After all these years I’ve been involved with Thursday Doors, I’ve seen it all…the best of doors, the worst of doors, paintings on doors, and functional doors. Yet, I keep scouring the world for new additions… something intriguing, which will blow your socks off, or will at least interest me.
Taken near the entrance to Luna Park.
After a doctor’s appointment in Sydney on Tuesday, we drove down to our favourite little spot by the harbour in Kirribilli. While that all sounds our own little patch under the sun and a great personal discovery, it’s officially known as the “Broughton Street Lookout” and the views are breathtaking. The Sydney Harbour Bridge towers over you like Big Brother and even though I’ve been there fairly often, the magic has never faded. I’m absolutely dazzled like a love-sick puppy. You’re also a stone’s throw away from the equally magnificent Sydney Opera House, although you’d need a better throw than mine!
The famous entry to Luna Park. Does this count as a door?
While these two incredible architectural icons would be much more worthy for an extensive doorscursion, we’re not going there. Rather, we’re on the lookout for a toilet and this journey will take us off to Luna Park, which was unfortunately close, past the ferry wharf which has no toilets, and also past North Sydney Olympic Pool which is currently a construction site as we head up the hill to Fitzroy Street to finally find relief.
A photo of the pool in days gone by.Some great door reflections at Luna Park. Doors to the North Sydney Olympic Pool construction site. Love the ubiquitous bike parked there. After sharing some great street art painted on utility boxes last week, these hydrant doors are begging for a makeover.
This was followed up with lunch at Stir Crazy Thai, popping to Bridge Church where I usually go online and buying olive focaccia bread from San Antonio Sourdough Bakery.
What a great afternoon.
Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed our doorscursion around Sydney’s Milson’s Point. This has been another contribution to Thursday Doors hosted by Dan Antion at No Facilities.
My heart still skips a beat when I think of “Surfers” and so many memories came flooding back from childhood staying at Pacific Point or the Golden Gate through to spending schoolies there with a group of friends back in 1987. Where did all that time go and how did I end up back at Surfers in my 50’s feeling like a 21 year old but rapidly heading for dinosaur status? I have no idea. Happened in the blinking of an eye!
While this account of Surfers Paradise from 1938 is well before my time, it captures much of the vibe I knew so well in the 1970’s and 1980’s:
“SURFERS’ PARADISE …. The very name fires the imagination. It suggests the high-powered publicity of the Americans. One immediately thinks of some flambuoyantly picturesque spot in California or Florida. True, this newest of the south coast colonies has a touch of the rococo about it. But there is no garishness. The place suggests youth; smart little houses, gay colours, attractive gardens. There is an air of impudence without pertness, of happiness without heartiness. Surfers’ Paradise grew from a waste of sand hills. Many of us can remember when the place was called Myers’ Ferry, and a handful of hardy campers stayed there; scorning the more crowded beaches. These pioneers were always loud in praise of the surf on their quiet beach. In the past few years, thousands of bathers have endorsed their opinion. Considering that it is part of a long straight stretch of foreshore, Surfers’ Paradise finds itself remarkably free from the channel formations other beaches experience. It misses, too, much of the sidesweep generally found at exposed beaches. Its surf may be said to alternate between extremes. When it is flat, it is very flat, with waves breaking in anaemic style near the beach. But on a good day, the surf breaks a hundred yards out and more — full-blooded lusty combers that take some holding, but give a swift and thrilling ride to the beach. Providing, of course, you can hold a ‘shoot’ that long. Surfers’ Paradise is the bright child of seaside resorts; precocious yet charming, and assured of a glorious inheritance. South Coast Bulletin (Southport, Qld. : 1929 – 1954), Friday 14 January 1938, page 5
Such glowing praise, but when you look at the photo, it doesn’t seem to measure up. .
Of course, I couldn’t wait to get down to the beach, especially after spending yesterday stuck in the car all day. However, Geoff insisted on going to the supermarket first. What the heck?!! What was this responsible adulting when we were on holidays and supposedly fancy-free? Naturally, the last thing I wanted to see was a shopping trolley when we could be prancing up and down the mythical white sands of paradise. Yet, to be fair, it was Easter Thursday and the shops were going to be shut on Good Friday. So, we like everyone else, needed to load up our trolleys like doomsday preppers or we’d starve.
