitar at night and the kids have stories read to them.

After writing about my kids worrying (or not) about me, it was funny to see it in reverse. A bloke about my kids’ age, broke down and set up here in an A-van. His car was evidently not worth repairing so he was waiting for his mother to arrive. She is a motorhomer from WA, on the road full time. She is driving over the Nullarbor, coming to help him buy a replacement car and help with his belongings if necessary.  It seems a long way to come to do the Mother Hen act but most of us don’t need much of an excuse to change direction.

This is a wonderful life for people who watch people. It’s fun to wonder about strangers but, because I like to talk, I usually don’t have to wonder too long. It doesn’t matter much who people are, what they do or did in a former life, or how fleeting our contact may be. We can relax with each other, share as much or as little as we like and feel secure in the knowledge that we share a common life style. We’re all living the dream

Demented Dogs and Midnight Marauders

Let me tell you about Luca. I think  a few years ago, we might have called him a bitzer but now he is a designer dog, part shih tzu, part maltese terrier and part miniature poodle. I have to admit that he is a pretty dog with ears that fly in the wind when he runs - like The Never Ending Story dog. He is about 6 months old and, although he has been to puppy pre-school, I think he should have gone on to kindy.

And he barks - or rather he yaps and can keep it up indefinitely. He barks at people going by. This can be a problem as Carmel lives opposite a railway station. Fortunately there are only two passenger trains an hour. He barks at dogs he can hear but not see. He barks at brooms and rakes and attacks them furiously. Once he has dragged a broom out of my hand, he drags it around, only stopping barking to bite the working end of the broom. And it doesn't even have to be in use. Carmel has to have brooms and mops behind closed doors. When he remembers where they are, he starts his routine again.

Last week, he discovered a container out the back with mops and brooms and rakes and stakes. After half an hour of listening to him, I covered them all with a beach towel thinking, 'out of sight. out of mind.' What I didn't realise that a possum would jump onto the towel, squeeze through a barely open window, push the insect screen and climb into the kitchen.  At 1.30 in the morning, this really gave Luca something to bark at.

Now, possums do look cute, except when they are on the kitchen bench, amongst everything that should have been upright, Then I realised he had almost eaten the ripe red apple I had bought for my breakfast and most of the lovely fresh bread I had deliberately left on the bench. (Once it has been put in the fridge, it no longer tastes fresh, so I like to leave it till the second day to put it away,)

My house sitting had now expanded to protecting the kitchen and all the bits and pieces from a midnight marauder. By now I had decided that possums are really not cute. They are filthy little predators with sharp teeth and lethal claws who like nothing better than attacking humans and their brave barking dogs. So filled with courage and determination, I took the dog and the cat and locked them into the bedroom with me - and I sat and listened. When I thought my unwelcome visitor had left, I returned to the kitchen, tidied up the bench, tossed my breakfast into the bin, and righted stuff that had been knocked over. As I went to replace a vase onto the top of the microwave, suddenly a little nose appeared from the cupboard above, followed by little claws, a grey body and a long curly tail. It settled itself on the microwave and stared at me.  Again feeling courageous, I opened the window closest to the creature and waited - and waited - and watched from a distance until eventually it flicked its tail at me and disappeared through the window.

I remember before my kids were born, I decided that looking after babies would be a snap. After all, I was at the top of a big family and helped with babies and kids most of my life. And as a teacher, what I hadn't learned at home, I soon learned in the classroom. I discovered that the reality of motherhood was designed to destroy all illusions of adequacy. When I offered to pet sit for Carmel, there were echoes of those feelings. I knew that friends were going to look after the dog at night, to be thoroughly spoiled by three energetic kids. When I got him back, I thought he'd be totally exhausted and easy to look after during the day - which he was as long as I took him outside to play for long periods (I had a book, so no worries!) and took him to the coffee shop where everyone knew him and made a fuss of him (and again I had a book.)

In fact I was so successful that, after a few days I decided I could keep him overnight. Baad move! (shades of Pretty Woman!)  Puppies are not like babies.  There are not long periods when they are asleep and you can get things done. They wake the minute you move and have to be within spitting distance - and they don't spit! So every time I moved, he was there at my feet, just behind, just in front, just beside me. I couldn't take a step without checking. How we both survived I don't know.  The other night he was so tired that he couldn't get to his feet. He had been sleeping in the bedroom doorway and just slithered along on his belly into the kitchen with me.

And his hours and mine were totally out of sync.  My prime sleeping time is 4 am to 9 am. Any other time I am either awake or trying to sleep. And I do not, NEVER do I, have an animal sleeping on my bed. He seemed to understand that and happily settled near the door or under the bed or on my shoes. But at 3.30 and 4.45 and 5.15  and 6.20 and 7 am, he put his paws up on the edge of the bed, pushed his chin as close to me as he could manage and whined mournfully until I was awake and then barked a demand to go outside. And yes, I hauled myself out of bed and with eyes still closed opened the back door (which has its own doggy door) and staggered drunkenly outside because he wouldn't go past the door until I did. A couple of times he had the cheek to pick up a toy and drop it at my feet. He had buckley's. I must tell Carmel that she doesn't have to keep throwing balls and toys. Luca now knows how to pick up a toy, run to the other end of the hall and drop it, Then he runs back to the original spot, checks for the toy and runs to retrieve it. When he drops it at my feet, he knows I will ignore it, so goes through the whole rigmarole again.

My kids when they were very little used to follow me to the toilet. If I was quick, I could shut the door before they got there and just listen to them whinging while I was occupied. If I was too slow, I got used to having an interested  audience. But my kids never squashed themselves between the toilet pedestal and the wall and stared at my big bare bum. It is very hard to relax, dreading what might happen. If he went in for a lick or, worse, a nip, he would have been a very dead dog, drowned in the closest water.

Today, when I dropped Luca at the friends who will care for him for the rest of Carmel's hospital stay, he barked when I left him. He was sad! He already missed me! What a lovely little puppy!

Oh, and there is also Pip. Pip is a cat. Pip comes into the house twice a day. Pip eats his food and leaves. Apart from a minor tussle when he and I wanted the same chair, Pip is quiet and obliging.
I was a good minder for Pip.

(I do love you Carmel, and I would do it all again if you really needed me, as I know you did this time. After all, what is family for!)