Tamworth
I stand at the clothes line in my Christmas Day frock, bare feet and Uncle David's leather bushman's hat. The clothes are almost dry by the time I've pegged them and I have to stand on the grass rather than the path because I can't stand the heat on the soles of my feet. I identify a patch that's free of bindies and stay there moving the line only. I tried to remember about saving the water from the machine but forgot that for this to work you have to do whites before coloureds.
Noonie has brought a couple of bottles of Veuve, a Christmas bonus from her work, and we crack one while we're in the kitchen dancing around each other getting veggies done and gravy made. Even Gran has some.
We stray into tricky territory during lunch when Hon starts to rail against the need for OH&S in general but then it's diffused by pudding and we all drift off to various couches and beds to nap. I begin on the sofa, glass of champagne by my side but then retire to the bed on the black and white tiles underneath the house. Pickle is there flat out on the cool floor, still, after a morning spent alternately tearing around the garden and on the verandah worrying at the many burrs caught in his fur and paws. When I'm at the clothes line even he stays in the shade of the house. Keep your eyes down says Uncle Dave. I wonder why and then realise he means so that I don't step on a snake.
When I wake we sit outside on the verandah and drink iced water. The others are still sleeping and Hon is sitting in the shade by the tennis court with his book. Lorraine buys Kate Grenville's book for Gran. It's based on the life of Solomon Wiseman. We're descended from him and we wonder about his life in England, because we already know that in Australia he was a hard man. I remember being fascinated as a child with the rumour that he pushed his wife off the balcony of his inn at Wisemans Ferry.
After dinner the temparature drops rapidly. I go back to the clothes line to watch the last of the sunset over the plain, and can feel coolness coming towards the house. In the semi dark the path still warms my bare feet but it's bearable now. The night air takes about half an hour to reach front of the house and our outdoor dining spot. The thermometer on the wall still says 29 but I think it's swayed by the warmth of the brick wall. We retire inside for Scrabble.
Noonie has brought a couple of bottles of Veuve, a Christmas bonus from her work, and we crack one while we're in the kitchen dancing around each other getting veggies done and gravy made. Even Gran has some.
We stray into tricky territory during lunch when Hon starts to rail against the need for OH&S in general but then it's diffused by pudding and we all drift off to various couches and beds to nap. I begin on the sofa, glass of champagne by my side but then retire to the bed on the black and white tiles underneath the house. Pickle is there flat out on the cool floor, still, after a morning spent alternately tearing around the garden and on the verandah worrying at the many burrs caught in his fur and paws. When I'm at the clothes line even he stays in the shade of the house. Keep your eyes down says Uncle Dave. I wonder why and then realise he means so that I don't step on a snake.
When I wake we sit outside on the verandah and drink iced water. The others are still sleeping and Hon is sitting in the shade by the tennis court with his book. Lorraine buys Kate Grenville's book for Gran. It's based on the life of Solomon Wiseman. We're descended from him and we wonder about his life in England, because we already know that in Australia he was a hard man. I remember being fascinated as a child with the rumour that he pushed his wife off the balcony of his inn at Wisemans Ferry.
After dinner the temparature drops rapidly. I go back to the clothes line to watch the last of the sunset over the plain, and can feel coolness coming towards the house. In the semi dark the path still warms my bare feet but it's bearable now. The night air takes about half an hour to reach front of the house and our outdoor dining spot. The thermometer on the wall still says 29 but I think it's swayed by the warmth of the brick wall. We retire inside for Scrabble.
posted by noonie at 1:04 PM
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