Aussie Life .5
“I wish the world was still Pangaea so we could just drive to see them” Lucas sighed, drooping his head on our way down on the airport escalators. We’d just said our goodbyes to grandma.
My mum had made the journey over for the first time since covid, traveling with a mother of a friend of mine, neither of whom speak English, so we’d figured they’d be better off together than making the long haul on their own.
They made it, but there was also drama. We’re still not entirely sure what happened, but I think the saga started with simple misspellings, then continued with lost OR never-applied-for visa documents, and peaked in Singapore when they (somehow) boarded a wrong flight.
But you know, they made it and that’s really all that matters. Exhausted and relieved, we welcomed the grandma-duo to Australia, on the the morning of New Year’s Eve.
Delirious from the lack of sleep, stress, and detective-level flight tracking, I headed out to meet Hanne and Moha that evening.
Hanne’s new office was hosting an NYE party for family and friends, modestly in the nook of the Sydney Harbour Bridge with a view of the Opera House ahead.
Wiser from a time before, I knew to pack my runners in the bag and wear a dress I’d be happy to eventually walk home in. Getting a taxi for anything less than four hundred bucks was going to be impossible that night, and unlike before, I was now prepared for the march of the penguins (if the penguins were drunk, staggering, and on their phones the whole way home).
After what they call the ‘kids New years’ at half past nine, I was ready meat to go home, shattered with a droopy one eye open.
I couldn’t go now, Hanne explained. We were on a roll of four consecutive new years together, so I really needed to (insert German accent) get on with the program and grab a drink.
For fifteen ear-piercing and fantastical minutes, we then shrieked and whooped to a happy new year at midnight, the bridge literally dripping down fire. It’s neither a moment I’d like to relive nor one I’d want to forget. In the spectacular view, we made resolutions (or manifestations) and swore to do it again next year, together but with absolutely zero explosives around.
The rest of January we enjoyed the longest summer in memory.
Having Mum around meant that I suddenly started to have some evenings off. No babysitter-meter running, nothing at all to do. So, as per resolution number one, I thought I’d give dating a go. Again.
The only thing my mum said about the whole thing was ‘Just make sure you have a toothbrush on you if you don’t come home’ which was jarringly kind of cool. Like finally at the age of thirty-eight, I’d either become an adult who needs no interrogation.. or a spinster who should just marry, the sooner the better, and for that, you need a healthy set of teeth. I appreciated it.
The dating ground has only really seen tumbleweed roll past – BUT– I was inspired by the whole good teeth thing and finally had them braces put in. Soon I’ll have amazing chompers, even if they do take me to the poor house.
I cannot believe we had free dental in school and I’d just not turn up. Saved the government a fortune, clearly.
By mid-Jan, I finally stopped thinking about work, and we flew up to Byron Bay, where we stayed at a little holiday house by the most stunning of ocean beaches.
Paradise, if you ignore the weird neighbourhood vibe of every single property and apartment being some sort of an Airbnb. I read five books (humble brag) like I was starved of text. It’d been so long, three years maybe, since I didn’t have to mind anyone or do anything. I want to write this down because it really stopped me. I know it takes a village and Lucas is the easiest and the best kid I know by far (in my obvious bias) but god damn does it actually take a village. Anyway. The second resolution already in practice; Ask for more help 💪🏻.
From the beach Eden we were picked up by friends to stay in a town called Billinudgel.
The travel buddy grandma had stayed there since arrival, and so had apparently Gerald, a python the size of a human thigh who shared the facilities with us, mainly keeping to himself on the sunny rooftop of the sauna.
Lucas named him after all the fish in our tank, who are all blessed with the name Gerald Bob.
My Mum is nearly as terrified of snakes as I am of bears (phobia level) so she must’ve been Byron-high when Reetta told her that the sleeping arrangement options were either the comfy bedroom downstairs next to ours or the cozy guest cabin down the hill through the pitch black darkness when she chose the latter.
“Will you walk me down there?” she asked me wishfully and a little coyly at bedtime, to which I responded with zero shame “Hell No!”.
I’d take a bullet for you Mum but I’m NOT going through that misty field of Slytherings - so you might as well just stay in the house with us tonight!
We then all watched (and cheered) her wobbly descent down the snakebite hell hill, with a phone torch as her only source of light, dragging a small wheelie suitcase along. I’m a bad daughter, I know. But fucking hell, I also want to grow old and I NEVER want to meet Gerald again.
After the holidays we got back to Sydney and I went back to work and Lucas started at a new school.
Mum stayed for a while longer and we did all the things, the museums and the parks and the Newtown restaurants. There’s an altar of Lego them two built together and no one can now touch or play with any of it, which is quite sweet. It’s been months now, and at some point, I will have to go in and dust and hoover and move things.
It’s autumn, late May now and I’m down to my last resolution immaterialised; getting a Driving license.
Somehow, it’s just a totally impossible thing to start doing, and with excuses running low, I probably signed up for the outrageously expensive dental work so I’d have something to blame my total uselessness on. You don’t need to drive in most places, but Australia just happens to be one of them places where you do.
Maybe in the spring, after a month back home, we get back and I’ll have at least ten jet-lagged days of insomnia – I can learn then. What could possibly go wrong?
Here are a few recommendations, in no particular order or topic, just some of the highlights of this twenty-twenty-three. If you know a driving instructor who’s not easily spooked, ping me a message. I may or may not get on with the program.
Books
Tiny Beautiful Things – Advice from Dear Sugar
(Given to me by Abbie, who’s my book-nerd-love-and-lifer-friend)
They're Going to Love You – by Meg Howrey
(One of the best novels I’ve read in adult memory)
Twitter (I know, but you know, there’s still some gems there)
I’m keenly following the threads that Vikki Ross posts, with tags ‘Lines I don't reckon AI could write’ and #CopywritersUnite
Just. So fresh (even when really quite old)
Video
Slightly off the hot AI topic, but somewhat aligned - we're stuck.
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Jojo