I said that my last few months on the road formed a transition to life at home. The first transition was to Toastmasters. Over the years, I had visited a lot of clubs around Australia but Peninsula and Healthy Chatterers remained my home clubs. I was coming up to 40 years in Peninsula and 10 years in Healthy Chatterers. I've always considered Toastmasters my second family, and the Solos Network of motorhoming solas as my third family. I knew I was coming close to a divorce from my third family but Toastmasters was to become important again. One of the things that I have linked over time was the travel and Toastmasters, not just in my blogs and speeches, but in the people I met along the way and the clubs I visited. I often had TM projects on the burner. While I was in Broome in about July, I began work on a project that I planned to deliver in November when I got home. I wanted to honour my friend Jan who was celebrating 40 years in Toastmasters. She joined Peninsula at about the time I transferred from Coolabah club in Mackay. My project was This is Your Life, Jan Bell. Over the following few month, I organised speakers from all parts of Jan's life based on the TV program from a few years back. Some of these were pre-recorded, like her grandson Mark who was, at the time, at a United Nations conference in Belguim. Others were to be on Zoom. Former work friends and retired Toastmasters were to be featured. As well, I knew there would be speakers at the meeting, such as her daughter, her granddaughter, and many Toastmasters friends. I had to rely on current members for some of the legwork involved in the preparation as I often lacked internet connections. All was going to plan until the last minute - widespead rain along my route home. Australian roads are not noted for their accessibility. As I rushed across the Nullabor, then South Australia and turned north, everywhere the road quality had deteriorated. Some roads were more pothole than road. I rushed to get ahead of the rain but only got as far as Moree before the floods forced me to stop. I couldn't get through to either Goondiwindi or Stanthorpe. After a few days, a young fellow I had been travelling with suggested that we backtrack to Tamworth and try the coastal route. I got home 24 hours before my presentation of This is your Life. The timing of the presentation was fortunate. Jan had recently been confined to a nursing home. She had said to Janine that she wanted to go to a meeting and say her farewells. Janine managed to bring her to this meeting where we honoured her 94th year of life and her 40th year of Toastmasters. It proved to be a rehearsal for her eulogy. Less than six months later, in her real eulogy, we repeated many of the stories she was privileged to hear before her death. By then, I had sold my motorhome and settled back into a quieter lifestyle. Because I had been on the road for most of the previous 13 years, I had no community at home apart from family. Over the next six months, I deliberately built community. I continued with my two Toastmasters clubs of course. On top of that I built a spiritual community at St gerard Majella's at Aspley, including working in the op shop there once a week. I joined the Burnie Brae senior centre playing Scrabble on Tuesday and attending the Older Women's Network (OWN) on Thursdays. For a while I was part of a ukulele group until my lack of time and lack of talent led me to drop that. Once a month I attended a Murder and Crime book club - which I prefer to call merely a Murder and Crime club, to keep people guessing. A couple of times a month, I went to trivia. I played cards and boardgames with my sisters and some Toastmaster friends. I think I have a good balance of activities and have several communities where I feel comfortable. This will be my last blog on this site.

 Time flies. It is nearly two years since I sold the van. My wings have been clipped. I had a wonderful swan song - the big lap over 10 months! That trip formed a kind of transition from my mobile life to the sedentary one that was beginning. 

During the big lap, I travelled mainly with Bethel, Pamela, Robyn, and Ali. After the Cohuna rally, most of the Solos headed west, along the Murray and then north to Gemtree, via Alice Springs. For a variety of reasons, the five of us (and John taking bird photos) left from Brisbane and travelled through Western Queensland, via Mount Isa and on the Gemtree. 

Ali, Monica, Bethel, Robyn and Pamela

Robyn, me and Pamela

At the Northern Territory Border, my van, Robyn's and Bethel's

After the rally or bush camp there, all five of us continued together to Darwin. Ali had trouble with her van and was stuck there for six weeks. The rest of use moved on and spent time in Lake Argyle, the Warrumbungles and the Kimberley area. Somewhere along the way, Pamela sprang a leak and her van went on a truck to Geraldton and she had to backtrack to eventually meet us in Broome.

We made our slow way across the north of Western Australia. At times we were joined by others, including Joy and Ed, Laraine, and Trevor. Having one of the blokes travelling with us added a campfire to the mix. We usually didn't bother about fires but the guys always carried a chainsaw and built a fire. Depending on who was with us at the time, sometimes there were dampers or meals. Our eventual destination was Leeman, north of Perth, for our second rally of the year. 

From there. we made our way home in smaller groups. Carol and Pamela left fairly early as Carol's son was ill. Bethel spent some time in hospital in Margaret River then flew home (to return for her van in the new year). I was meant to meet up with Robyn in Norseman to travel across the Nullabor together. However, she hurt her knee and was air ambulanced home, with her van following on a truck. So, when I got to Norseman, all my travel buddies had gone. I stayed at a free camp there, met up with a couple who were leaving at the same time, and travelled with them for three days in a quick trip. There was widespread rain, the roads were in dreadful condition, and it became important to get to the east coast while it was still possible.

At the Cohuna Flower Power rally

This blog was meant to explain the transition from travel to home but I'll save the transition for the next installment.

How do you say that?

I never thought I'd hear school kids say that they were going to study epidemiology, becoming an epidemiologist. In 2020-21 this has been highlighted as a relevant science with epidemiologist appearing often on our TV screens talking of the coronavirus, testing, vaccinations.  Coronavirus (COVID-19) has provided us with an incredible range of changes in our lives - not just in the medical side of the virus but, among other things, including the expansion of our COVID vocabulary.

We never think twice about talking of social distancing and we certainly know what it means. Even if there weren't signs and markings on the floor, we know to stand 1.5 metres from other people. We have a fair idea of where to sit when we need to have 2 square metres of space, as distinct from 4 square metres - all depending on the current rate of infection.

