Sunday, January 29, 2012

Foggy foggy dew

Sitting on the back veranda attempting to finish off a soduku — no chance 'cause my glasses kept fogging up and I couldn't, of course, see the numbers on the page. Yep, that's just how humid it is right now in the great green south.

I finally gave up and settled into my computer chair to jot you all a note about the circumstances of this week.

Sunday morning and we were off to James Street in the Valley for our scrambled eggs and the best cuppa of the week. No one makes a mug of flat whites as tasty as Faye at Harvey's.

Then home again, home again, jiggidy jig.

The Master of the house is down in the cellar arranging, sweeping and generally making space for all of our most valued items — you know the stuff — no financial value, but lots of emotional riff that the kids who are renting the house don't have to worry about breaking or scuffing my tax records or his no longer useful lighting tools. There's always the tiny gifts given by students when I graduated high school, one or five of them. And naturally, the wine glasses that were a gift from his mom on the day of his first wedding.

And all the paint and stain cans from bringing the hundred year old doors into the 21st century and the goods necessary to protect the front and back veranda from the elements for one more year. Both look spiffy at the moment. The mold from last years flood monsoon washed away and the surfaces repainted. The little black ants evicted from crevices between boards and wood protection applied. The charcoal of the two of us in love transported to its own wall, covered and hung in the deep dry depths to keep it safe until we return and hang it again above the bed.

A week before our departure and I'm packed and ready to climb into the taxi. The Aussie monster will soon be in the same condition. Cleaners come on Friday for an eight hour bout with the house to make it spic and span for renters.

Why is it that we clean as we leave? According to my ex, that's a pattern I've been following for an awful lot of years. One more time, I'll follow the pattern, only this time I will return for at least another twelve months of Brisbane cafe life before finding a new Australian home.

In the meantime, hopefully, February which is sticking it's short little head over the horizon, will be a celebration for all of you. We think it will be for us.