Shopping stashed away, we were off.
Depending on the traffic, Surfers Paradise can be a 15 minute drive from “home” in Southport. However, instead of driving direct to Main Beach and Cavill Avenue as expected, Geoff took a left and was heading North to regions unknown. I wasn’t happy at first, but once again he had a good idea and he was running with it. He knew this spot out past Sea World called The Spit, which has magnificent views down to Surfers, Coolangatta and possibly beyond. I was impressed, even if I was busting a gut to get back to Surfers Paradise and relive my memories as best I could given how much water had flowed under the bridge. As much as Surfers Paradise wasn’t what it was 30+ years ago, neither was I.
Yet, as much as I am in love with the legend that is Surfers Paradise and have such incredible memories, I am not a huge fan of modern Surfers Paradise and find it too built up and rather tired. I don’t know if the Surfers Paradise high rises are more appealing from the inside looking out, but they cast ugly shadows on the beach in the late afternoon and really detracted from enjoyment. Yet, I loved staying in a high rise when I was younger and going swimming in the pool downstairs and crossing the road to the beach. I wasn’t thinking about getting back to nature then, and Surfers Paradise was so much fun.
Surfers Paradise
After visiting the beach and getting our feet wet, we walked around the block and had churros for afternoon tea at San Churros. Yum! We also found a Build-a-Bear shop and had a look. Our daughter loves them and it just didn’t seem right that she wasn’t with us. Ditto for our son. We might’ve gone away for a few days to Bathurst last year without them, but this was four weeks and we’ve always been on family holidays before.
All in all, we had a wonderful time, despite going to the supermarket.
Have you been to Surfers Paradise and do you have any memories or reflections you’d like to share? I look forward to hearing from you!
Located right on Sydney Harbour, MacCallum Pool is like the Pool of Siloam. In case you don’t know what that is, it’s where Jesus healed the blind man. Looking at the stunning views and tranquil waters, you have to wonder if there isn’t anything a swim in MacCallum Pool wouldn’t fix?!
Map showing the location of MacCallum Pool at Shell Cove on the Western side of Cremorne Point.
While generations have dived into it’s depths, thrived on it’s aquatic wonders and almost inhaled the breathtaking views, I’m delving into the old newspapers to find out what and who has gone before. These stories are my buried treasure, and add so much meaning to what I see.
That said, there’s no doubt that a lot of “what happens at MacCallum Pool stays at MacCallum Pool”, and no matter how deep we dive in, we’ll never reach the bottom.
Of the stories which can be made public, I’d like to focus on the incredible drive, persistence and grit of Cremorne locals who raised the funds and constructed the original pool themselves. We have them to thank for being able to wander freely into this magnificent pool free of charge and get in a few laps. What an incredible legacy to leave behind.
The vision for a harbour pool began with local resident and Olympic medal-winning swimmer, Fred Lane, who rearranged the rocks to create a natural pool.
Later, a group of keen locals under retired businessman Hugh MacCallum, took up the challenge in earnest. Work finished on the pool on Saturday 23rd November, 1924 after: “Fifteen years of patient, unostentatious work at week-ends and on holidays, work of the youngsters and the parents living around Shell Cove — and at last the monument was completed.”
This little snippet from the 19th January, 1927 does a good job of relating what went into creating the pool:
“This is a story that should make every alderman beam with delight — Every Mayor chortle with joy— .And every ratepayer gasp with admiration and envy. It is told simply in the following letter, which, accompanied by a photograph of a bathing pool, was received by the North Sydney Council last night. “As an example of what can be done by the residents of any suburb, where the people are willing to co-operate and provide the needful, it may be mentioned that, by doing a little every year, this series of potholes at Shell Cove has taken shape, until now it is a safe, shark-proof pool with a graded depth from 2ft, 6in. at the children’s end to 6ft. 6in. at the other end. “Up to date over £700 has been spent during a period of 15 years, and this sum has been voluntarily subscribed by the residents, no outsider’s help of any kind having been asked for or received.” Council expressed its appreciation of the fine public spirit which had prompted the construction of the swimming bath…” 1.