I don't think too many Australians ever imagined that state borders would close, restricting us to travel within our own states. We know about hard and soft borders and know that within hours we could be locked out of our home state. We've been quarantined in our houses, locked down in our suburb, restricted to 25km trips, prohibited from interstate and international travel. It's a new normal. It's amazing that we get used to wearing face masks in public, allowing only a handful of people into our homes, not shaking hands, and perhaps working from home.

Hotel quarantine has been a contentious issue. Anyone coming from overseas or interstate has been required to quarantine in specific hotels. Most of the cases seen over the past few months have originated in these hotels, usually followed by a 5 day lockdown. There is talk of building quarantine settlements away from the major cities to house hundreds of patients if needed. It seems the virus is expected to hang around for years. We have have to get used to sudden lockdowns, closed state borders and mass vaccinations.

Christmas in a Pandemic

 It has been an interesting year with a global pandemic the main decider of what we did and where we travelled. Now at Christmas time, we can look around the world and see the huge disruption the Coronavirus has caused. Most of the world is still in lockdown with international travel almost non-existent. 

We have been very fortunate that Australia has a very deep moat around it and we have escaped the worst. Even so, there have been to date 908 deaths with 820 resulting in an outbreak in Victoria, and 54 in New South Wales. Queensland has had 6 deaths and our premier has been quick to close the borders when outbreaks have occurred. In fact, every state border has been closed at times and for different lengths of time. Many of us are reluctant to travel interstate as the borders may slam shut at any time and we face quarantine on our return. Fortunately, Queensland is a very big state, bigger than many countries, and there are plenty of places to explore.

I have been at home again for several weeks. It is far too hot to be travelling in the van. Driving during the days is fine as the car air-con works well. However at night the main air-conditioner in the back needs to be plugged into power as the power from the solar powered batteries is not enough to run the air-con. That means either an overnight stay in a caravan park (expensive) or sweltering sleepless in the heat. I decided, as I have very efficient cooling in my own cottage and local shopping centres and coffee shops, that the best place to be during December and January is home!

As it happens, all my siblings and my kids and grandkids live in Queensland so we haven't had the disruptions that many families had to face - either staying apart from family or taking the chance of travelling when they may have to cancel unexpectedly or rush home prematurely.  We had a get-together of our generation at the end of November when all 13 of us were able to get together for an early Christmas gathering.

My goodness, we are looking our age (from 55- 78)

This was meant to be the year I got all my grandkids together for a photo. It hasn't happened so I have done the next best thing and got each family photographed separately. I will do a 'cut and paste' and frame them together if I can.

Krista

                                    

Andrew

Greg

Open Borders

This has been sitting in my draft folder for about 6 months. I am obviously not going to finish it so I'll post it, very belatedly.

We are free to travel. What a joy! For us Queenslanders, we can go anywhere in the state and are able to go interstate if we are prepared to go into quarantine. From next week, our borders will be open to all Australians, except Victorians who are suffering another spike in virus cases.

I hadn't realised that I was suffering from some depression until I visited my GP a couple of weeks ago and fell apart noisily and wetly. Being the wise woman that she is, she suggested that I stopped focussing on my health, which I can do nothing about as I wait for results, and dust off the van. I have done that.

Two weeks ago today, I left home and have now covered the 620 km trip to Rockamption, with a few very small detours and 12 overnight stops. I like the coastal trip north as I have a few family members to drop in on.  I spent two days in Maryborough as my aunt there is in a nursing home and I wanted to see her a couple of times. One of the shopping centres has free camping in their car park which is very convenient.  I also wanted to visit my niece in Wondai. I have almost lost touch with her over the years so it was nice to spend the night in her driveway and go out for breakfast together before I left.

I think it is lovely to meet up with family members because we always have so much in common. On this trip also I spent a couple of days with Judy and were joined by Chris (whom I'd always known as Little Chrissie). She was always one of the 'little kids' when we were growing up.  That doesn't seem to make much difference now that they have caught up with us. We've all taken our own unique journeys but have family history and family stories in common.and are never short of a topic of conversation. Tomorrow I will be in Mackay with my grandkids - making our own little bit of history together,

20/20 Vision

20/20! The year held so much enchantment. While I was still at school, I wrote an article for the Soubirous College yearbook about life in 2020.  It was totally fanciful, though much of what I imagined has long been part of our lives. The rest will only ever exist in my dreams. But there was a dream-like quality in the very name of the year. I was not the only one who was fascinated by the magic of the year. People have talked for decades about what we could expect by then.

The reality has been totally different. Rather than a dream, many of us have experienced a nightmare. For me personally, it has been a year of uncertainty healthwise. Part way through last year, I was diagnosed with a non-hodgkin lymphoma - a cancer of the blood. Chemotherapy continued until February 2020 and was then followed by radiation therapy. I have been fortunate that I seem to have responded well to the treatments, though I am still waiting for final test results.

I have never been particularly vain, having not much physically to be vain about. However, even after my thick auburn hair turned to much thinner white hair, I have to admit I was rather proud of my locks. Losing my hair was a shock, though I consoled myself with the thought that I had a nicely shaped head and it wasn't too upsetting when I looked in the mirror (after a while!). Then, one day I went to see the movie, 'Little Women'. It was a favourite of mine from my first reading of it when I was about 10. I knew the story. I knew what was coming. I knew Jo cut off her long hair to sell to provide money for the family. What I didn't know was that when she cried, I would too. In fact I cried for several hours. When I tried to explain what was wrong, I cried again. I felt so sorry for myself. Another time, I woke up crying from a dream where something in my life had gone wrong and I was punished by having my hair cropped. By then I had finished all my treatment. I should have been rejoicing that my health had recovered but I was crying over hair that would soon grow. And it is growing. One day soon I will swallow my vanity and appear au naturel in public.

