The other fun available

 There are apparently other things that you can do on holidays besides relax or shop or get beautiful or just let go of all care.

You can fight with a teenager about the school work that should only take about an hour a day to keep on top of.

In fact, if you get a teenager in the right phase, you can argue about 20 minutes of school work for nearly the whole day.

The arguments varied from I have done everything through its all stupid to its all your fault that I will fail everything by taking this holiday now.

To add interest, the first baulk at doing what was required resulted in no phone availability until at least 20 minutes was achieved, and it proved to me that time travel is possible because I saw a modern version of my own teenage strops.

Mum was right then too.

Once we were over that hump, had food in our stomachs and equilibrium reached, we were playing pool and Paris noted how, with the white ball in one hand and cue in the other, she was like Elsa (in Frozen) when she was coronated.

Coronated didn't sound right, so we went to the internet to see what we could find.

Amongst things found was proof in the adage that you should never trust the internet.

Is it Thursday?

 

That is the problem with a holiday, isn't it?

we enter the swimming pool of days, shallow and warm and mesmerisingly relaxing.

Our "real time" is akilter.

And now we have entered that deep water of where in the week are we?

In the month? Which month?

In the spin of earth attuned with Sun?

But every day is Sunday for us here.

Thursday so we went to the foot spa and manicure place today and my nails are now varying shades of orange 🧡 .  Paris chose a very neutral gel, and I discovered that I am ticklish - extremely ticklish - when my feet are scrubbed by someone else.

I could be wrong but I think that this is Elizabeth Rankin and Herbert Arnold Burgess, parents of my father's mother. Grandma was born in 1912.

I wonder if that was a Thursday? And what shape their feet were in.

Although, another of my forbears was a shoemaker and a daughter who is a podiatrist so perhaps better than we could expect today.

San Francisco Love Stories

 I have never been in San Francisco but it is a city where the heroine of one of my stories met the love of her life.

He was an older man, but she was an incredibly successful woman in her own right when they met in an official capacity.

They swept each other off their respective feet and he followed her into her life and, from one perspective, they formed their own perfect reality exclusive of all others until death did them part.

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Back in the day - over 40 years ago now can you believe - I did a presentation. I must admit my poster art always let me down.

I think that is why I went into public speaking quite assiduously at that juncture.  

Other people think that they are terrified of public speaking. It's definitely not so cool to be scared of an A3 piece of purple cardboard, some maps, photos cut from magazines, markers and clag (don't even mention sticky tape or worse still, stickers).

Words I can play with and you can hardly tell when I colour outside the lines.

My presentation on San Francisco had interesting facts like the Golden Gate bridge and the Chinatown and their zigzaggiest street in the world. 

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This is not the zigzaggiest street of SF but rather the view towards SD I snapped yesterday. Usual phone disclaimer.

I cannot remember if I mentioned the Giants and, funny thing, I married into a Padres family who are being visited this week by the San Francisco Giants. 

My lucky number is 23 - which happens to be that of one Dominican player called Fernando Tatis Jnr

OMG 😱 I just read his Wikipedia and that of his father and it was meant to be:

• Fernando was a favourite ABBA song;
• Ferdinand was the name of my favourite book about a bull that didn't want to fight (& there was a cork tree in it)
• Wasn't it?
• Snr holds a record for RBI as he hit 2 grand slams in one innings 
• ON MY BIRTHDAY 
• in 1999!
• Which was also the year that not only 'Salina was born -
• But his own son Fernando Tatis Jnr was born in that year 
• On the 2nd of January, which is a date etched in my mind as my great aunt is the first name etched in the family bible as being born over 125 years ago 
• Which is also the day after Fernando Tatis (thereafter known as Snr) turned 24
• Snr was born the year that I started primary school.
• Jnr played an absolute BLINDER today and helped to smash the Giants tonight.

So not every love story has a happy ending for all involved. The Padres fans loved it. Should I get a number 23 Padres shirt, there would definitely be a happy ending.

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In other non-SF related news - today I got a haircut and we had enchiladas and tomorrow we may get pedicures and manicures and go to a bookstore.

Yours truly sporting the latest style from my MILs salon.

What is not to love about a holiday?

Hands, knees and boompsa-daisy - and big buses, bears and birthday wishes

 Today, we went to the zoo.

Do you know what I did not do at the zoo? I did not take many pictures. You know the reason why. 

(Isn't my MIL beautiful? I won't reveal a lady's age without consent, but goodness you would be surprised)

Instead, I actually stopped looking through the lens (it's screen really, isn't it?)

However, just because I was not screen gazing did not mean that I was not distracted.

Thus on the walk from the car to the entrance to the zoo, I was both searching for the tickets (in exactly the place that I had put them) and navigating the San Diego Zoo car park (where all of the animals of our species goes to look at others) and I failed to assess the height of the gutter accurately. 

Thus the right toe shoe was several centimetres lower than the gutter to the footpath and therefore a chain of events occurred starting with my outstretched hand jarring into the pavement and my right kneecap slamming into the ground. I somehow managed to weave my fall enough that my skull did not follow suit.

I very nearly channelled Roy Kent on the ground, but an eyewitness advised my travelling companions that my head was spared, and can we have a hallelujah for that.