Council -took over the running of the pool in 1930 and on the 29th April, 1933, a plaque was unveiled naming the pool after Hugh MacCallum who had “collected £600 in the locality, and after several years of strenuous labor constructed a swimming pool about 40 yards long and which at high tide has a depth of over six feet. Many North Sydney youngsters have learnt to swim in the pool, and it has become a popular picnic spot.”2.
Here’s an interview with Hugh MacCallum’s grandson which was filmed at the pool:
Meanwhile, as I alluded to earlier, there was another side to MacCallum Pool. On the 5th March, 1930 the Evening News, ran a headline: “CREMORNE POOL: HIGH JINKS ALLEGED”. It continued:
“In a letter to North Sydney Council last night, a resident of Cremorne Point scathingly criticised the conduct of bathers in Cremorne Pool, and asked that the baths be removed. “Since this bathing pool has been in existence, it has been an intolerable nuisance to those who live nearby,” he wrote.
“Bathers use it up to and sometimes after, midnight, and indulge in singing, shouting, laughing, screeching, and often use very bad language. Many bathers, of both sexes, lie on the rocks sunbaking, and others run about the reservation in scanty bathing costumes at all hours of the day.” Ald. Norden asked that the pool be allowed to remain. The engineer will report on the cleaning of the pool.” 3.
Sunset Near MacCallum Pool
I had thought there was further scandal to report until I had a closer read. It turns out there is also a Cremorne in Mackay, Queensland. Of course, I couldn’t let you miss out on a scandal. So here goes. On the 18th October, 1917 a letter to Mackay’s Daily Mercury lamented:
“About a dozen men were lying about in prominent positions, with absolutely nothing on. One man was also swimming about in a state of nudity. These occurrences prevent the place being used by ladies, and surely they have as much right to the place as men. On Sunday it is just as bad.
Yours, etc., DISGUSTED.” 4.
I guess this leaves us with the dilemma of whether we are going to be a force for good and make a contribution to our local community. Or, are we going to be the “fart in the lift”? That’s not to say the two are mutually exclusive. You can be community-minded and still have fun. Yet there’s a balance, and at least a consideration of one of my favourite principles: the Golden Rule: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”. I’m also a fan of trying to walk in someone’s shoes. Although living this way may not leave a concrete legacy like MacCallum Pool, it could very well build invisible, luxury mansions inside those we meet, especially those who need it most.
Have you ever been to MacCallum Pool or something similar where you live? Do you have any memories to share?
If you’ve been following my posts, you’ll know that I was house minding for a friend at Cremorne Point for three weeks in January, and we exchanged texts while she was away including one rather pertinent text: “Have you been to MacCallum Pool yet?” At this point, we’d been to Circular Quay and around The Rocks, off to Manly on the Northern headland and Watson’s Bay on the South but aside from a quick visit when we picked up the key in December, we hadn’t been to MacCallum Pool and I certainly hadn’t been for a swim.
MacCallum Pool has the best views and it’s free of charge open to the public.
So, this swim was clearly overdue and I didn’t want her arriving home and having to confess I couldn’t get around the corner. After having a quiet day having coffee with a friend, I hoped I had plenty of oomph for a swim and set off on the short walk to the pool. The only trouble was that I needed to walk home uphill, which I knew was going to be challenging for my lungs, and so I had to take it slowly in the pool. Pace myself.
Wow!
Actually, I took it very slowly getting in the pool, which is an unfortunate fault of mine. I’m one of those comical characters who agonise their way into the water starting with their big toe and taking forever to put their head underwater if they do at all. Just to compound my shame, there was a group of teenaged boys beside me who really must’ve thought I looked ridiculous. However, in my book I was a champion even for getting wet, and pleased I was able to do two laps (conserving my energy for the walk home, of course).
A Photographer’s Paradise
While Mac Callum Pool was built with a view to swimming, it also makes for amazing photography and I was much more in my element on that front and I’ve also done a much better job at excavating stories about the history of the pool from the old newspapers online (Trove). I will write them up in a separate post as I need to put some thought into that.
Have you ever been to MacCallum Pool and do you have any stories to tell?
Miss is now 16 and learning to drive. Not only that, she’s also found going for an extended late-night drive, can be rather relaxing. So, we regularly head out together in the Forrester together bound for Terrigal, which is a pretty hip and happening place on a Friday and Saturday night, and not just with the young folk either.