But I am only a very small casualty of the year 2020.. This year we are suffering from a global pandemic where, so far, five and a half million people world wide have contracted the Coronavirus, Covid 19. There have been over 400,000 deaths with more to come as it continues to spread. The USA alone has over 100,000 fatalities because it was not taken seriously in the early stages. Here in Australia, deaths have been about 100 (far too many, of course) but our Prime Minister, Premiers and Health experts reacted quickly to the threat and made decisions that changed our lives - and saved our lives!

From being a global village, we are now isolated. International flights and shipping have come almost to a standstill. We don't expect that there will be leisure travel overseas in the next year, at the very least - maybe longer. There are very few domestic flights, if any, as all Australian states have closed their borders. Anyone travelling from one state to another has to self-quarantine for two weeks. In the past couple of weeks, as infections seem to have slowed, some travel has been permitted. Here in Queensland, we can now travel 150 km from home, but only on a day trip - no overnight stays or camping. We are now allowed to have 5 people visit us in our homes. Hotels, cafes, restaurants are allowed no more than 10 customers at a time, so many have elected to stay closed. Many businesses remain closed with employees working from home when possible. Essential workers face the everyday insecurities of possible contact

Our children went back to school today after about 2 months at home. As they had only just started their new year and new class, today was a very anxious time. Kids had to get back into the classroom, getting to know their teachers again and re-establishing friendships that had scarcely been made, especially for those going into a new school or moving from primary to secondary school. They have had access to on-line learning with varying amounts of success. The worry for many of them is how they can catch up.  This is particularly so for Year 12 students who have missed vital months of learning as they prepared for University and careers next year. For many tertiary students, their dream of University faded as only distance learning was available, not the total change of education they expected.

There has been unimaginable disruption to our lives this year, and still more to come as this virus maybe around for months or years. I have been reluctant to write about the year as it has been so different from anything we could have imagined when we put those magical numbers together. But it is reality for us this year and important to record some of the events that have made up the first part of 2020.

Bark Properly

I am not a Dr Doolittle type. I don't talk to animals any more than I am likely to talk to trees or rocks. I must admit that I roll my eyes in disbelief when I hear grown humans talking to and about their animals. 'Who's Mummy's good boy then?' 'Give Mummy (or Daddy) a kiss.' Look at my little Arthur. Isn't he just so beautiful?' If I called my friend a bitch, she would be offended but she says to a dog, 'Come to Mummy.' Just what is a dog's mother called?

So, I couldn't believe my ears when I heard myself yell to the dog next door. 'Bark properly, you stupid animal!' When there is nobody at home, the dog barks - soft, pause, loud, short pause, short woof, over and over. There is only so much a neighbor can endure on a sleepless night!                woof .....WOOF ..oo.....woof .....WOOF ..oo

Not only that, I am talking to ants. I have a constant stream of them in my kitchen. I can watch for hours as they run up and down the wall.There seem to be protocols they all observe. Those going up, pause and seem to touch those who are going down. It seems a task is assigned to a certain number of ants. There might be a dozen carrying a crumb up the wall. No more join them, though they may slip back and make negative progress over a long period of time. Others just scurry past and leave them to their effort. I often tell them that I admire their tenacity. However, if they gather on a plate waiting to be washed, I have no qualms about washing them down the plug hole with hot soapy water. I do extend my condolences, though, as I send them on their way.

I suppose we all respond to the enforced isolation of Coronavirus in different ways. For those who spend most or all of their year on the road, it may be particularly stressful. The internet is awash with memes.  I have taken a few onboard. I like the reminder given in: You are not stuck at home; you are safe at home. I have also embraced the fact that language influences our reactions. I tell myself that I am not isolated, I am enjoying solitude.

We are being brainwashed into thinking we should be busy and productive all the time we are confined to our homes. We are bombarded with suggestions for filling our time - classes, dance parties, exercise groups, movies, new hobbies. We have to go, go, go!

As Solo travellers, we know that it not true. While we travel, we are experts at doing nothing. We can sit by our motorhomes and watch clouds drifting by, listen to the call of birds, and dream of places to go and people to see. We know that doing nothing is often exactly what our souls and bodies need, and we do it well. We can do it just as well at home.

My recommendation to my fellow Solos is, don’t let the world, the media, your neighbours and friends convince you that have to be constantly active. Just remember that times of quiet and reflection also refresh the body and the soul. And besides, we have earned the right not to listen to other people, not to follow their suggestions and not to do even one thing that we don’t want to. So, go ahead. Do as much or as little as you feel like. Be slothful if that’s what you want – and call it communing with your inner self! That is being productive, in my book.

Just to stay in touch with those who are spending more time at home than they want to, I asked for ideas of how to fill the long days. I was bombarded with suggestions and am including some but, remember, these are only for those who feel compelled to do something. 

• ·         Put your camera onto video mode and take friends on a guided tour of your garden, or your pantry or your make-up cupboard.
• ·         Choose a theme and dress for the occasion each day.
• ·         Play Naughts and Crosses with your teddy bear or an imaginary friend. Don’t cheat.
• ·         Freeze your car keys into a block of ice so you are not tempted to go out. (Maybe freeze your snacks as well.)
• ·         Register with AA and WW in preparation for the end of isolation.
• ·         Clean the pockets of the driver’s door of your motorhome. If you find a box of matches, check the tread depth in your tyres. Make a collage from chocolate wrappers found there.
• ·         Take photos of the interior of your MH, print them out and display them around your house.
• ·         Take a list like this and add to it daily. When you get to 50 items, post it on Facebook.

I have cheated a bit and taken photos of what I might have done if I had been stirred to action.Don't believe everything you see - technology is a wonderful thing!

Dressing up or my normal persona?
Note the white wig

Registering for AA and WW
Note the ginger wig

Playing naughts and crosses with Teddy.
Note the grey wig

Arranging my hair products in optimistic anticipation
Note the absence of wig

Going Viral

I love the way people put a post or a picture on Facebook and ask others to share it so that it goes viral. This year, with Coronavirus spreading at an incredible rate through the world, the idea of anything going viral really concerns us.

