My thanks go to my friend Lorelle who took these beautiful photographs of Ashton’s Wharf (the hinterland off Coolum and near Yandina, Sunshine Coast, Queensland) as the sun went down. Lorelle, Dell and I were not the only ones to enjoy the spectacle of the sunset reflecting on the water; a couple with three children were already on the jetty when we arrived. It’s heartening to know that people still seek out and enjoy the simple pleasures, and that children are not always on their computers.
Monthly Archives: April 2015
Car-Stoppingly Brilliant Queensland Sunsets
Yesterday I had to stop the car and take shots of the fire in the sky above Belivah and just a few minutes ago I was impelled to get in the car and search for a better view. Higher ground wasn’t better – too many trees – and by the time I found the perfect spot (around the corner) the sun had nearly disappeared. But you can take my word for it that the sky was a blaze of red.
A Feast Before Breakfast
It’s the last morning of my house-sitting stint at Maroochy River so, before leaving, I simply had to go back and see Ashton’s Wharf and Mt. Ninderry in the light of day. Bella noticed me going down the steps to the car and she ran ahead of me.
“Are you leaving without saying goodbye to me?” she asked with a look of despondency.
“No Bella, I’m just going to take some photographs. I will be back in a jiffy for breakfast,” I assured her and she went up the steps.
I let her sit by me as I ate my toast and Vegemite. We both feel a little sad because soon I will be off back to Brisbane.
If rivers and mountains at dawn (or just after) are your cup of tea, then here is a little treat for you.
Ah So, Grasshopper
What do you do on an Easter Sunday on your own in a sub-tropical paradise? You go in the spa, take photographs of the extraordinarily beautiful dog and cat, and marvel at the colours and shapes of the sub-tropical flora around the spa; and when you’re drying off you notice the colourful insect-life also basking in the sunshine, namely a nice green grasshopper that looks like Jiminy Cricket.
Soon your friends come over to join you for lunch and you have even more fun in the spa. You sit on the verandah and imagine painting pictures of the bucolic setting made even more lovely by the long shadows of the afternoon. As daylight fades you all go to Ashton’s Wharf, just a stone’s throw away, and you watch as the sun goes down, reflecting its glory on the Maroochy River; and finally you take a drive up Mount Ninderry, but it’s a bit too dark to see the view so you promise yourself to get up at sunrise and return to the same spot.
In between all that I slipped on the wet decking as I got out of the spa. As I went down I took the tall stool with me. Lorelle jumped out of the spa in a flash, assisted me to my feet and ascertained that I was still in one piece with nothing broken or maimed. Then she looked around in alarm.
“Where are my glasses?” she asked. “They were right there on the high stool.”
Equally concerned and feeling responsible I bent down to search the decking area. As I did so a pair of glasses fell forwards from the top of my head.
“These must be yours,” I observed and everyone laughed.
Lorelle’s glasses had flown through the air and landed exactly over my head – even the arms hung down to my ears!
A Walk Into the Landscape
Have you ever been fascinated by a little spot on the landscape and thought, “I wonder what is behind there?” One afternoon, not long before nightfall, I decided to investigate an enticing gap in the treeline in the mid-ground of my view from the verandah (you may remember that I’m staying in Maroochy River, Sunshine Coast, Queensland). This is what I found…
The Indignity of Growing Old and… Fat
Considering that it’s Chris’s birthday today, you might imagine by the title of this blog post that I am referring to Chris again, but you would be wrong because he neither old nor fat, which is more than I can say for – no, not me either (perish the thought!) – Bella. Now she is ninety-eight and weighs a ton; and she gets a bit breathless on hills and her hips give her gyp. Nevertheless, she still has all her marbles and she is incredibly beautiful in spite of her age and size.
Normally Bella stays at home, lounging on the verandah or pottering (pottying) around on the two and a half acre estate, but not when I’m here house, dog and cat-sitting. She remembers me and the happy hours we spent together on earlier, and more prolonged, visits. Perhaps she also remembers the day when a suckling mother pit-bull terrier broke through a fence and came at me, and Bella preempted the attack and fought, neck to neck, until I joined the fray and there was impasse… and then the neighbours came to our aid and checked our wounds – we each had a bloodied bite on one shin.
