Australia Day

Australia Day is celebrated on 26 January; it marks the anniversary of the 1788 arrival of the First Fleet of British Ships at Port Jackson, New South Wales.  The British flag was raised by Governor Arthur Phillip.

Today we celebrate Australia Day with a sausage sizzle in our local community followed by community and family events.  It has been fashionable in the last twenty years to hold citizenship ceremonies in most local councils on this day of recognition.  In Perth we finish the day with the most amazing Skyworks, a firework display over the Swan River.  Usually 300,000 people congregate to view the amazing spectacle. It began in 1985 when our children were still at primary school.  We would pack a picnic tea and head for either Kings Park or the Esplanade.  Both have great views of the Swan River where the fireworks explode in colour synchronised to the tunes from a local radio station.

After a few years the City of Perth began closing roads early in the day to make it safe for pedestrians. For a few years we caught the train up, which was the sensible way to get there and back.  The train was bearable getting there but the return journey home we were jam packed like sardines and it became downright annoying. 

One year while the kids were teenagers we parked our old Toyota Station Wagon outside Kings Park as parking inside the park was prohibited.  We walked all the way to the train station and spent most of the day in the historic port of Fremantle before returning to the park late afternoon.  We set up our rug and picnic on a bit of grass which boasted a great view of the river.  We gloated about our getaway not realising we were unable to pull out as the cars whizzed past us and it took us thirty minutes before we lurched out quickly narrowly missing a bump!

There were years when Merv was working.  He worked thirty years in a local bakery and worked nothing but shift work.  I returned home one year stating I had seen the fireworks but further down the river without the amazing view we were used to.  Merv said he had seen them when he got home from work.  He had jumped up on the roof and admired the bright colours in the distant sky!

The kids left home and made their own way to the Sky Show with their own friends.  We continued to park and walk either to Kings Park or the foreshore arriving minutes before the fireworks.  The whole family togetherness and entertainment no longer mattered.

In 2011 after a year of Merv being unwell I did my research, I drove to the Esplanade and parked in the disability area.  It was a short walk to a decent vantage space.  Mel came with us but once again we arrived shortly before the fireworks.  It was rather cool that evening and after the amazing fireworks and laser show of thirty minutes we headed back to the car.  It took us an hour to drive home, most of it bumper to bumper.

We haven't been since.  It just got too difficult with wheelchairs, portable toilets which aren't disability friendly and the trauma of driving in the maddening congestion.

Ever since I  have imagined we book a hotel room which overlooks the river and watch the fireworks from our balcony.  I even imagined we hired a boat (or a small plane) to get up close and be wowed.  I recheck my thinking.  Merv would probably fall out of the boat.  I return to my fantasy of the hotel room.

This year as we did last year we pretended it didn't matter.  We watched the Australian Open discussing which player would win and why.  The next day we watched the Sky Show on TV.  It was amazing, but we weren’t there.  Maybe next year we will go!  Maybe I will book that hotel.

 

Buying THE Dress

I have a permanent smile on my face.  My boy is getting married in less than three weeks!  They have been busy fine tuning their wedding.  This is Dustin's second wedding and Grace's first.  Unfortunately her parents don't live in Australia and no one has offered to help pay for their wedding.  They have both saved $5,000 each and just about everything is done.  I offered to make the wedding cupcakes and paid for their honeymoon flights.  I have now sourced the cupcake materials and spent over three months perfecting swirls with the 1M and 2D piping tips. I was a magician with colour twirls until Merv ate the blue buttercream. He smiled and his mouth resembled Papa Smurf! We settled for no colour in the buttercream.

I have yet to buy myself a new dress for the wedding.  I am hoping for something, 'summery,.' not black.  Off I go. January is clearance month in Australia as fashion shops prepare for their winter range. I thought it should be easy. My thoughts: walk into an amazing store, choose an expensive dress at 50% off and out I go.   

I have since spent four hours trudging the stores without success.   Myer is our Harrods and I hit the fashion floor.  There are great dresses there at half price.  I beam.  They have roomy change rooms and a mirror in front of me, one behind me and one to the side.  It is a horror show.  I remove my battered three quarter jeans and my tired top and all I see in front of me is my flabby legs, my bulging stomach and flabby arms.  Surely this isn't me?  I peer into the mirror.  Yes unfortunately it is.  My mirror at home is much more discerning. 

I am glad I have brought various sizes of the same dress into the change room.  The designer dresses are delightful but they have been cut to fit tall girls (yes girls) with tiny waists.  I am neither girl or small waisted.  I am disappointed and stalk out of the change room returning them to any rack I see before I disappear into the crowd.

I next tried Noni B who advise me they have 10% off ! How disappointing!  The only dress I like is $250.  I don't bother to try it on. The shopping centre is full of boutiques for young slim girls; I don't bother no need to be humiliated!

I head off to Millars; a store known for its cheap fashions for oldies.  There's not much there except for a lacy powder blue dress.  Yes it has shoulders and my size is hanging on the rack.  It is quiet in the store and I head to the change rooms with a variety of other possible outfits.

I try on the larger size and realize the smaller size is never going to fit.  I preen myself in front of the mirror.  There are only two mirrors in this change room but my bulges are just as appalling.  I wonder if I can get away with the colour and remind myself, all eyes will be on the bride, the way it should be.   I fumble in my handbag and find my iPhone.  I will take a photo or two and post to my sisters.  They are honest and will tell me I look hideous in the dress.  The store is quiet and I can't hear anyone else around.  I peek out of the door and see a little old lady shuffling slowly wheeling her frame.  I contemplate asking her to take my photo but sigh and know there is no point in asking.  I fiddle with my mobile and take a few selfies.  I sigh; I dress and return the powder blue dress to the rack.  

I need a fashion dress action plan. I have made a list of possible stores to visit next Thursday, back I will go on the assault trail!  Wish me luck!

Selfie in the change room!

                                       

Neighbours

I wince.  BANG, BANG, THUMP, THUMP!  It goes on and on, day after day after day.  I wince again.  My once rather quiet neighbours are having a granny flat installed.  To save a few dollars the man of the household is compacting the soil after moving his soak wells.  I think to myself a machine could surely compact the small area of ground in a matter of hours?  I am not sure if I am wrong. 

His wife said his shoulder is hurting from the thumping.  I told her I was not happy with the thumping he was planning for Christmas day.  They were holding their family get together the following day but they listened to my request and Christmas day was 'thump-free.'

Alas over a week later and the thumping continues.  It is hot and the pleasant breeze in the afternoon helps cool the house.  There is no escaping the thumping throughout the house.

On New Year's Eve I had planned on a quiet drink of wine and some nibbles under the back patio with the tinkling sound of our pleasant fountain to entertain us.  Instead I grabbed our old Ghetto Blaster and CD of the late Joe Cocker.  Until then I had no idea how loud that 90’s blaster could get; but I know now!

I expected lines of people knocking on our front door complaining about the noise, but no one bothered.  They were probably relieved not to hear the thumping!  We enjoyed our traditional celebration drink with a little help from Joe.  It was definitely a little different from our regular tradition.

I began to think about Dustin's kindy teacher who once told me she could never live in the suburbs.  She shared this a long time ago but she lived on a large property with horses and no near neighbours.  It was bliss to her. From her point of view I am one of the strange ones.  I like living in a little square box on a small patch of land surrounded by people I am neither related to nor overly friendly with.  It provides me with a sense of comfort knowing others are close by.  I would rather be in a crowd than a large open space by myself.

Today I am hoping the neighbour's granny flat will soon be delivered (yes more noise but not forever) and the thumping will become a distant memory.  This time next year I may even be able to chuckle about it.