Last six months have not been the most encouraging in my life. Since last September, I have been treated for a Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma. Because the chemotherapy sent my sugar levels into the stratosphere, I spent six days out of every 21 in hospital. Then, when I expected tests to show an all-clear, I had to have another month of radiotherapy. All the time I have felt and looked well so I am not complaining but the light at the end of the tunnel was the thought of getting into my little motorhome and setting our. I finished my treatments just in time for community lock-downs.

I was fortunate, I realise, to be still at home as Australia closed down.  Overseas travel was banned, international tourism was halted, homecoming residents were placed into quarantine, schools and most of the shops closed and state borders were closed. Phrases like social distancing and self-isolation became part of our lexicon. The previous political buzzword  'going forward' was replaced by 'on the other side of this situation.' As our Prime Minister and state Premiers gave press conferences ever day, we stayed at home. I believe our authorities reacted quickly to the situation as our infection and death rate, though serious, are minuscule in comparison to those in similar sized countries.

One of the very positive outcomes of this virus, though, is the increased emphasis on our neighbourhoods.  I love the fact that our particular suburb has a flourishing Facebook page where ideas and suggestions for staying sane are posted regularly. Another positive aspect is the increased interaction with our neighbours, even as we experience social distancing. People we have never met before give an encouraging wave as they pass on their evening walks. A banner has been put up in the park saying, 'Smiles are contagious too.'

Kids are using chalk to draw pictures and write encouraging messages on the driveways. We've been going on a Bear Hunt, looking for the teddy bears people are hiding in plain sight for passers-by. In terms of neighbourhood interaction, we have stepped back 50 years to the days where we knew our neighbours and offered help when it was needed.

Recently, street libraries were set up. There is one, just a little box on the fence, about 150 metres from my home. My other regular one (before social distancing) was in the local shopping centre. This week, I have gone on a brisk walk (my daily exercise) to the street library. There have been times when the only books there have been the ones I had returned. This week, I think everyone is reading! I took six books down and brought back 8. Tomorrow I will return another 5 from the van which I finished ages ago. I am fortunate that I read almost anything, except romance and fantasy (which are probably the same thing for me). I had so much choice today that I realise that I have neighbours with the same taste in books. There is also a tub of kids books, DVDs and games which seem to have a quick turnover as well. I hope, as a teacher and bookaholic, that this is a sign of a resurgence in reading, especially of tree-books as distinct from e-books. E-books are fine if you can't get the real thing but there is nothing like the feel of a book in your hands.

Another very positive outcome of the coronavirus has been the increased traffic on social media sites. I am on a few which I check almost daily where the emphasis seems to be on lifting our spirits with lots of jokes, stories and memes to balance out the grim news around us. Most of my Facebook sites are for travellers - the Solos Network, Solos Cruising Oz and similar. I used to check to see where my fellow travellers were, now I check to see how they are keeping themselves occupied in isolation. Such a dramatic change in a very short time!

I have also gone online with Toastmasters. One of my Pathways projects was all about online activities. I have this blog and others but was unsure how to fill the other projects. Now I am online with club meetings and meetings for specific purposes - daily impromptu sessions, regular educational presentations and wider multi-club meetings. I have learnt to run an online meeting, do a long multi-media presentation, and master many of the intricacies of communication from a distance. Much of this would be familiar to those whose work involves digital communication but for the average person like me, used to face-to-face interactions, this time at home has been a real learning experience. There is a bit of a down side here, though. Instead of slopping around in my pyjamas, I have to get dressed, put on make up, draw in the eyebrows lost through chemotherapy, decide on a wig or turban, and sit smiling in front of a screen.

Life has changed.  I am well aware that for many this will be a very stressful time and will put incredible pressure on family relationships especially where job-losses are included in the mix.  I know I am resilient enough to emerge 'on the other side' with more technical skills and knowledge and with my health and mental health intact. I am fortunate to have close family and caring friends to see me through.

Tagging Along

This time last year I was travelling though New South Wales. getting ready to join a Solos Tagalong though NSW and Queensland. This year we are confined to home as a result of the Coronavirus, Some one said we have need to look at our mindset and our vocabulary. Many of us have talked about being stuck at home. It was suggested that we should used the term, safe at home. Instead of travel, I am going to reminisce a bit about things from twelve months ago,

Easter was spent at Wagga Wagga at the Stone the Crows Festival, a week of fun and activities for the Over 50 group. This was my first Stone the Crows and it was great. As expected, there were quite a few travellers that I knew, including Solos. I committed myself to two activities for the week and then went to anything that took my fancy.

I am now the proud owner of a soprano ukulele and a book of instructions and songs. After four 90 minute lesson during the week, I can tune the device and hold it correctly. I am pretty confident with the C chord, A minor and F. Unfortunately even the easiest tunes seem to include G. I watch others playing and they seem to glide across the frets. Do matter how I try, my hands still look like  chooks' foots. At the end of a practice session, I have to twist my fingers back into some semblance of normalcy. I may still need a few lessons.  Then after all that work, I realised that because I am only playing chords, I am expected to sing to provide the melody. I will have to find a big group so that I can just move my mouth and pretend to sing, as I was asked to do in music lessons at school.

Last year, Easter was very late in the month of April and Anzac Day was included in the Stone the Crows festival. I don't usually buy T-shirts but I'm always on the look-out for a bargain. Last year's festival T-shirt featured both Stone the Crows and Anzac day - two for one! So, I had to get one. I now have a shirt that I can wear only one day a year - or two if I wear it on Remembrance day. I had intended to do that on the last Remembrance Day but I was in hospital. Now we have Anzac Day just around the corner - and we are in isolation for the Coronavirus, The closest I may get to showing it off, may be to post a photo here. It probably looks better on my lounge chair than on me, C'est la vie!