Anyway, that’s where my contribution for Thursday Doors came from this week.
I spotted this truck parked beside the Terrigal Surf Lifesaving Club. Australia is famous for our surf lifesavers who are unpaid volunteers who patrol our beach saving lives. The iconic red and yellow flags you see painted on the back of the door, feature on our patrolled beaches, and on an official level signify where it is safe to swim, and that this section of beach is being patrolled. However, the flags are also helpful for meeting friends at the beach, and “see you between the flags” is common parlance. I also park my gear under a flag, because I’m as blind as a bat and that way I’ll find it again.
Seagulls Terrigal Beach a few years ago.
Here are a few photos of how Terrigal Beach looks by day. Yes, it is pretty stunning, but it’s a bit like the Surfers’ Paradise of the Central Coast. Well, that’s probably exaggerating things, but I tend to prefer a more relaxed or even outdoorsy pace these days, which is probably a sure sign I’m getting old.
Meanwhile, I was struggling to find any really good photos of Terrigal so I might have to head back there again and recapture the place through my lens.
Anyway, this has been another contribution to Thursday Doors hosted by Dan Antion at No Facilities: https://nofacilities.com/
Yesterday, I had an inkling of how Noah must’ve felt when the sun came out at the end of the Great Flood. Although we haven’t been flooded in here, it’s been raining for what actually seems like longer than 40 days and 40 nights, although Geoff tells me there was a break in between, and we actually had some sunny days.
Anyway, I was in Terrigal yesterday to get my hair cut. Afterwards, I ventured down to the main drag to buy more doughnuts and go for a walk along the beach. That was when I spotted a very strange, shining object in the sky, and even wondered if it was a UFO at first.
However, It turned out to be an otherwise foreign object known as “The Sun”. It’s been raining for so long around here, that I barely recognised it once it finally stuck it’s head out again.
A lonely red bucket at Terrigal Beach.
I haven’t been able to find any cumulative totals of how much rain has fallen locally lately. On the 25th February alone 137.6 mm fell in Gosford. That was the highest daily rainfall for February on record. We were lucky to only catch the edge of the threatened “rain bomb” during the week. However, others were badly hit.
Foamy Shore, Terrigal
Terrigal wasn’t looking too worse for wear. Loads of creamy foam had washed up onto the beach, and the ocean pool has metamorphosed into a kelp farm. However, while it’s looking okayish, the beach was closed for swimming due to poor water quality.
Yet, it seems that wasn’t enough to dissuade a few parents with their toddlers from paddling on the edge. Seems they must be wanting a night in Gosford Hospital with gastro. Goodness knows what’s in the water, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
Ocean Pool, Terrigal converted into a kelp farm after the recent heavy rains.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed our brief visit to Terrigal, and thank you for joining me.
Best wishes,
Rowena
PS Nothing like putting the map at the end:
Above: Map of NSW Central Coast. Terrigal is in the right about a quarter from the bottom and we live South of Woy Woy.
You’re in luck again this week. I can offer you a slice of double-layer banana cake with passion fruit icing and filled with whipped cream, which has now been soaked up by the cake itself so it’s very creamy. It’s not rocket science, but it is particularly good, and the passion fruit icing really reminds me of my mum whose speciality is sponge cakes with passion fruit icing and cream. I doubt passion fruit is native to Australia, but it feels Australian, and especially suits our balmy Summers. (Turns out it’s actually native to southern Brazil through Paraguay and northern Argentina)
Sorry, I forgot to ask. Would you like tea or coffee with that? Or, perhaps you’d like something else?
How was your week? I hope it’s been good, and that Covid isn’t interfering too much.
A perfect beach day at last. I was down there late afternoon and it was still sunny.
I went for a swim at the beach this afternoon, which was incredibly relaxing, exhilarating even, and the effects lingered on for hours. Indeed, although the water was a bit chilly (no doubt from all the rain we’ve had lately), it still inspired me to go back more often and to get over my aversion to getting wet. It’s so stupid, and my husband, Geoff, will tell you that you should’ve seen me inching my way into the water even at ankle depth looking like a human chicken. I was hopeless, and didn’t even put my head under. Indeed, only the tip of my ponytail got wet. So, I suppose some of you will tell me that I didn’t really got for a swim at all, and that all I was doing was stand-up comedy. Well, each to their own!