Bella associates me with walking, losing a bit of weight and becoming fitter. I know this because when she sees me her eyes light up, her tail wags and she skips around in anticipation of the words:
“So would you like to go for a walk Bella?” (“Beautiful Bella”, I might add, owing to the bond between us and because I like the sound of it rolling off my tongue.)
We went for a walk yesterday and today. We took the same route – just down the road and around the corner, past the small bridge and a little way beyond the electricity box. You might wonder that it’s boring, going the same way but it isn’t – we may encounter the same dogs behind fences, however their moods can be quite different from one day to another. None of them barked nearly so much today. People always slow down in their cars as they pass and they always wave or even stop to make conversation. Everybody loves Bella.
The first half of our excursion is mostly downhill or fairly flat – that’s when Bella is most buoyant; conversely, the second half – the home leg – is nearly all uphill and Bella needs to take regular rests in the shade. On one of these rest stops we met a nice little girl called Talisa and her mother Chantal; they invited Bella to meet some new chicks and we were joined by their poodles. After a drink of water Bella felt better equipped to continue the long haul up.
She walked about twenty metres and fancied another rest just where a trickle of water runs down the road gutter; she blocked the flow with her voluptuous body and, over the course of several minutes, created a dual-purpose dam that both cooled her underside and provided another free drink.
“Come on girl. Are you ready to go?” I asked enthusiastically.
“Not yet,” she said with her expression. (She saw through the enthusiasm.)
“Come on Bella,” I cajoled. “Please Bella?”
Some while later I decided to be firm and walk ahead.
Reluctantly, Bella advanced the thirty metres to where I was waiting by a neighbour’s entrance and she plonked herself down again in the same manner as before. Cars came and went. Some of the same cars that had left eventually returned. People waved. People wound down their windows and introduced themselves. People thought Bella was very clever, beautiful and… tired.
“You could be here all day,” said Kylie, the strong lady who remembered me from two years ago – she had picked me up when I had slipped over on algae and slid backwards, head-first, down the mountainous wet drive that was like a waterfall.
“I know,” I answered, getting up from the rock where I had been sitting for half an hour.
“Why don’t I get the car and we’ll give her a lift?” she suggested persuasively.
Kylie and her daughter returned with a four-by-four. Those off-roaders are really quite high I noticed when she opened the back door.
“Come on Bella, put your paws up there,” I urged, lifting her paws.
“Not bleeding likely,” said Bella with a face that could kill.
Kylie is a strong and practical lady and saw no reason why I shouldn’t be the same.
“I’ll take her front legs, you take her hind legs,” she bent and lifted before I had the chance to consider how to find a good hold.
“What about her bad hips?” I worried and attempted to lift Bella from underneath only half-heartedly.
Bella weighs a ton – now I know!
“Let’s see if she’ll jump up again,” said Kylie.
We looked and saw the futility. The slim daughter looked on and tutted. Bella, looking resolute, lay like a big roly poly pudding in her puddle.
“You take the front legs and I’ll take the back,” said the Amazon and she bent down to grab Bella’s bottom before I could assess how best to gently raise the pudding.
Did I tell you that Bella understands what you’re saying? Bella, with as much grace as a big flobbery pudding can manage, suddenly rose on all fours and made a dash for it up the hill.
We all marvelled and hopefully, wounded pride has been assuaged. Bravo Bella! Not quite so old and fat after all!
Chris’s Birthday
“Good Lord old chap! I had no idea that you were twenty-seven and working in Town! Thought you were thirteen and rather tall for your age!” said Chris’s uncle, who was in fact a family friend.
“Oh Alison,” Chris’s aunty whispered to his mother. “Doesn’t he look young? Of course, he doesn’t appreciate it now but he’ll be grateful later on in life,” she commiserated, making her last sentence more audible.
But Chris heard everything – not even a tad deaf in his youth (quite hard to say, even in one’s head) – and blushed to his roots. As much as the young Chris had grown accustomed to the frequent comments and asides about his beautiful “baby” blond curls and fresh ruddy complexion, he still found it excruciating. At that time he was a rich and successful surveyor, on his tenth sports car, owned his third house and thought he was a sex-god. (Ah, if only I had known him then… Hold on… I would have been fifteen.)