Another miracle is that, apart from the initial impact there was not a lot of pain.

We peaked early with a dream run to the choice seats on the top deck of the bus.

After that, the pandas were sleeping, big cats were up close and personal with one camping on the walkway watching the stupid little humans go up the unsigned dead-end road and then turn around and come back again, the birds of prey casually observing the ordered lines of humans streaming past, the hippos tiptoed right beside us and the canyon we descended and climbed - alas there was no polar bear to be found.

All the elements of 1970s sepia postcard filter my phone now offers - I would also like to lay the crap composition at that alter but really my other main misfortune to blame - I have absolutely no sense of style. A vortex indeed.

By the time we got home the pool was most welcome - and muscles that I didn't know existed - prior to trauma or exertion - or a little of both - shouted their dispute and are talking still.

I should end this post with taking full advantage of the time difference and wish my beautiful mother many happy returns on the anniversary of her spinning around the Sun - she has now seen 87 August 18. Love you Mum. 

(Mum with Jill this winter)

Aunt Jane

 Aunt Jane was wonderful.

It is lore in my family - whenever Aunt Jane was mentioned, the word wonderful was associated.

Aunt Sarah did not get such universal rave reviews. She was respected but definitely not the comforting type.

Jane was probably in her 30s when the children came into her care. She had been nursing her mother most of her life and now she had what spinsters of her era and class could never aspire to - three young minds to mould.

But I think that they gave back joy in tenfold to Aunt Jane.

The children - responsible older sister A already left school at 12 about to kick her traces, brother T the knight in shining armour at 11 and scarrion EM - my grandmother. They had been in care in Far North Queensland until rescued by the Aunts (I have told that story before - I think - here maybe?)

Their were strict rules to adhere to - the Aunts hired war widows to "do" in the house and the garden, and the children were not to interfere as these women were to be able to have pride in providing for themselves and family so it was not to be considered child's play. Or charity.

The children's favourite game was, on hearing the approach of Aunt Jane's footsteps, they would agree on hymn for her to be singing as she came into the room. Sure enough, through the power of ESP she would be warbling along to it as she came into the room.

Saturday Safety Dance

 Evening here, the end of the weekend there.

Do you remember that song? Do you realise that was over forty years ago?

We have been busy doing nothing here. It's really feeling like a holiday. We are visiting and our hostess is perpetually busy but that is her happy place. 

We have some plans made, though, but unless I get this phone fixed you will have to take my word for it.

The view from the evening walk with my hostess 

Don't you agree?

Amongst the unblogged

 Reminiscences of teenage desires 

The heartbreaks of when the world dreamt proves to be 

Soulless and skewiff - unkempt.

Frenzied labour, spinning plates with the snap of AI finger clips.

Watching unravel those who first moulded us into the seedlings of who we came to be.

Sourdough.

Wondering at the faceless forbears who rode across oceans as newlyweds, young families and lone voyagers and the impact that their lives have on mine and many others.

Young love. 

Evolution of a child. Evolution of our elders. Plane travel. AT&T. Ted Lasso. Subway. Jersey Mike's.

But I am on holidays and it's nice to put it down.

Tomato bush with 1970s sepia snapshot filter (aka Jeanie's camera on her phone - I don't know either)

Dinner was a very simple pasta with onions, tomato and basil.

I do get much joy in cooking for others. I miss it.

Genealogical mysteries - James Augustus Edwards

 First thing to know about this man is that there is another in the annals of history that holds this name and there is no chance that my James Augustus is the former mayor or governor or something or other in some city in the US. I mean, that guy may have been more important than mine, but mine is rather fascinating.

Facts that I know.

• That he married an Irish girl from Limerick in western Queensland in the 1860s
• That he was a business associate of my great -grandfather before he suggested that his daughter might be a good wife for him (he was a widow with 4 children) as she was a well trained housekeeper who had no prospects and was 24
• He was right 
• That he was a published author of and therefore recipient of some of the most damning reviews in the last 250 years of colonial literature 
• And from his death certificate, his father was Edwards and his mother was Phoebe 
• All of the below:
• 
  
  
  
  
• Wouldn't he had made a fascinating dinner companion?
• I like to imagine that he and Mary Annie had a bit of a hoot.

The end of the 41 hour day saga

 Last night US time I attempted to edit that post yesterday to give a more thorough reckoning of the day that was 13th October for us.

It was a thorough reckoning - I had almost got us aboard the first flight - but I failed blogging on my phone 101 - save everything regularly. (Guess who just hit save!)

And thus my update - involving things from invoking the lives of 4 ancestors and comparisons to their voyages and views of life, confessions, complications of regional holidays and caffeine - is forever lost in the ether.

Probably just as well - it was about 3 parts whinge so the gods were saving us all.

Today is now Thursday here (Friday at home) and today the pool has been utilised greatly by the less Sun shy, the pool table warmed up, caffeine easily come by and much talk, love and laughter shared with my mother-in-law.

(The phone still has its 1970s sepia tone settings going on)

I think that I can get used to this resort!

A very long Wednesday - and we're not at the end yet...

 So currently I am sitting in the departure lounge at Vancouver airport 3 hours before we left Brisbane today. Go figure!

The Monday after the unblogged weekend

 I had plans.  I took photos.  I wrote lists.

I did some.