It’s been a busy week. Our teenage kids went back to school on Friday. So, last week I was busy organising uniforms, books, and also driving our daughter to dance privates to prepare her for next Saturday’s dance competition. She is entering in a new section this time for student choreography, and this required a few more lessons. However, it’s an interesting area to get into, and something which appeals to my creative mind, even if the body isn’t willing.
On Tuesday, it was Australia Day, and we had a public holiday to either celebrate, mourn, or ignore the anniversary of the 1788 arrival of the First Fleet at Port Jackson in New South Wales, and the raising of the British flag at Sydney Cove by Arthur Phillip. As this also marks the British occupation or invasion of Australia, it’s also known as “Invasion Day” or “A Day of Mourning”. I don’t really celebrate it anymore, although either my son or husband have gone in the Australia Day Regatta at the sailing club over the last couple of years, and we do deck the boat out in Australian flags etc. By the way, my vote’s on Australia becoming a republic, and embracing more of our Indigenous culture and history. However, I’ve got too much going on at the moment to fight for our independence. So, myHowever, that’s where I stand from more of a theoretical standpoint.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to get organized for the new school year. I dropped another car load of stuff at the charity shop during the week, and you must be wondering if we have anything left by now. However, let’s just say things were rather “cosy’ before we started all of this and there’s still a way to go. Actually, I must confess that I’ve also been inside the charity shops this week and had some excellent “finds”. That includes two suitcases from maybe the 1940s-1960s. They were only $15.00 each and about the same price as a plastic storage crate, except they clearly have much more character. I left them in the car until my husband went out and introduced them slowly the way you might introduce an unexpected kitten…”Oh! What’s that doing over there?” Anyway, aside from being somewhat useful, I get very nostalgic about old suitcases, and suspect they remind me of my grandparents coming to stay. That was just so exciting, and twenty years after my grandmother passed away, it would be just incredible if my grandparents as they were when I was little and my grandmother was still full of beans and racing round the shops like a rocket, before her health nose-dived and there were open-heart surgeries and ultimately a series of cruel mini strokes. My grandfather developed Alzheimer’s, but he was 95 when he passed away.
Piles of books which have already left the building.
See why I have so much trouble parting with the things I already have, as well as with bringing new things into the place. I connect meaning, memories, people to these objects even if this thing is sitting in shop and has had nothing to do with them before and might even only have a very slight resemblance to something to do with them. This is, I found out, one of the danger areas which leads to hoarding. Interesting, because if you reverse that thinking, you could say that these hard core declutter types lead meaningless lives, or at least have less meaning, or they can simply compress their meaning into a smaller amount of space, or they have a bigger space to hold it. Perhaps, you are one of these declutter Nazis, in which case I sort of apologise. It’s not you. It’s me. That’s what makes me an endangered species and I’m even trying to wipe myself out.
Gee, I think that might be what you call “overthinking”. I’m pretty good at that too. Indeed, that could also explain why it’s taking me hours of journal writing not to get to the point.
However, my excuse on that front is that a lot’s been going on. Not just for me, but for other people.
Writing in my journal regularly was one of the few goals I’ve set so far this year. I did that because I sensed there was a lot of stuff stuck inside and it needed to get out. In some ways, then, writing in the journal is like decluttering the soul and just like throwing all those extra physical items into the clothing bin and clearing the decks at home, by putting all these thoughts, feelings, events, conversations into my journal, I’m clearing out the soul and I’m able to move around again. See more clearly and walk around without knocking a gazillion things over. This is if you see your soul like a room. Maybe you don’t. Anyway, clearly my soul’s room is overflowing with verbal diarrhoea. Of course, I’d kill anyone else who said that about me, but this is just the two of us and the entire world wide web if it actually bothered to turn up.