The years have been kind to my husband. He still has all his hair and old ladies still come up to him in supermarkets to admire his golden curls (which have been kissed by the sun, not chemicals, in case you’re suspicious).
Today it is Chris’s birthday, not a special birthday (unless you are of the mind that aging is a wonderful thing to rush towards with open arms) and, on a whole, we’d both rather forget birthdays; however, in our house we usually mark these milestones with romantic poems or personalised romantic cards. This birthday is no exception. I’m sure Chris won’t mind if I share with you the four cards I made for him last night…
Incidentally, when I was fifteen (and a burgeoning femme fatal – in my own mind) I was ending my paper-round one morning when several workman on their way to work passed by me. The eldest man greeted me with a wave and said:
“Good morning sonny!”
Mortifying!!!
An excerpt from the accompanying email:-
It’s very nearly your birthday and all I have prepared for you are four cards. I’m hoping that at least one of them meets with your expectations of both “humour and romance” (is that how you put it?). In fact two of them are part of a whole – a sort of two for one experience – intended to make you feel great about your fine attributes, especially because I value them so highly!
I chose one of my favourite recent photographs of you and you will see that I’ve used it to good effect on each of the cards. Incidentally, I think that Stan Laurel really was quite good looking when he was being normal…
And Then There Were Two
Firstly, assuming that you are vaguely interested in my sleeping arrangements last night, I must tell you that Lorelle was rather a good sleeping companion (you will perhaps be aware that owing to the arrival of Carlo, the good-looking Spanish/Italian German, we girls had to resort to sharing a double bed). Happily, Lorelle neither snores nor has she restless leg syndrome, or any other condition that would make sleeping with her anything but dreamy. She didn’t suck, puff, or grind her teeth; she didn’t hug me, kick me, toss and turn wildly or hog the cover (mind you, we hardly needed a coverlet because we both wore more clothes than usual). When we were hot Lorelle and I stuck out a leg apiece from our respective sides of the bed; and when we were cold we curled, foetus-like, facing opposite ways.
Despite going to bed late after two exciting games of Yahtzee (Lorelle won the first and I won the second – beginner’s luck) I was awake even before my alarm; at six fifty-five, the sun was shining and I couldn’t resist a dip in the pool (a mermaid’s pleasure at any hour of the day) – after two days of rain, resulting in twenty-four hours of abstinence from one of the most divine pastimes, the swim was heavenly. And then I packed my little bags and put them in the car…
My pad for the Easter long weekend is rather swish, although it doesn’t have a pool; at least, not big enough to swim in… but it is a nice hot spa (let it rain, I don’t care!). Janine and Brad are going up north to sugar cane country and I have the whole house to myself.
“I want you to eat everything in the fridge,” said Janine, “and anything in the cupboards and freezer.”
Funny she should say that because I was feeling quite hungry. They departed at nine thirty-eight and I had my lunch at nine forty-five or there abouts.
Am I lonely? Well, yes I am a tad lonely at present but in a few minutes I shall take beautiful Bella – the loveliest golden retriever (read my book!) – out for a walk; and later, I’ll go for a longer walk on my own because I’m younger (in relative terms) and fitter than Bella.
What did I mean by my title? You see, I was putting things away in my plush bedroom when I noticed something small, golden and shiny under one of the pillows, then another one – a flash a gold between the outer two pillows; and when I turned my eyes to the bedside table I saw a larger elliptical shape, this time wrapped in silver paper. There were three chocolate Easter eggs for me to discover and now there are two. My just dessert! (Not deserts – we’ve had too much rain!)
Poor Carlo
I feel sorry for Carlo; he’s the dark handsome, half Spanish/half Italian (but born in Germany), forty-one year old singleton who has arrived at Lorelle’s place for a one night stay (she does Airbnb). Carlo would have liked to stay longer for a weekend of “relaxation and sunshine” on the Sunshine Coast but, truth to tell, we didn’t even want him here for one night – the inn is full! Earlier in the day the “bnb” website made an error and allowed the jet-setter, over in Brisbane for work, to make a reservation without Lorelle’s knowledge.
