It will probably come as no surprise to you to know that I'm an obsessive kind of person.
I run because I made a rule. I'm a creature of habit when it comes to food & I have the same pretty drink. The recent switch to Zubrowka (the original bison grass vodka) has meant I'm enjoying it more. A bit dangerous really.
It stands to reason that our children would also have inherited a few of my obsessive qualities.
When the kids were small I wasn't much about the making of things. There were no supplies in the house. No elastic or buttons or zips or even a selection of threads. I'd packed the machine away & only dragged it out for emergencies of the obsessive kind. I made a Melody costume for the biggest when she thought she was a mermaid. I refashioned a pinny when Madeline was the go. I made running repairs to the hot pink flowergirl dress (worn by all three) & one year I made them & all their mates Puffles when they were Club Penguin mad.
One freezing June morning when the little guy was three I fashioned him a loin cloth so that he could be Tarzan. It was made using an old suede waistcoat from the dress up box & the top of a pair of red tights. The total make time would have been around ten minutes.
I found the loin cloth last night when I was doing a bit of reluctant cleaning upstairs.
I remembered that tiny (but strangely muscular) little frame leaping about the furniture, springing from sofa back to floor and crouching and stalking me around the house.
It's good to be a maker...even a speedy, fakey only in case of emergency kind.
“The Lodge” is a disused church camp with about one hundred acres of bush attached to it.
Our “more front than Myers”* mum has negotiated a lease arrangement with the owners of “The Lodge” and the bushland. She pays them an absolute pittance and in exchange we get full use of The Lodge and the bush. We build a holding yard so that our ponies can sleep overnight when we are up for the weekend. We renovate the bungalow and fill it with our belongings, we construct elaborate air riffle ranges with old cups and plates and cookware from the old kitchen.
It’s every kids dream and we have to pinch ourselves every time we drive through the gate.
As we approach the gate there’s a heated discussion about who will be on duty. It’s raining hard and it’s warm in the car. I “win” and haul my oilskin coat on before I dash out of the car to the gate. I wait for mum to drive through and then quickly close the gate and leap back in the car.
Mum stops the car but leaves the headlights on so we can see to light the gas lamps. We all rush into the bungalow. It’s absolutely freezing and the three of us are jumping up and down on the spot to keep warm. Mum sets to work unlocking the storage cupboard and pulling out all our belongings. She lights a couple of gas lanterns and finds that the mantels need replacing on a couple more. She leaves us with one primus and instructions to make our beds.
We roll out our sleeping bags and grab a blanket each. It’s going to be a really cold night. Once everything is organised in our room we drag on our gumboots and prepare ourselves for the mad dash over to The Lodge. We hold our primus up high and see that mum has created a fairly crude bridge system over the puddles in the wood shed.
The puddles and the bridges are negotiated easily and we open the lodge door to find the fire roaring. Mum’s had to rearrange some of the furniture to avoid the drips coming through the rusted roof. There are already a series of puddles forming in the sawdust floor. We are confined to our carpet square for the night as the rest of The Lodge is dotted with soggy sawdust pot holes.
We all head straight for the fire to toast our bottoms. The three of us stand too close to the roaring fire watching mum replace gas mantels in the half light and listening to the rain on the tin roof. We talk sleepily about how much fun we are going to have tomorrow and how full of tadpoles the swamp will be.
More rainy day stories here.
* for non-Australian residents: More front that Myers
Everyday running...today was NOT an everyday run...it was extra special.
It was dark & raining when I ran.
I ran my hands along sodden hedges & ran through saturated low branches. I splashed in puddles & my Asics were singing...slap...squelch...slap...squelch...slap...squelch.
So, for all those folk who say they don't run because they never see a runner smiling...you should have been in my neck of the woods this morning. You would have seen me...grinning like a mad woman & having the time of my life.
The bell rings…another term over. I meet Bind and Cal in the playground and we walk home together. We’re chatting excitedly about our impeding road trip and what adventures we’re going to have.
We stop briefly to tease the mad, barking Rottweiler and snap imaginary pictures of his nether regions as he leaps against the gate. We laugh crazily until we get to the lane.
The banter all the way home is constant. Pauses are quickly filled with embellished and misremembered stories of past trips.
We’ve had our bags packed for a week and they are waiting in the hall. Mum will load them into the car tonight so we can get away early in the morning.
The TV is flicked on and the others flop on the couch, it's been a long term. They are all long terms when you're a primary school kid.
I’ve made my way over to our wall map of Victoria and am tracing our previous road trips with my finger.
As I trace the texta lines we’ve drawn in, I remember. I remember stalactites and stalagmites, gold mines, museums, long walks, scrap books, musty smelling hotels and cold toast breakfasts.
I wonder what we might discover about our state and each other on this trip.
We don’t know where we are headed. Mum will just drive, turning when she sees something that captures her imagination.
Mum wakes us all early. The car is packed with our luggage and we’ve all got our pillows in the car. I’m not sure why, we never sleep. The pillows cause us to niggle for space and draw imaginary yours/mine lines on the velour car seat.
When you’re one of three kids there always seems to be an issue about not sitting in the middle. There’s a lot of negotiation going on about who’s going to sit where and for how long. I’m thankful that Mum’s still inside because if she hears all this carry on she might just decide it’s all too hard.
Before the car pulls out of the driveway we’re all sporting corky bruises on our thighs and we know it’s going to be a long drive.
