Time Travelling Again

If the past five months went quickly, the last two weeks have simply dissolved.

The house is habitable and (mostly) furnished and we have been able to thoughtfully dispose of much that which was too large for the new more diminutive spaces. Actually they are more like the spaces that we were accustomed to for all but the last eight years, so it's a bit like pulling on a favourite old pair of jeans that one hasn't worn for a while, right down to being the same length but not quite wide enough in spots, but if we breath in we still fit.

Yesterday, mid afternoon we declared it done and drove the rental car to the big smoke in a sort of jet lagged fug. This is not necessarily a good thing when one hasn't yet commenced one's journey, and it must be said that we left with the feeling that there simply weren't enough goodbyes to go round properly, wondering how those we hold dear have put up with our busyness for the past few months.

Suddenly it all stopped. The Big E hid his tears behind his shades, ours held off until we were out of sight. We were in the air, and the washing machine that has been our life turned off, we left the roller coaster and ran to the merry go round.

Here we sit in Singapore. In transit, in our old seats in the Qantas Club, trying to believe that we have actually been home, trying to come to terms with all that has happened in that time, excited to be seeing our Northern friends.

By dawn we will be in Paris.

Shabby Chic

It had been a rather full-on weekend by the time we found our way through the boxes to the bridal suite, discovering the mattress and a couple of objects which felt vaguely enough like pillows to rest our heads upon them.

If indeed it is not age that wearies them, then surely it is moving house a week before moving countries.

Despite, or perhaps because of the distractions, we have made good progress.  Thirty years of other people's lives are slowly being erased under swabs of bleach or being captured in vacuum cleaners.

We have achieved shabby.   Now we just need to find some chic.

Pandemonium

The scruffy hordes descended on Dickyworld in numbers today, large numbers, although not quite as large as the number of years we were celebrating since the birth of the matriarch, and it must be said it passed it's first test in flying colours.

There was a bit of flying dust too, helped along by one of the mother's of our grandchildren demonstrating the powers of her super duper vacuum cleaner, rendering the stairs and carpeted areas walkable in bare feet, a not insignificant achievement.

Mister Four seemed to approve of his special bath in the linen cupboard, and pronounced the plastic channel drain bisecting the backyard to be "cool".  Miss Lily did her bit too, polishing every visible timber floor with the knees of her pyjamas, while the Big "E" feigned disinterest as only a four month old can do.

By the time the sun was over the yard arm, we'd been to the beach and failed entirely to buy her a new iPad in the face of the world wide shortage, but succeeded to pass off some of our now surplus furniture over the course of our twelfth coffee for the day, and Raymonde produced the most extraordinary chocolate truffle cake and we ate and drank and laughed until the wee small hours.

Actually it seemed like the wee small hours, but from memory, by the time the little hand had reached the nine, I was the last man standing.  Barely standing, but standing none the less.  

Happy Birthday Jojo.

Fatigue

We've been here forever and we haven't scratched the surface yet.

We have disposed of enough boxes so that we can walk around the house at least, and a few gallons of bleach later most of the things that once smelled ever so faintly of someone else's dog no longer do, at least until it gets damp again, but the ceiling fans have thus far escaped.

We are unsure quite what to do you see.   They once were white, but now they are not, like wanna be Rastafarians they hang from the centre of the living room and our bedroom, with dreadlocks of dust trailing in their wake.

If we could crochet, I'm sure they'd have little caps by now, sort of bulging beret things that would keep their hair safe, but we can't.

I think they are in for a trim tomorrow.

The First Day

Today really did feel like the first day of the rest of our life, we have barely a week until we leave the madness that has been the last quarter of a year, and the endless round of "welcome backs" is merging rapidly with an equally endless round of new farewells.

As the sun rose over Twoway Creek this morning, it was the dawn of the day after we bade the Home of the Biting Midge our final farewell; the first day in Dickyworld completely unshackled from the past decade, ready to start afresh.  That journey is finally over and a new one begun.

We think we are really going to like it here.

Impotence

Today marks the 37th anniversary of the first time I forgot our wedding anniversary.  For some, that would be catastrophic but I have to say that usually I remember give or take a day, and besides there's a bigger catastrophe brewing.

Technology has given us many wonderful things, and while the ability to track and monitor massive storm systems weeks ahead, and to predict their landfall with almost pinpoint accuracy will undoubtedly save many lives and make "disaster planning" something less of an oxymoron, I can't think of a situation that highlights one's own impotence more than watching the red and blue radar swirl of the perfect storm approaching somewhere for three days, checking on the state of one's friends hourly, and wondering why on earth they aren't leaving NOW instead of risking oblivion.

Here of course, a thousand kilometres to the south, the skies are blue, made bluer by the news that we have a date set for the move.

Roll on March 11.   I wonder if it will be as memorable for us as September 11 is for the rest of the world?  Or even February 2nd for that matter.

There are things afoot.

The year has barely begun yet it is a month old.

The rain has barely stopped and is about to begin again, and by now we have a complete understanding of the expression "It never rains but it pours".

It has been pouring for a month in our lives and perhaps I shall summarise the events of the first month of the year in a post or two appropriately backdated but today the skies have been clear and the contract on the new Home of the Biting Midge has today become unconditional.   

We don't know just when it will be ours, perhaps it will be as little as a week before we return to the northern hemisphere in search of a less damp existence, but in the meantime a cloud of contentment has descended.

Finally, the journey that began in London eighteen months ago when we heard of the planned resumption of our house, has a destination.

Destination Dicky Beach!

A new journey begins, one that undoubtedly will provide adventure for quite some time to come.