Happy Easter 2020!

Safe Travelling

I think it is interesting to look at role reversals. As parents it is our job to worry about our kids,even when they are no longer kids. Then, somewhere along the way, we find they are worrying about us.

I've been asked, 'Don't your kids worry about yo travelling alone?'  My answer is, 'No. My kids are reasonably intelligent. (They got their brains from their father. I still have mine.) They will have done a risk assessment. They know with 100% certainty that they will never see me on the evening news being winched from the side of a mountain by a helicopter, or rescued from the jaws of a great white shark. I'll never be seen staggering out of a desert or a rain forest after ten days of deprivation and starvation.'

Non travellers say, 'You are so brave. Don't you get scared being out there by yourself?'  They don't realise how busy life on the road is. I am a member of  the Campervan and Motorhome Club of Australia (CMCA), one person in a membership of 65,000, couples and singles. Many of them have joined a Solos Network with about 900 members, two-thirds of whom are women, mainly in the older age group. Obviously there are hundreds travelling alone who have not joined the Solos Network. It is a genuine network with access to all the resources of the CMCA and, as Solos, we have our own niche with clear lines of communication. We have a Solos facebook page, a Rally Facebook page with information about upcoming rallies. We have smaller chapters which meet regularly and, as an entire network, we have the opportunity to meet twice a year for rallies which provide information and, most particularly, a chance to meet for fun and fellowship. As well, our Tagalong page allows us to tag along with our members at no cost, either informally or in groups organised by our fellow members,

And this not the only group that caters for solo travellers. Rolling Solo is a group of about 3500 women, representing a wide range of ages and interests. Solos Travelling Oz have more than 3000 members, Glamper Girls have more than 3500. The list goes on. I would hazard a guess that, of about 80,00 travellers on the road at any one time, at least 10,000 are solo women. How could you be considered alone?

Yet, you can most certainly be alone if you want to be. There are plenty of places off the beaten track where you can stay, short or long term. You are really constrained only by the amount of water you carry and how you generate power. Travellers who are permanently on the road are more likely to settle for longer periods of time, to stop and offer Blaze Aid for weeks or months or to house sit for a while.

Travelling around on any day of the week, you will find a variety of stopping places. Some use caravan parks, though this is a very expensive option long term. However, there is now a network of caravan parks which provide budget overnight stays for self-contained vehicles. RV Friendly Towns entice travellers with free or cheap camping, in addition to showgrounds stays which can range from nothing (in Glen Innes and many other towns) to $30.  Roadside rest areas are popular and there is a great sense of camaraderie as people settle in for the night. Smaller vans like mine can park in suburban streets without being obvious. This is referred to as Stealth Camping, though it is perfectly legal and safe. In the CMCA we have Member Stopovers (MSO) where members open their property  short term to fellow members. There are also farm stays and groups such as YouCamp which provide quiet accommodation in a rural setting at various costs. And, best of all, family and friends often have a back yard or a driveway - and access to hot showers.

Being alone on the road is a personal choice. We are always aware of our safety and that of our fellow solos. Lis, who does safety seminars, said that more than 85% of assaults and murders take place in the home, usually perpetrated by a known assailant, The other danger group is the 15-30 year olds. Most of us are older than that, we are not in a family home, and we are alone. We are the safest people in Australia. Don't worry about us.

The Mad Woman in the Attic

While I was working in Newry, Northern Ireland, I spent a lot of time in the Republic. I loved the feel of Dublin itself. Grafton Street is interesting. I assume that some time in the past, a whole street of houses was removed as Grafton Street is wide - shops then 2 lanes of traffic, then a wide central area, two more lanes and more shops. In the central area, people sit around, drink coffee, buy flowers and admire the sculpture called Spirit of the Liffey, more commonly known as the Floozie in the Jacuzzi.

I was lounging around the area one day, revelling in the conversations drifting around me and loving the accents. Just up from me an elderly lady began to dance. She wore a floaty frock with a bit of lace petticoat dipping below the hem, high heeled sandals, white gloves and a flower in her fading hair. She had her arms up in classic dancing pose and, without a partner, waltzed to music only she could hear. Occasionally she bowed towards the street when someone tooted her. She acknowledged any applause and sometimes drew an unsuspecting child into her dance.  I was fascinated. She was totally engrossed in her activity, almost unconscious of her audience, and danced with a smile on her face as though she had been transported back to some magical occasion.

Ireland, I know, and England and Scotland too, really know how to 'do' eccentricity. There is no stigma to being different and no hesitation to flaunt that individuality. I sat there watching the dancer and thought how different it would be if I got up to dance in the Queen Street Mall in Brisbane. People would avoid my eye, I would be hustled away by some authoritarian figure explaining that I could fall and injure myself. I would probably feature in a quirky little bit on the evening news and my kids and grandkids would squirm with embarrassment.

About the time that I returned from working overseas, my daughter Krista and her husband Umar began discussing some sort of living arrangement for their poor decrepit mother. (I had foolishly sold my house before I left and now, five years later was out of a booming market.)They looked at houses that had granny flats and even talked about modifying the house. They could raise the roof and make an attic apartment for me. I think they considered that idea for a while and then stories of the mad woman in the attic began to lodge in their minds.

The mad woman in the attic features in literature, notably for me, in Jane Eyre.  There is something sinister, unnerving, terrifying but somehow hypnotic in the situation. It is a bit like going to a horror movie. You know what is going to happen, you partially cover your eyes, but know that you must watch every moment unfold. Similarly, the mad woman in the attic may suddenly escape or her cackling laughter may drift down the stairway. With one part of your mind, you want it to happen, while the other part is paralysed by the thought.

Some of that no doubt went through Krista's mind and she thought about her planned children and wondered what damage would ensue if she added a deranged mother into the family mix. Not that I was actually deranged then but anyone who contemplates dancing solo in the Queen Street Mall needs to be carefully watched.

