Snow! In Missouri! Or what was left of it, anyway.

 
“I have some bad news,” Barb said over the phone.

Columbia received 16 inches of snow in a recent storm, but most of it, she said, had since melted. I saw some while I was there, but it was in random, dirty heaps like the one below.

 
It was 68 degrees Fahrenheit on my last day there. Without consulting the internet, that’s about 20 degrees Celsius. In winter, in the Midwest. What the??

It was great to see everyone and relive the old days. Getting there was fun, too, because I got to knit on the train to the soundtrack of my new toy, and the Southwest Airlines crew were on happy pills. As one of my flights came to a complete stop, the pilot said in an authoritative voice: “Don’t even think about it.” Everyone laughed. Then we heard the ding and the seatbelt light turned off. “OK, now get out!” he joked.

On my last flight back, the flight attendant announced that a couple in the front row really wanted her to sing. “I can’t really sing, but here goes,” she said.

Sung to the tune of This Old Man, aka Barney’s I Love You, You Love Me:

“We love you.
You love us.
We’re much faster than a bus.
We hope you’ve enjoyed our hospitality.
Marry one of us and you’ll fly free!”

Much applause followed.

 

My colleagues in the napping industry.

 
I nearly had a shock on Saturday when we returned to Barb and Nuke’s house after a day of thrifting.

Can you tell what’s wrong with these three photos?

Answer: Everyone in the house was napping except for me! In fact, if you don’t count my first few hours back in the U.S., I haven’t napped yet. And I’m a professional.

If Sparky was here, he would surely grab me and ask, “Where’s Honey, and what have you done with her??”

taken in August at Point Nepean National Park

 
I’m on holiday in America, and I haven’t taken a single picture yet. I’ve been too busy shopping, eating and hanging out with my family. And I miss my comments, so they’re back (for now). Don’t be afraid to say hello.

On Sunday I got the official phone call from Best Friend Since 5th Grade, to tell me she’s engaged. I’m ecstatic for her — in fact, I actually jumped up and down in my chair while she took me through every detail on the phone — but it’s also a little surreal. Our friendship is nearing the two-decade mark. And now she’s all grown up. Nevermind that it was probably weird for her to attend my wedding more than four years ago. Let’s make this about me, me, me.

I haven’t properly met her fiance because I live so far away and he was out of the picture the last three times I visited. So I think that has a lot to do with it — he’s still a two-dimensional picture to me. And the last time I grilled her properly about the relationship, in that way that only best friends can do, I had no idea she was marriage-ready. From my recollection, we had a few more non-specific “things are good with us” conversations, and the next thing I know she’s ring shopping. Whoa. She was probably more than ready, whereas for me there’s a big gap in the timeline. So I can’t wait to meet him and fill in the gap. And I get to take the engagement photo. How lucky am I?

There is no question that I must attend this wedding. There is also no magic money monkey coming to bless me soon, and the wedding’s most likely in June. My next tax refund’s not till July or August, so I need to think up a plan. I can’t take a second job (legally) until I’m a permanent resident. Envelope pimping, perhaps? Secret modeling jobs for cash only? Busking in Bourke Street? Or maybe I should just cross my fingers and hope no one else wants to eat mock meat. I’ll win the Vegie Delights competition by default.

 
I travelled to South Australia this past weekend for a wedding. I took better photos, but the ones to which I gravitate are blurry, like the one above. There’s an amazing shot from the end of the ceremony, where the way he is looking at her just kills me, but I can’t bring myself to blog it because it feels so personal and, well, invasive. If only you could see the look.

This wasn’t the first wedding I’ve attended since the divorce, but the first one that made me emotional, to the point (when From Little Things Big Things Grow was sung) that I thought I might have to rush to the restroom for some “controlled crying”, as a once-depressed friend of mine referred to her timed outbursts. But I bit my tongue, hid behind my camera and kept my lip from quivering too much. I hope.

The weather was perfect, everything was lovely and well thought out, and the people we met were fun and interesting. In some ways it reminded me a bit of my own wedding, and all the feelings I felt at the time, which made me sad, and envious. And genuinely happy and hopeful for them too. And thinking about things I would do the second time ’round.

And that song gets me every time. When Archie Roach and Sara Storer covered it on RocKwiz, I wondered how they could recreate the burst at the end that Paul Kelly recorded so magnificently. When they finished by getting the RocKwiz audience to sing the chorus a cappella, I couldn’t hold back the tears. So moving.

It also reminds me of when Sparky and I were first dating.

—–
Two random things:

1. My car was broken into last week, and I thought it odd that the only item burgled was my metal ashtray drawer. There weren’t even any coins in the ashtray! No petrol was siphoned, and not a single cassette was taken.

