Some bright soul has been banging out Christmas Carols on a P.A. system the Foo Fighters would dream of, down at the local oval all afternoon. I thought it was my neighbours across the road doing weird karaoke to one another once their son left in his lime green ute. I don't really know them that well, but it turns out, they are not as dorky as my imagination would have them. After 'closing' my door with more than necessary force in a futile , somewhat childish protest, turning up my own stereo and feeling righteously Grinch, I realised the sound was floating cross town from down at the school oval....and would be all afternoon.
Goodbye peaceful Sunday on the veranda reading the paper. These carols sucked. I'm not a big Christmas who-ha person anyway but soprano notes on All I want for Christmas were making my stomach turn. All I want for Christmas is to stop these stupid carols. (Newsflash - "Grinch Grouch pre-middle aged woman dies with ears bleeding and gritted teeth. Unknown if due to business or cheer-related stress.") I washed down my beer quickly and started to cook. Frustrated. Not wanting to be inside. I'm inside all week! I had energy to burn, but didn't want to do anymore housework. Nor listen to this unholy racket.
Shoes on, pre-exercise beer in the system, I started off down the street to explore north Quorn in more detail. Just about every time I go walking in Quorn, I discover something new: a foot bridge, a sleepy lizard, a new park, a short cut. This time I saw two kangaroos, another sleepy, walked past two ten year old girls in cowboy boots looking for a boy in blue who had done the dash from a birthday party - before the cake was even cut!!!! Imagine. The party was kinda near the school oval. Poor little bugger. Flee, flee for the hills!
I walked past horse yards, down Arden Vale Road, feeling free and happy with my choice to live here. Choosing a tree change. Feeling good again about this little town, my new home. A blue heeler flew out of the yard barking and scared the living daylights out of me as I wondered past his turf.
"Chill out Bluey," I coo. He snarls back unconvinced, smelling soprano in the air.
I high tail it back down past Williams St, looking at the native gardens and sinister pine trees making noise in the winds that have been gusting all day. I look at abandoned houses, and the backstreets of a town with its roots in the 1800s, the iron clad and stone cottages restored, painted, so quiet. I head back toward my own. I pass a fig tree in an abandoned block and pull three early season ripe figs and think of grilling them tonight, with turmeric honey and pistachio ice cream.
Entering my own garden at 7pm with the evening glow stretched across the yard, I inspect my own trees and pull another 4 figs from my sprawling fig and relish the delight of fruit-bearing plants, being able to share excess with my new neighbor friends down the road and more broadly, a grander hope for fun times in the years ahead.
With the year coming to a close, Im looking forward to travel again soon, the anonymity of the airport transit lounge, time off and cold climate Tasmania with Mt Wellington as the backdrop, and yes, fresh seafood and more fresh produce.
The carollers are still going. They are now repeating carols. Holy moly. Cars parked up and down the street. All the life in Quorn is at the oval. I pull out the bottle of Baileys and slink ice cubes into a large glass. If you can't beat em, join em.
Deck the Halls and Lets Get Trollied!
Goodbye peaceful Sunday on the veranda reading the paper. These carols sucked. I'm not a big Christmas who-ha person anyway but soprano notes on All I want for Christmas were making my stomach turn. All I want for Christmas is to stop these stupid carols. (Newsflash - "Grinch Grouch pre-middle aged woman dies with ears bleeding and gritted teeth. Unknown if due to business or cheer-related stress.") I washed down my beer quickly and started to cook. Frustrated. Not wanting to be inside. I'm inside all week! I had energy to burn, but didn't want to do anymore housework. Nor listen to this unholy racket.
Shoes on, pre-exercise beer in the system, I started off down the street to explore north Quorn in more detail. Just about every time I go walking in Quorn, I discover something new: a foot bridge, a sleepy lizard, a new park, a short cut. This time I saw two kangaroos, another sleepy, walked past two ten year old girls in cowboy boots looking for a boy in blue who had done the dash from a birthday party - before the cake was even cut!!!! Imagine. The party was kinda near the school oval. Poor little bugger. Flee, flee for the hills!
I walked past horse yards, down Arden Vale Road, feeling free and happy with my choice to live here. Choosing a tree change. Feeling good again about this little town, my new home. A blue heeler flew out of the yard barking and scared the living daylights out of me as I wondered past his turf.
"Chill out Bluey," I coo. He snarls back unconvinced, smelling soprano in the air.
I high tail it back down past Williams St, looking at the native gardens and sinister pine trees making noise in the winds that have been gusting all day. I look at abandoned houses, and the backstreets of a town with its roots in the 1800s, the iron clad and stone cottages restored, painted, so quiet. I head back toward my own. I pass a fig tree in an abandoned block and pull three early season ripe figs and think of grilling them tonight, with turmeric honey and pistachio ice cream.
Entering my own garden at 7pm with the evening glow stretched across the yard, I inspect my own trees and pull another 4 figs from my sprawling fig and relish the delight of fruit-bearing plants, being able to share excess with my new neighbor friends down the road and more broadly, a grander hope for fun times in the years ahead.
With the year coming to a close, Im looking forward to travel again soon, the anonymity of the airport transit lounge, time off and cold climate Tasmania with Mt Wellington as the backdrop, and yes, fresh seafood and more fresh produce.
The carollers are still going. They are now repeating carols. Holy moly. Cars parked up and down the street. All the life in Quorn is at the oval. I pull out the bottle of Baileys and slink ice cubes into a large glass. If you can't beat em, join em.
Deck the Halls and Lets Get Trollied!
No comments:
Post a Comment