Anyway, one good outcome of my journaling today, is that I’ve decided to base our household’s daily routine around my husband’s schedule. I’ve been trying to work out routines for the kids and I. However, the trouble is that no two days are the same and we’re like three moons who’ve escaped their orbit and are drifting randomly through space. However, Geoff is exceptionally well structured, even working from home. His routine is still very much set in stone and he doesn’t work from home in his PJ’s either. That’s me. So, I’ve now decided that the rest of us are going to piggyback onto his routine and we’ll start off from there. The only trouble is he gets up at 7.15am, and some days I’m not up before midday. I have been trying to change that for awhile , but it’s so difficult. However, as we all know, a new year brings about a whole new you and anything is possible. Well, it is before February, maybe March.
Meanwhile, news came through today (now Sunday), that much of Western Australia is going into hard lockdown after a security guard in quarantine caught the more virulent UK form of the virus. They really should have Nigel No Mates working in these quarantine hotels. That way if they catch the virus, it goes no further. This guy was working two jobs and living in share accommodation. Enough said. Of course, the rest of Australia feels real sorry for those smug West Australians who locked the rest of us out and threw away the key. Thought they were above getting covid. It’s a lesson to the rest of us. Even if covid isn’t spreading like wildfire here as it in in much of the rest of the world, lockdowns are. We’re now back to being able to have 30 visitors at home, a big leap from the previous five. Most of us aren’t going to invite 30 people over in a hurry, but five didn’t allow a lot of scope, especially in share houses, families with older kids etc. Personally, I’m still lying low.
Anyway, that’s about it from me. I look forward to catching up with you and hearing your news.
“We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch – we are going back from whence we came.”
–John F. Kennedy
Courage comes in many forms. My breathing has been a bit strained lately, but I went for my first beach swim in over 12 months this afternoon. No glasses on, I was also literally blind as a bat, and I took Geoff down with me in case of all emergencies. None ensued.
Just out of the water – Ocean Beach NSW – January 2021.
By the way, Geoff didn’t go in. He’s a sailor, and for him “swimming is a fail”.
“The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides, and in its depths it has its pearls too.”
–Vincent Van Gogh
I have a love-hate relationship with swimming, which is hard to understand when you look at our beautiful beach, which is only 10 minutes walk away. Many would sell their right kidney to be able to spend their life at our beautiful local beach and be able to immerse themselves in that crystal clear, salty water which is sparkling in the luscious Summer sun. Then, there’s me who doesn’t like getting wet. Indeed, Geoff was in stitches watching me take eternity to even get my ankles wet. He did an impressive impersonation, which looked embarrassingly like an old lady and not a very gutsy one at that. However, it takes more than that to embarrass me. I might’ve been emerging from my “swim” with only the tip of my ponytail wet, but I did get wet.
Moreover, just to show off just a little, I found my way back to my towel. I swear I did, even though Geoff had seen me emerge from the water and had walked down to greet me.
My brother and I at Avoca Beach around 1979 aged 10.
Going to the beach brings back many treasured memories. While I didn’t live near the beach growing up, we drove down to Sydney’s Northern Beaches for day trips and rented a beach house for a week most years up at Wamberal or Avoca on the NSW Central Coast just North of Sydney, and not far from where we currently live. The waves could be pretty strong and I remember holding onto mostly my mother’s hand and feeling almost invincible. Holding onto Mum or Dad’s hand somehow seemed to save me from anything back then.
Our kids have only ever lived in our current home, and so they’ve always lived a stone’s throw from the beach. We’ve had some wonderful times going swimming, walking the dogs, having picnics with friends. It’s been really beneficial living right near the beach during covid with all that space and air around us, and not much in the way of crowds most of the time. It’s also been a real lifesaver.
Do you like swimming? Do you go to the beach? I’d love to hear from you.
Best wishes,
Rowena
Our son at Broken Head, near Byron Bay, January 2011. I absolutely loved the absolute joy beaming out of my daughter’s smile in this photo taken in Byron Bay January 2011 about to turn five and go to big school.
So, how can I tickle your fancy this weekend? Coffee, tea, Bonox? A slice of Vegemite toast perhaps? I’ve never had too many takers for the Vegemite toast on the Weekend Coffee Share, but if you want to walk like an Australian, you need to flood your bloodstream with the brown stuff and toughen up. Just think of it as chocolate sauce and ignore the taste.