“Thank you for accepting me – see you later!” Carlo had emailed before getting into his hire-car and heading for the Sunshine Coast.
“Sorry, no availability until Monday,” wrote my friend.
“But I’ve paid already and have a reservation receipt number,” Carlo insisted (he writes exceptionally well in English).
Any number of emails were exchanged between Lorelle and Carlo throughout the day. Nothing was resolved but he was coming, rain or shine.
I’m spending the night with Lorelle (good job we’re like sisters) – hope she doesn’t snore. Carlo doesn’t know that I gave up my bed for him. He turned up in the rain and kissed both Lorelle and I on both cheeks (nice Spanish/Italian/German custom…but only when the giver is gorgeous).
Carlo went out for a Mexican dinner while Lorelle and I had garlic chicken at home (luckily we each had the same thing, considering the close proximity later on!). I hope Carlo, too, had some garlic in his meal because we girls have promised to play a dice game (that Lorelle always wins at) with him, that is if he hasn’t met the girl of his dreams in the Mexican restaurant. I assured him that the situation couldn’t be any worse and any nice thing would be a bonus. He raised a smile and showed his marvellous white teeth.
Oh, I hear Carlo has returned…alone. Poor Carlo. Looks like we’ll be playing that dice game I don’t quite understand. But maybe the rain will stop and the sun will shine tomorrow – I certainly hope so. In the morning I’m off for a spot of dog, cat and house-sitting at Maroochy River.
I wonder… if Carlo lost his hire car would he be called Carlos? No, he’d be called careless.
“But Dad, Surely You’re Too Old? (And Gone In!)”
Cheryl’s father-in-law is ninety, lives in an old people’s home, and is not even in good shape for a man of his years. In fact (well, according to Cheryl) he isn’t at all handsome, has bad hips, wonky knees, and he sits around eating all day long (food is his only interest these days); therefore he has become a tad corpulent, especially around the middle, and with his frail legs… well, you understand he can’t walk it off so he sits around all day. He would be incredibly bored it if weren’t for his growing interest in food.
In case you’re wondering, I have known Cheryl – married to Rod (of the rotund nonagenarian dad with the bad legs) – since our primary school days; she was in my sister Mary’s class and later we all went to Wynnum High School and that’s when my friend Lorelle met her first. We’ve all kept in touch and I’m happy to report that we girls are faring much better than Rod’s dad, by the sound of it. Apparently, Cheryl’s husband overheard a deeply disturbing one-way telephone conversation this morning. It went something like this:
“Hello Dad! News? Really? How exciting, yes I’m all ears.
Yes, I’m already sat down. Hey, why should I be sat down? Is there something wrong? That’s a relief… yes, go on.
Yes, I remember the pretty chaplain at your old people’s home. Isn’t her name Janet? No, I didn’t know she was single. You’ve asked her what? To marry you? You? But you’re so… so… um… um… so much older. You must be at least thirty years older. Oh, thirty-six! Honestly Dad, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, I think you’re making an old fool of yourself. What will Janet think? I hope she didn’t take you seriously.
She’s what? Doing cartwheels? She can’t have accepted! Oh, Janet likes older men does she?. But you’re ninety, you can hardly walk, you’re fat – forgive me for being blunt – and you have no interests in life anymore… Yes, I know, Dad – apart from food.
She wants you to move out and live with her at her place? Janet will do all the cooking? You won’t have to do a thing, not even get out of your armchair to do the washing up? Yes, of course her legs and hips are alright – she’s thirty-six years younger than you!
Do I think Rod will be shocked at your news? Well, I’m looking straight at him and he looks pretty shocked to me. He’s coming to the phone….”
“Now don’t go getting yourself stressed out,” Cheryl said, passing the phone to Rod.
“Dad, have you gone out of your mind?” Rod asked. “Dad, Dad, what do you think you are doing? Dad, Dad, are you there Dad?”
“April fool!” laughed Cheryl. She had called the house-phone on her mobile. “Think I’ll call our sister-in-law and pass on the good news.”
And I believe that is exactly what our old school friend did.