Stripped Studs down to their Bare Nuts

Nothing worse than having your nuts stripped, as we found out today. Hmmm, stranded in Drummoyne amidst a lot of non-existent pedestrian crossings, loud construction work for the new Rozelle bridge, and our second attempt at two new front tyres thwarted again.

The first time the K-Mart auto tyre chaps couldn't get them off, then on the next visit those stud's tight nuts were given a beating. It warranted many phone calls around town to find some replacements, which Moshe of VW King was always going to offer the best deal to fix. A drive out to Canterbury tomorrow for a whole new rim $30. Sigh, it's not easy looking after a 38 year old sometimes.

Much more fun was hanging with my 3 year old. We killed time at the 'Christmas Shop' who were primped and ready with every kind of glow in the dark decoration, we even checked out the Vespa showroom and got a free magazine with poster just for being their only customers. Even the rainbow Paddlepop at the petrol station could not make the tyre change go quicker. Bacon and egg sandwich at The Cove cafe, play at the park....I was running out of ideas here.

Towtrucks and Tickets

Oh dear, a bad ending to a pretty lousy week. I got a parking ticket by a nasty piece of work in Hall St, Bondi. She was already writing the ticket as I was crossing the road to buy an envelope. I came back in 2 minutes to see it being stuffed under my (not very well working) window wiper. Then she turned on me like cobra who is used to being cornered on a daily basis. I gave her the look - I was two minutes gone (I calculate at $4.40 per hour parking meter time, I should have really put in 6.5 cents), then she did this, she said "you've left your child in the car" (the sun had gone down), "I've recorded it and taken a photo" (so I did too) and "it's illegal - you know it is" (do I?). I said "he just woke up, I was two minutes!" (I really was) and she said "I've got four kids" and gave me a cobra spit. Depressing, so what will happen to me, will I get my kids taken off me? Will I go to hell, jail or worse - court.

All this after feeling so chipper about breaking down yesterday with a snapped clutch cable in the middle of the shopping centre, stuck at the exit with a line of cars up my bumper. I was rescued by a sweet Norfolk Islander that rounded up a car fulla of Maori council fellas who pushed me out of the way, he then drove me and my kid and the shopping home and gave me a free pencil made out of Norfolk pine. He said "up there things are a bit different and if somebody is in trouble, people pitch in and help". Not like the old bitch in the queue saying "Do you mind moving it! I'm in a hurry!!". I really would like her and the Hall St Cobra to connect sometime.

Postscript....these things, if you are superstitious, got to happen in threes. The next day I was dropping off a couple of guinea pigs we had been minding for friends who were holidaying. Pipsqueak and Dizzy, pretty casual, hungry, furry girls...who had obviously never been in a VW before. Pipsqueak began to show the signs of irrational terror and leapt out of her travelling box in the front, she was petrified by the roaring sound of my ultra-mega engine (one can dream) and started to run about unleashed, heading straight for the shade under the brake pedal. I did a 'drop off' manoeuvre, the sort of "I'm just pulling slowly to the side with all indicators blazing because I have a small animal under my brake pedal and can't use it right now or two little kids will come home from Thailand to find their pet squashed" sort of road tactic. Needless to say the pigs were happy when they got home.

Psychedelic History of the VW

Think one of those pesky kids took this, very creative little chicks.

Stop Scratching Skip

Oh god, 20 days since my last post. Am I suddenly unleashing the perfectionist who has been hiding somewhere? I've decided to spank her and send her back to her room. So please bear with me as I get over my blog hump and break through to the other side. I tend not to respond to compliments as well as criticism so now my mum has read my blogs and said they are lovely I'm basically cured of all attention seeking behaviour (for a while) and can just retire.

But alas, something burning at the back of my mind wants to be born, something called 'a family trip to the country', the remnants of which are still haunting me in unpacked bags strewn all over our bad carpet. My husband's incredibly reliable habit of finding a way to sabotage any attempt on my part to escape the shackles of domestic bliss worked again. I should have a sticker on my Kombi that says 'MY OTHER CAR IS A MERCEDES' (a shit one). That likes to run down its battery whilst the car doors are open to air out the mysterious source of mould.

'Lucky we have two cars darling' said I in a very good impersonation of someone with anger management classes under their belt. Perhaps all the self-help books are actually working. Or more likely I was so exhausted from packing I couldn't put up my fists. Not only was there too many things, I had also worn myself out getting the cat vaccinated and then shipped to Meadowmist boarding school for waaay bad ass cats.

VW to the rescue. South we were heading, overtaken by EVERYONE. Even really tiny little Jap Crap cars that were 20 years old. I'm starting to worry about the old girl and if she'll make it through rego. I finally won the battle of the Berry Donut Shack stopover cause I was driving. I can report they are very hot, sugary and nothing to blog about. 