Well, if you joined me for coffee last weekend, you might recall that the “kids” were heading back to school for the new school year and that my daughter was starting high school and our son was already there. That’s right. We now have have two high school students in the house and with that my responsibilities have gone up quite a few notches. No arriving back from holidays the night before and winging it with last year’s uniform on the first day. No, we had to be organized. Indeed, it was time to become anal about the whole thing and climb in the proverbial straight jacket.
You can read all about our organizational efforts Here. Actually, I think that should read MY organizational efforts.
Anyway, after all of that, Tuesday was here and it was time for our daughter’s first day. I can barely remember how it went now, except that we took a few photos out the front of the house, without her brother because he was conspicuously scarse in case he somehow got roped into helping out. At their school, they have the Year 7s starting two days earlier than the rest of the school. So, big brother was making the most of time at home without little sister.
After taking some photos out the front of the school and greeting the Principal who we already know quite well, the students lined up in their form classes and I have to confess, that I was among a handfull of Mums were were clinging on so tight to their precious offspring, that we were almost part of the line. Although that might have been a bit pathetic, I didn’t cry.
Day 2, we our second day back at school had a bit of unplanned drama…a local blackout. Fortunately, the alarms all went off but making breakfast was tricky and we were eating by candlelight. It was all quite an uncomfortable experience, especially when we were still reeling from the shock of going back to school but we survived and she was at school on time.
She has settled in well and is making new friends and picking up with a few old ones and I’d say by the end of this coming week, she’ll be good.
Meanwhile, Rosie our 6 month old Border Collie x Kelpie was also keen to get an education. She managed to pluck a pink highlighter pen out of the pen jar on the kitchen table and chewed it to death. There was a puddle of fluoro pink on the floor and spotches of pink on her paws…a photo opportunity.
Another funny incident around here this week, was a discussion with my daughter about the band INXS. “Devil Inside” was playing on the radio and she asked me whether he was singing “dead inside” or “devon inside”. If you’re not from Australia or New Zealand, you might not be familiar with Devon but its a cheap and nasty meat sandwich sausage often splashed with tomato sauce. This initiated a bit of a discussion about the late Michael Hutchence, which of course, became rather complicated but lead me into a reflection about the Americanization of Australian culture. You can read more about that Here.
It was fortunate in many ways that I could focus on their return to school and get things pretty much in order. I didn’t mind putting myself aside for a few weeks, because it’s a big change to start high school and a time where you need your parents on tap. You need them to be flexible and to understand your 1000 mood variations in 15 minutes without getting stroppy or needing to be the centre of attention. It’s the same when anyone starts something new. You often need that extra TLC and ideally those around you can give you that. However, with the cost of living these days, that’s becoming less possible. Everyone needs to work, even the dog (es[ecially when they keep chewing through highlighter pens!)
However, I can report that I did manage to have my first beach swim of the season on Tuesday afternoon. It was great until I waded in around waist height and then I chicken out and was reminded of my dog who didn’t like to get his paws wet and was feeling tortured as his beloved tennis ball drifted out to sea. I was pathetic, but I eventually dived under the water and survived. By the way, the surf is pretty flat at our beach and very non-threatening. Yet, you still hear about the odd rescue or drowning and it is a patrolled beach.
Anyway, I’ve decided that I need a holiday or an adventure, but don’t know what that’ll entail yet. It might just be a coffee down the street, but I’d like to think I might get further afield.
So, how was your week? I hope you had a great one and that the week ahead goes well for you. Got anything planned?
Well, I’d better head off.
This has been another Weekend Coffee Share, hosted by Eclectic Alli. You’re welcome to join us. Just click through to the Linky.
Welcome to our Christmas, I mean Boxing Day, Weekend Coffee Share.
We hope you and yours have had a wonderful Christmas, celebrating the season.
Not quite sure what to other you in the way of drinks this week. I’m leaning towards tea or coffee with a slice of Christmas Cake or toasted Stollen.
We celebrated Christmas Day with lunch at my aunt’s place with the extended family and then back to my parent’s place for “dinner”. The kids spent much of the day in the pool mucking around with my cousins. I didn’t get in yesterday, although I did manage a pre-Christmas dip in my parents’ pool.
Never too old for pool toys!