To avoid the possibilities of the attic, eventually they built a lovely little self-contained cottage in the back yard - close enough to keep an eye on me, but far enough away to shelter innocent children. I guess they decided than a nutty nana or a crazy lady next door was a better proposition than a mad woman in the attic.

My cottage is tiny but has everything I need, mostly neatly stored in cupboards. It may not have the glamour of some homes and mansions and doesn't have the Gothic horror of Victorian era literature but it is just fine for this mad woman.

Following in the Fingerprints of Matilda Mitten

I come from a long line of women who wear mittens, rather than gloves (though the genealogy has not been positively confirmed). Surprisingly this is not a congenital issue but something that develops over time. The underlying cause may be inherited but the catalyst varies for each of us. We were all born completely normal. Something happened as we reached adulthood and became involved in work or hobbies that needed care and attention.

My great-great-aunt, Matilda Mitten was the first recorded with this syndrome.  From a modern perspective, we would say she was probably autistic. She was obsessively neat but seemed almost immune to pain.  One day she was working with her embroidery frame, sewing the tiniest, finest petit point. Somehow she managed to sew her fingers to the underside of her fabric. She admired the top side and realised that it would take many hours to unpick the stitches and do it again.  Because she really didn't feel much pain, she decided to just snip the threads between the fabric and her fingers.  The frame came free but her fingers remained stitched to each other. That didn't seem to be a real problem and she decided to leave it. However, her gloves no longer fitted so she designed and knitted what we now call mittens, named in her honour.

Bella the Book Binder was my great-grandmother's mother-in-law's foster child. That seems a fairly tenuous hereditary link but, like the others, she became a fully fledged mitten wearing ancestor. In those days the book binder was responsible for the finished product. She was given a thick text, an expensive cover and a very strong adhesive that was designed to hold the cover in place for many years. Unlike Matilda, Bella was not neat or particularly pernickety. With a particularly large and cumbersome book one day, she slopped glue onto the outside of the cover.  Committed to finishing the task, she steadfastly held the cover tight as the glue set. When she finally removed her hand, most of the leather came with it.  The palm of her hand was one big square of maroon leather.  No matter what she did, the leather stuck with her. She sliced between the fingers to allow for some movement but the bulk of the fabric meant she could no longer fit into her gloves, For the many months that it took for that layer of skin and expensive material to grow out, she became and remained a wearer of mittens.

A sadder case was that of Maudie the Machinist, known more for her stoicism than her co-ordination. Maudie was employed in a factory making parachutes during the war. One fateful day as Maud fed the voluminous silk fabric through the automated machines, two of her fingers were run over by her machine. As she struggled to free herself, she was being pulled inexorably towards the next machine. There was nothing she could do but call for the supervisor. A quick snip from a bolt cutter, her hand was free, her severed fingers moving on through the process - with perhaps an unwelcome shock for some poor airman in the near future. Meanwhile, to staunch the bleed, she pressed the two remaining fingers into the bleeding sockets and bound them tightly. When she finally had the courage to remove the bandages and check her handiwork, she found that the two fingers had fused into the ravages of the lost fingers. Instead of the two digits she expected to see, she had a thumb accompanied by two arcs of finger. Mittens were the easiest solution!

Enter the next generation, me. I have managed to survive more than seven decades of ineptitude.  My fingers have been cut, stitched and stapled innumerable times. Unlike some of my esteemed ancestors, I was born clumsy - but obviously fairly inventive, to have survived so long. Let me tell you about my recent confrontation with a tube of Super Glue.  I was busily decorating a hat for the upcoming rally where the welcome dinner will have a Crazy Hat theme. While I was in Queanbean, my creative and practical host, Michelle, did the hand sewing on my creation.  Without spoiling the surprise and tipping off the judges, all I had to do was add the eyes. A good dob of glue, set the google eyes in place, then hold them somehow till the glue dried.  I couldn't quite reach them with pegs, the hat was too bulky to have a weight put on it so, you guessed it, I held them in place. Without going into all the gory details, I have to admit that I have followed in the family fingerprints and become a card -carrying member of the family Mitten Society.

A Marie Celeste Library

                                 
It is eerie to walk into a library that seems devoid of life. It’s like finding the Marie Celeste whole and entire and completely deserted. The sign on the door said, ‘Open’, some lights were on, the computers were plugged in – and there was not a soul in sight.

I settled myself with my computer and began work on some emails.  A couple of people wandered in, returned books, used the self-checkout desk and disappeared.  After a while, I felt like an intruder and decided that I had to find someone official.  The library shared the same entrance with the Town Council office so I went in there.  A receptionist assured me that I was free to use the library which was apparently open each day but not always staffed.  I did a couple more hours work, quite uninterrupted, reflecting on the comfort of small-town trust.

This week I have spent quite some time in local libraries, working on the Solos website updates which is a long process, reliant on a webmaster who seems to have a real life somewhere and signs on at about 5am for a while. As I have often just fallen into a deep sleep at that time of the night/morning, I don’t see his work until after about 10am, work on it during the day and know he will see it next morning. Our contact is, at best, peripheral, not the optimum working conditions. I do feel any occasional moment of sympathy for the poor webmaster who probably goes through this same process every two years with a new committee.

It is an interesting process working on documents that have been written by someone else, in this case several someones. There is such a variety of styles. I don’t know much about the site but I am trying to rework the pages bit by bit to reflect both the changing approach of the new committee and my own style of expression. I have learnt over time how to write for different audiences. The website is, I hope, clear and crisp and simple.

Today I am miles from a library, free camping at Wallace Lake. It is a lovely spot with quite a lot of campervans, tents and caravans right around the lake. Last night it pelted down most of the night and quite a few packed up and left. Today, there was no rain but a 30kmh wind across the lake dropped the temperature dramatically. An overnight low of 12 degrees is forecast. And the wind hasn’t stopped.  It is blowing a gale.  I’m glad I don’t have to step outside.