I'm still scratching, you can't 

be too sure once you find one tick, there won't be more. Nurse Alison, my favourite removalist took to my neck with a pair of tweezers (that I packed) and deftly took out the the tiny bastard of page 55 on 'Family First Aid' (packed by me). The Paralysis (bush) Tick loves me. One year I had one on the labia majus and it wasn't till after a bottle of gin, a match, a wombat and some marital bonding that it was out of my life. Now on this dawn the 'weakness of the face and eyelids, then arms' alerted me to the fact that it wasn't just a hangover, certainly 'irritation at the site of the bite' (jugular) and 'breathing becomes difficult' (more of a panic reaction) - I thought it might be the mattress (holiday cabin quality), but the tingling fingers were an exciting addition to symptoms of the previous years, which I remembered well. I had a tick. I pulled out the secret weapon - homeopathic anti-insect-bite-potion.

Bream Beach is lovely. We are usually the only ones there, every winter solstice. The whales are passing on their way to Hervey Bay to birth. The sun sets early over St Georges Basin, we 

are on a small neck of land between there and Jervis Bay. The best part is we hire 6 cabins, all full of people who shall be called friends, old and young. Someone always swims, someone always sleeps, someone has firewood and nobody ever has an axe. The VW cosied up to a motorbike and the whole scene swum with kangeroo, kookaburra and possum. We burnt through 40 kgs of wood to get the fire just right for all the variety of meats. Nobody claimed the Portugese chicken which was cooked to perfection by the end of all 20 bottles of wine. It's always the Kiwis to bed last.

Call of the Wild

A Japanese man jogging in flip flops. His tight, brown calves are the best I've seen in the selection of leg muscles running past me on the Bondi to Bronte coast walk.

Here comes 'Wolf', an alsatian followed faithfully by his best friend, 'Dog Man' who wears Wolf's leash of colourful beads around his own weather beaten neck. 

I'm sleeping rough in the Kombi parked at Bronte Beach and soaking up a million-dollar view between the old-school VW curtains. I'm all alone for what seems the first time in six years, with neither baby in the belly nor crawling up my leg, laying in what feels like my Nana's spare room. Baba Yaga is looking after me.

The sound of waves crashing is constant, apparently they never stop. Even renovators go to bed. I am experiencing endless time (for today).

Eat. 

Inventory of the food basket offers a choice of grapes, one boiled egg, raisins, banana, bread, peanut butter and a leftover stirfry. Who packed this lunch? I consider a fish burger from the local deep fat fryer down the hill.

Outside my 'room of one's own' are Wild Men - surfers, fishermen, labourers in toolbearing utes cruising the coast for the great wave. I finally find the infamous cliff cave dwelling that is upsetting Bondi house prices and note the holey tarps and begging bowl.

Some budgie cages in a window overlook Tamarama beach, the lucky birds have their curtains drawn back so they can bathe in the morning sun.

Wild Women walk, take photos, sleep with abandon on the sand alone, shedding all the weight of life to soak up the earth.

At sunset, near the shore a solo whale arcs her back, heading north to warm waters.

I start spinning poi on the hill so they glow from  the last blazing rays of the day. Two dogs run to me excited by the possibility of getting a poi each. I stay away from the playground. A boxer, with his telltale nose in a hoodie accompanied by twitchy manager and trainer pass by. I avoid the paparazzi who ruin my sea air with their smokes.

Another night darkens, at dusk I light candles and pull the floral curtains shut, and turn in at 6pm to read in bed, to rest, to think long thoughts. I sleep alone. Charged dreams wake me, I chase after them with my pen. In this cocoon I incubate words flowing in, words flowing out and watch my mind as it discovers something rare - the final line of a book.

'Even in poverty and obscurity, (it) is worthwhile' (to write) - Virginia Woolf.

On the third day I hatch, aware that my self, my wild self is still alive, she is grown and all mine again, never will I ignore her and pretend she can live without being fed.

'Parks for Pussies'

I like to regularly kidnap MSP & kids in the VW, giving them only 15 minutes notice to gather shoes, hats, drink bottles, nappies and three-horned dinosaurs, then head en familie for a journey into the unknown. On Mother's Day I had supreme power over which direction we went. I was yearning for wide open spaces, Grotto Point Reserve, Balgowlah, just fell into my head - an excellent place for a 'car picnic' should the weather turn.

Me being a 'park right out front' sort of girl, I found us a spot with world class views. We did damage to old-school chicken rolls sitting next to the VW on an upturned crate and a cushion probably issued with the original '71 back seat. Certain members enjoyed the 'standing up lunch' whilst the babe of our clan slept in the back, taking in the fresh air blowing between north and south heads of Sydney Harbour.

On the way there we bypassed various lovingly mowed, 

overcrowded,  sea-level parks which I sneeringly dubbed as 'parks for pussies'. We pushed on to this wilder place where the sea clawed at the cliffs and the vista circled for 270 degrees. A perch from where even the Manly Ferry looked miniature.