It’s now Boxing Day Monday and we’re perched in front of the TV set watching the start of the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race. Winds are currently 10-15 knots yet to the untrained eye, they appear stronger. The yachts are keeling over at about a 45 degree angle. While I’m no veteran of the race, they seem to leaning over more than usual.
Yesterday, my aunt asked our son when he’s going into the Sydney-to-Hobart. Give him a few years. He starts racing locally in January.
Start Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race 2016.
By the way, Perpetual Loyal made it out of Sydney Heads first. We’re still watching, listening to all the sailing talk and giving our son a few lessons. I know watching sailing is no compensation for being out there yourself. However, this is his chance to learn from the masters…and my husband who is providing us with arm chair commentary.
Today, I’m following my father’s Boxing Day Tradition and not doing anything. Well, I am writing and jotting down all the snippets from yesterday.I know writing isn’t doing anything but it’s letting energy out, rather than taking energy in and that’s what I need. So, although I’m in my writing chair surrounded by the family and dogs glancing at the yacht race, I’m still in my own little space bubble. I need to breath. Stretch my wings again. I feel like I’ve been locked in a matchbox and I need to break free. I suspect that’s all the built-up pressure of the end of the year and I’m now finding myself needing to reflect and debrief. Let myself flow. It’s been so stop start lately that I’ve become jammed somewhere in between the accelerator and the brakes (if that makes any sense). That description makes a lot of sense to me.
By the way, the camera people were just catapulted off the back of the yachts as they leave Sydney Harbour, picked up by the rescue boat. It sure looked odd and more of an emergency than a planned operation, especially as there are sharks in Sydney Harbour.
Christmas Eve we went to Church and then off to a pot luck dinner. By the way, they were giving away hampers at Church and they were offering them to the person with the loudest voice. No surprises there. My son’s voice boomed out and we’re now feasting on chippies, fruit mince pies etc watching the race. Yum! I’m about to head out to the kitchen for a piece of toasted stollen . More yum. Couldn’t fit in half the goodies yesterday. So while I’m explicitly doing nothing today, I am feasting away.
We went to my aunt’s place in Sydney for the usual big, extended family Christmas and went to my parents’ place afterwards. No one was hungry although I did manage to squeeze in another piece of pudding, custard and brandy butter but only just!
Lego Santa Loves Christmas Cake.
I’ve been blogging about the lead up to Christmas, which I thought you might enjoy. I wrote about The Meaning of Christmas Cake. After finally making my Christmas Cake, I’d packed it up to take to my parents’ place mid-week and the dog got in and ate it…Christmas Dogastrophy. Bilbo just asked me to clarify that it wasn’t him. It was Lady, who naturally ended up at the very top of Santa’s naughty list…not that it bothered her. She kept wagging her tail and looking up at us with her huge brown irresistible Cavalier spaniel eyes showing no remorse whatsoever.She very good at that!
Bilbo & Lady
I also ended up making a second Christmas Cake…the Aussie Harvest Cake. This adventure and indeed, it did turn into an adventure started out with driving round and round trying to find a bottle shop which was open at 10.00PM…All For A Sozzled Christmas Cake. If you’re not into making your own Christmas Cake, you might not appreciate that they’re very heavy drinkers. This one was demanding an entire cup of brandy. I’d be sozzled.
Yet the adventures didn’t end there. I should’ve realized that3 kgs of dried fruit was hugely excessive and that this recipe would produce a monster cake to feed an army. Obviously, I didn’t and that’s how I came to develop the Christmas Cake Workout .
In addition to all the Christmas preparations, I also took part in Friday Fictioneers again. I’m really enjoying these challenges and have been thrilled with the results. If you haven’t tried writing flash fiction, I encourage you to have a go. You might also surprise yourself. American Diner Down Under.
Well, I hope you and yours have had a Merry Christmas and we also wish you a Happy and wonder-filled New Year!
This has been another Weekend Coffee Share hosted by Diana at Part-Time Monster and here’s the Link-Up
Love,
Rowena, Geoff, Mr, Miss, Bilbo and Lady.
????????????????????????????????????
Sunflower
For those who have been following the growth of the sunflower seeds, which were salvaged from the MH17 crash site site in the Ukraine, two are flowering for Christmas.
Beyond the Flow 