State of Origin

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At this time of the year, there is an epic battle that stops most of Australia in its tracks. It’s called the State of Origin. Don’t quote me on this but I think it started when NSW clubs had endless funds and enticed the best Queenslander to New South Wales teams – then skited that they could beat Queensland. Someone (no doubt a Queenslander) suggested that results would be different if each player played for the state where they started - their state of origin.

 Even I watch State of Origin. I think It is amazing what people will do for fun. Not just the players but hundreds, maybe thousands of people huddling under huge coats and rugs, in wind and rain and freezing weather, watching 26 grown men chase a little ball around a field.  For fun! Initially, I found it hard to work out what was happening so I went home and did some study. Correct me if I’m wrong but I think I’ve got this game of Rugby League worked out.

You’ve probably at some time in your life used the expression, as round as a ball. Well, in Rugby League, the ball isn’t round. The ball is carried and thrown more than it’s kicked or bounced. So, it’s been made oval to make it easier for the players to catch and carry the ball. (Is this too technical for you?)

The main aim of the game is to get the ball over the goal line or kick it between the posts more often that the other team does. The secondary aim is to prevent the opposing team from doing just that.

This requires two teams of players who wear co-coordinating or contrasting coloured jerseys and often white shorts. Believe me no woman, with or without a washing machine, decided on the white shorts! It seems that it nearly always rains on games. Most of the players spend as much time rolling around on the ground as running around. Before long, they might as well be wearing black anyhow. (Just a suggestion to the fashion co-coordinator!)

It has been said that this is a rough and brutal game. Not so, there is plenty of hugging and rolling around together on the ground. It may not be immediately obvious but players, when they are on their feet, do have specific positions on the field. There are the forwards for example. They are the biggest and hairiest. Sometimes when they are rolling around and hugging each other, the hairs on their legs get tangled and they have to have a tug-of-war called a scrum to pull themselves apart.  In a scrum, all heads go down into unmentionable places and everybody breathes deeply. The team that can survive the stench longest is the winner.

Each team has a little guy called a hooker (no, not that kind of hooker – they aren’t that sort of guys).  He hangs around in the middle of the scrum struggling for breath. Somehow in the frantic struggle, the ball eventually comes out of the scrum and gets passed to the backs! Pass is another of those technical terms. It means Throw.

The backs are supposedly faster and lighter.  They have to have ‘good hands’ which makes them useful on the field and appealing to women off the field.  The player with the ball surges forward and either passes the ball to a team mate or is tackled and falls to the ground. After years of being knocked down, they usually suffer brain damage and are then moved into the front row. When the damage is irreversible, they retire from the game and become sports commentators or even politicians,

Eventually someone dives or falls over the line with the ball under control. Because he has tried so hard, this is called a Try. It is obviously something of a miracle so one of the more religious players is called on to convert it. If that fails, he just kicks it through the goal posts and they call it a Conversion anyhow.

Some people think that players are in the sport for the exercise or the prestige or even the money. Wrong! Footballers are agents of social change. For example, the Rugby League game is used as a training for the blind. Every week some lucky blind person is selected to train with the team. Instead of carrying a white cane, he dresses differently from the teams. He is expected to keep up with the players by listening to the grunts and thuds and snapping bones. If he gets left behind, he blows his whistle and everyone politely stops and waits for him. Sometimes he gets so good that people forget that he’s blind and call out such things as One Eyed Ref. It’s funny, they all get called Ref – stands for Restricted Eye Fixations, or something.

For many people, football players achieve hero status. I talked to a young woman recently who has called her baby son Thurston, in honour of some player. While they are players, they have a devoted following which continues into retirement. Some remain famous to the end and some are revered so much that when they die, they are buried in special graves ten feet deep because Rugby League players are great guys – deep down!!

Moving along

Yes, I know I said I'd be in Canberra this week. But things change! Life happens!  I spent a couple of days at Queanbean with Michelle and her family - well, part of her family. Her husband Peter had gone to Mackay for the funeral of his grandmother. It is quite mind-boggling as Peter is a grandfather himself.  His mother would have been 107 next month. I have followed her Facebook for a few years and couldn't believe how active and astute she was right to the end. Then a fortnight ago, she fell asleep and drifted off over a few days. Way to go, Eileen!

As Dianne is still in my cottage in Brisbane, I decided not to foist myself on her family before she got home. I'd always wanted to see Ulladulla, for some reason. I spent a day roaming around there and looking at the beaches through a curtain of rain. Someone I talked to suggested having a look at Milton, only a few kilometers away. Despite the weather, I checked out several interesting little shops, had a coffee and went back to overnight, stealthily, in Ulladulla.

I had driven through Bateman's Bay in the way through and spent another day enjoying the waterfront. I took a three hour luncheon river cruise while the sun played hide and seek. Our pilot and commentator was very entertaining on the outward trip.  We stopped at Nelligen and had the recommended ice-cream before heading back, a bit faster than the outward journey.

One of my fellow travellers recommended a visit to Mogo, only about ten minutes away.  The village looked as though it had dropped off a tourist poster from 50 years ago. Everything was olde-worlde with the usual designer dress shops and lolly shops and leather works and art galleries and cafes.  After being at Milton the previous day, I was already overloaded on atmosphere and spent only a short time there.

Braidwood Servicemen's Club has free camping and hot showers - the ideal combination - and in the direction I was travelling. Support of the club is always expected - and I supported them. After a drink and an entree at the bistro and a coffee in the lounge, I felt I had paid my dues.  I almost gave them another $10 from the pokies but at the last minute, I had a little jackpot and pulled out $12. I had allowed myself the original $10 so put the extra $2 back into the machines. Exhausted after all that, I slept till almost 11am.