But today I discovered my Melway map directory (that’s 15 future sets of envelopes down the drain) and the original 1972 car manual were also pinched. The manual was a seriously beautiful piece of design, with good typography and funny set-up pictures of inspectors wearing lab coats at the Volkswagen factory. I will miss it so.

2. Kylie mentioned this competition, and $5000 would not go unappreciated about now. The catch is that you have to purchase 12 packets of mock-meat products (2 packets each week, for six consecutive weeks, with receipts and barcodes to prove it) by August.

I couldn’t help but think of Adam Sandler’s character in Punch-Drunk Love, when he says, “I just need more pudding.” If you are also mock-meat-loving enough to enter, feel free to use my code GKBQV when it asks who referred you. That way I’ll get extra chances to win. Thanks, internet!

A photo from a few months back, taken at the MCG. I only just noticed that the statue appears to be reaching for the tiny airplane. Tee hee.

 
Comment spam - accckkk. I’ve turned off the comments for the time being and will restore ‘em when I can get some time to upgrade and install spam-removal tools. Probably in a few weeks when I’m at the folks’.

Once again it’s Sunday and I’m exhausted and wonder where my week has gone. Well, actually, I know where it has gone: work, sleep, driving, volunteering, op shopping, house inspecting, and doing laundry.

Lots of laundry because a) it’s been awhile and b) my washing machine tried to run away. It got drunk and started hopping out of my apartment while I was at work, resulting in a basket of clothes tumbling into the sink, getting damp and mixing — most notably the whites and the reds, which would never be allowed to mingle under my supervision.

My favourite white t-shirt has been restored, but my white denim jacket is in critical condition and looks as though it has hives. Bad, bad washing machine. If you saw how far it has moved from its original position, you would suspect an escape attempt also.

Last night I saw D@rren H@nlon play with De@r Nora at the Corner. Dazza’s shows are always money well spent. Many musicians I knew were there — either playing or just fellow fans for the evening — which was great and a bit weird. Weird because I spent some time with each of them when they weren’t quite as famous and busy and jetsetting and I just loved the music. I have fond memories of those days. Now we’re still friendly and it’s lovely to see them, but we don’t keep in contact (even though we live in the same city) so it’s back to small talk.

When he sang The Kickstand Song last night, I couldn’t help thinking, “I remember when he wrote that!” Like a proud parent.

When I lived in the U.S., a number of travelling Aussie musicians slept on my couches. I was often the lone connection in a foreign city, and they were too poor to afford accommodation. But now they’re actually making money from their music, and at least half of a Melbourne audience consists of people they know.

It doesn’t help that Dazza is one of the friendliest guys in the world. We couldn’t stay awake long enough to join the queue after the show, so I had to wave and blow kisses to the backstage area where he was hiding and call it a night. I’m fairly certain he caught them.

Sigh. I wonder if they remember me as fondly as I remember them? Or if their world is a constant blur of similarly friendly faces.

a “starter” at SOS - one lonely little (delicious) olive

 
I am 29 years old. So far, so good.

I spent my actual birthday at the races again, although this time a bit further out of town. I found the most fabulous frock for $40 and a matching vintage hat and handbag for $2.50 each at a nearby op shop. Score! I felt a bit like a princess all day, which is how it should be.

I thought I was going to be late for dinner with the beau at SOS, but I was nearly 10 minutes early, which gave me just enough time to jump in the photobooth and immortalise my new haircut and fabulous frock.

Dinner was impressive, and a big improvement on our last visit. Highlights include gelato made out of parmesan cheese (weird and wonderful, as Sparky likes to say), a mushroom torte with pickled artichoke hearts, and a chocolate and lemon panna cotta. And maybe a really fancy girly cocktail that involved fresh basil and honey-infused vodka. I said “wow” a lot.

But the best part was coming home, exhausted and sunburnt, to sweet and funny answering-machine messages from far-away friends. It was better than any present. I think I will keep them for awhile just so I can replay them.

 

Dights Falls, which, a sign told us, has a “fish ladder” to aid fish in going upstream. Hmm.
The pink person in the photo is from our entourage, naturally.

 
Today was the official celebration, though — a picnic at Studley Park. It’s hard to believe that somewhere so lovely is only 10 minutes from home. It seemed like another place entirely. We ate, we walked, we rowed (well, everyone but me rowed - I just rode!) and had a fabulous time. Only a nap could have improved the proceedings, but we didn’t have enough blankets. Because trust me, I thought about it. (And so did Kylie, who successfully went prostrate twice in the middle of all the hubbub.)

I have some amazing friends, who are also very generous and give great gifts. And who are not afraid of sugar, which is crucial because that and margarine formed 80% of the dessert portion of the day — two kinds of cupcakes and apple tarte tatin. Mmmmm.

For your viewing pleasure, some more photos from the park. 10 minutes from home! Sometimes I have to pinch myself.