It's my job to enlighten our city-living children with the peaceful pleasures of nature, show them the glorious sprays of wildflower decorating the coastal heath. Walk amongst masses of orange Banksia ericifolia and velvety flannel flowers which are incidentally the floral emblem chosen for New South Wales....blah blah blah, all they wanted to do was to feed chips to the magpies!

I  recommend 'Buddhism for Mothers' by Sarah Napthali.

Exterminator for Hire

So after five years of an aversion to reading the newspaper, I can actually absorb a whole page on Saturdays, usually the previous week's edition of the SMH, and not just the movie reviews either.  Today I read all about PM Rudd's totally groovy speech to Peking University.  Obviously my Getup contribution drove him to the edge.

I felt a bit confused when fellow Buddhists were apparently going ape in Lhasa, understandably so, I know how  being pent up for years on end can make you want to leap the barrier, although according to my Facebook confidant, there is talk of them actually being Chinese soldiers (seen above holding robes).  Today I popped over to Bondi in record time, using some of those lucky punk karma lane changes that you can do off peak. On the way there I see a Sydney cab driver do something original - talk about politics.

Free for the arvo, I get to my pregnant friend's birthday party - afternoon tea, innocent enough, and there are twelve adults and twenty under 5's.  I left my children at home because I could.  There was a riot going on.  That'll teach her for having baby number two.  I experienced a zen-like calm owing to the fact I was the only parent with a pass-out, and as a random act of compassion I offered the birthday girl and her one and a half children a lift in the Kombi.

Little did I realise that at the exact latitude and longitude of my VW was an extremely functional 70's three tier bookshelf (our books are currently stacked on the floor) and a very cute toddler bed (a perfect upgrade from a cot) of the roadside chuckout variety.  It was a case of pregnant birthday friend with child(ren) in the rain V's free furniture.

Guess I've matured.  I gave up the furniture and got a nice packet of assorted creams for my sacrifice from birthday girl.  Mental note to self:  there are better roadside dumps in Bondi than any other part of Sydney.  My theory being a/more backpackers coming and going (especially this time of year - yay for the locals) and b/more aspiring Good Weekend readers who have turfed out those unpretentious hardy veneer shelves on coasters for a nice bit of Chinese-made IKEA Billy.

Ask a donkey for directions

My first blog. Oh well, I got that far before the kids interupted me... This shall be the last time I mention them as I have just now decided it shall not only be about me and what I get up to in my VW but what I get up to minus my children.

One can dream.

So I announced this week that I was going to abandon my responsibilities and skive off up the highway to a yoga retreat and experience some peace & quiet. The cost 'by donation' made it a very attractive getaway option. Me and my 1971 Kombi Volkswagen hit the road with a half tank of petrol, ipod and my most floaty trousers on. As I hit Freeway 1 at a cracking 80kmp my fleeing was synchronously heralded with 'Wide Open Road' by the Triffids.

I knew I was lost when the road ended in a silted creek, three donkeys and a farm gate (damn google maps). I still felt optimistic because if anything happened, like a flat tyre, I would have to deal with it minus mobile reception (bad) and my two kids whining in the back 'when are we going to get there' (very bad).




I went back to the main road and followed the big sign that said 'Yoga Retreat' and just when I decided to give up and head for Wisemen's Ferry pub, I saw the turnoff and was now destined for vegan food instead of a meat pie and schooner.

After that first episode of letting go of the outcome, I came upon the retreat and was greeted by a second opportunity to gain enlightenment - a man in orange robes wielding a jackhammer and doing some damage with it (with a whipper snipper accompaniment). I'd only just fled the overactive renovators of the suburbs in the hope of hiding in the forest for a bit of silence, so you can imagine how fucking zen I felt, but being so grateful for a day pass I actually did managed to see the funny side and presented myself to reception. They were a tiny bit surprised that I was 3 hours late but I enjoyed letting them think they were molding a total loser.

I joined a half hour meditation and relaxation session which felt uh, relaxing, and then it was lunchtime. It was a congealed mass of beans and root vegetables (a/ I didn't have to cook it, b/ it was free and c/possibly slimming judging from the regulars who were dining as if they were part of the 'slow' movement).

After washing my dish (only one!) and patting a real python that slithered across the path, we had a yoga class that was quite easy and simple, except I was a bit distracted by the leader's lack of underpants clearly visible beneath his Thai fisherman's trousers. I must train the mind further.

I ended up heading home before a thunderstorm hit and stopped at a roadside vegetable shed to buy up strange country offerings like mini pumpkins and massive bunches of flowers for $2. Normally, if in the car with my husband driving whom I'll refer to in future as MSP, I would have to throw myself from the moving vehicle at 130kph if I wanted to experience the slow country pace. Now that I was driving solo meo I could stop and photograph silly post boxes, buy useless but artistically shaped pumpkins, ask donkeys for directions, and wedge my ipod earplugs in and sing all the way home as loud as possible to the Indigo Girls.