Never one to push myself, I moved on to Warri Reserve, a spacious shady area on  the banks of a river, The school holidays start tomorrow so I wasn't surprised to see about a dozen campers who had swelled to about 25 by the time I left in the morning. I had assumed these were families getting in a day ahead of the holidays. It turned out to be mainly grey nomads settling themselves in for the Easter break before the families and kids took over the reserve. Several seemed to know each other so this may be an annual event for some of them.

The Bungendore Showgrounds seemed a good place to stop but it was closed to campers for Pony Club events for the next ten days. Many of these small towns go out of their way to attract visitors to the coffee shops and cafes. Bundendore was no exception. A tasty roasted vegetable soup with garlic toast, a good hot coffee and I was on my way again. Once again I haven't gone far but I want to be in Canberra tomorrow afternoon so this seemed an appropriate overnighter.

It has been great poking about by myself for the last few weeks and I am now looking forward to catching up with others at the Stone the Crows Festival in Wagga Wagga next week. I will then join a tagalong to Blackall for the rally next month. I have to admit that I've been following with interest the current tagalongs on Facebook.  I am particularly envious of the group at Police Paddocks near Rutherglen in Victoria,  They are having a 'black tie' dinner tonight, in their best bib and tucker, by candlelight. We certainly know how to live well and with imagination, I must get some photos for the newsletter that I'm working on.

Tomorrow I will be in Canberra and will have a couple of days to deal with things like laundry before I head west on Monday or Tuesday.

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!)

Love / Hate Relationships

I have never had a love/hate relationship with animals. I have had a hate/hate relationship and everything in between - tolerate/hate, dislike/hate, almost-like/hate.

I am one of a family of 13 kids and, believe me, there was no room in the house or the budget for animals. So I grew up without pets - for which I was always grateful.  I'd hate to think that anything four-footed would be more important to someone than I was.

My own kids were a little more accepting. Greg constantly asked for a dog. Once he said, 'If we had a dog, what would we call it?' I suggested he call it 'Mum' because I wouldn't be around. When the circus was in town, Krista asked, 'When are we going to see the rotten animals?' She'd never heard the noun without the adjective. Andrew suggested I should keep my home made scones to throw at the dogs next door when they got into our bins. Even the satisfaction of seeing my husband walk away from us was compounded by my final yell, 'And take your bloody cat with you!'

And, in my other life, I was a teacher and had to cope with a subject called Nature Studies. I don't know how much the kids learned but I learned a lot. If a child presents me with a twig covered in tiny little black bumps, I will never tell them to put it on the science table until we could look at it on Monday. I now know that by Monday there will be 4,317 tiny spiders hanging on their own little silken ropes from the ceiling, the window sills and every child's desk.

Two fresh-water lobsters  should have been happy in their large fish tank surrounded by the love of the junior members of the class. Their disappearance overnight was suspicious. After all lobbies are quick to cook and tasty to eat.  The stench from behind a bookcase a few days later told us they had escaped of their own accord and obviously without planning their future. The fish that replaced them fared no better. When I filled the tank to the very top with lovely fresh water and dropped in some long-lasting blocks of fish food, I expected them to be content while we all went on holidays. However, perhaps learning from some of the students, they apparently jumped their way to a  short-lived  freedom and died a lonely death on the classroom floor.

A bird in another class had a longer and happier life. It was only a budgie but it seemed to be able to reach its beak out of the cage and peck holes in the kids' artwork and projects displayed on the wall. It was stuffed full of knowledge - other people's knowledge. And it gave great joy to the children who took it in turns to be weekend custodians, for a while! One poor girl arrived at school one Monday disconsolate because the bird had died on her watch. Her parents took it to the vet for an autopsy and was told it died of an inadequate diet. I would have thought with bird seed, cuttlefish shells, and plenty of love and roughage, it would last forever.

So tell me why do you think I offered to house- and pet-sit for a cousin who had to go to hospital for a few days? No, don't tell me. I know. I must admit I have been increasingly concerned by the realisation that my mind is not what it was and I am probably well on the way to dementia.

Watch this space

Getting fit and well

People talk about the 10 000 steps program for walking your way to fitness. Ten thousand steps!
 I thought that that number in a month or even possibly in a week at a pinch was achievable. I found out I am supposed to manage that in one day. One day! I bought a fitbit with my Christmas money and set my first goal as 1000 steps.  Today I had about 200 by dinner time but I got Krista to reset the watch tonight and somehow she has given me 2430 steps. Impressive, eh?

It's not that I don't want to be fit but with the combination of asthma and COPD,  my lungs are operating at about 52% and I seem to be able to walk only about 150 metres at a time. After a quick rest, I can do another 150m so over time I can get a reasonable distance. That's the main reason or excuse that I give.

By now I should be packed and ready to hit the road. Unfortunately my type 2 diabetes which has been fairly well controlled, recently spiralled out of control with daily readings ranging from 5 to 25+. I have just been put onto insulin and that is taking a while to regulate. At the moment I am taking my sugar levels four times a day and am starting to feel like a pin cushion. So instead of driving off into the sunset I am visiting my GP, an endocrinologist, a dietitian, a podiatrist and anyone else who is happy to take my money.

This is the last week of the school holidays and I've been busy with the kids - a couple of movies, off to the pool, a sewing lesson at The Studio with cousin Carmel and time at shopping centres and coffee shops. In fact, with the constant heat this month, air conditioning is the first determinant of the day's activities.  The boys have been very good at sitting in Zaraffas Coffee Shop several times a week.  They take a book or do the Sudoku in the paper. At home, of course, they are on their technological devices as long as they are allowed. Next week they'll be back at school - and I really should be travelling. I am going to be optimistic and start packing the van.

Four weeks later, I have the all clear to travel but have agreed to house/pet sit for a cousin who will be in hospital for a few days. (Continued in Demented Dogs and Midnight Marauders and in Love/Hate Relationships)