Quality Time, Candles, and tattoos

 As I said, I visited the folks a few weeks ago.

There are three possible ways to get there sort of directly.

There is the dirt way, which is currently out of action due to the desire for those who would not have it so.  

There is the bitumen, which is slightly longer and makes more sense if you are going to my sisters place.

And then there is The Pinnacle.

I am sure to have many photos of the road to The Pinnacle from this side.  I have some photos (and one particular memory) of the road from the other side of The Pinnacle.

I probably even have photos FROM The Pinnacle (every time my daughter travels across it, she has to memorize it in digitally for a friend).

Due to the dirt way being out of action, it was our route of choice upon this occasion.

On the way out, Paris was my companion.  There was both a ban on screens AND the joy of a communications black spot, so we listened to an audiobook.  Every time there was a glance of one character to another that had an underlying frisson, I got hit in the left arm.

On the return, an all grown up 'Salina was Paris' chauffeur and I got to finish the job I had started with Dad before I drove home - unaccompanied.  Three precious hours of people free time and no work tasks invading me or anyone NEEDING me.

Folks, you cannot PURCHASE such joy.

There is nigh on 200km of road between their place and mine.

There is a ribbon of bitumen winding along many narrow valleys of (currently) green (although on occasion, pallid grey or heartbreaking brown) until you come to the most bizarre little town imaginable huddled on the left of the strip of road - and just after that you make a sudden right turn.

Then your ribbon of bitumen goes up and down and becomes dirt and up and down and there is a grid and KABOOM - the landscape changes.

Forestry (which is a government department and used to be a business enterprise) is - was - the main industry here, with rows of planted pine forests and moonscapes of cleared hills and tangles of potato-vine and cats claw tying together thickets and scrub.

And then another grid and you travel along the bottom of this magical area of massive trees and crossing a creek multiple times and flats with signs of human existence in the form of old yards and signposts to homesteads hidden away.

You then windingly climb up over hills and around bends, all the while keeping in mind the intermittent warnings signs that FORESTRY TRUCK USE THESE ROAD and to share this road with a semi-trailer laden with logs sends a shiver.

Finally you go over rock and hewn tracks are shielded on one side with more rock but the other side plummets down through trees to unseen ground below.

Once you are over, it is one of those roads that seems to both go on forever and yet seems much shorter than you remember.

That bridge.  A bit of bitumen.  A turn off to a right to an area you don't know, but have seen the sign for from the other end too.

And then a T-intersection with the highway that carries the freight - and people in caravans and motorcyle enthusiasts and day trippers - all along the east coast of our state.

It also marks when I get back into mobile signal.

Driving along this highway, accompanied by a sight that I don't have lots of photos of - mainly because I am always the one driving and Paris doesn't think it as amusing as I.

Its lots of stick figure men holding strings of wire - for miles and miles.  (A. electrical pylons - or transmission towers apparently - and B. the only downside of metric is kilometres and kilometres just doesn't roll off the tongue)

I know they aren't really stick figure men - but from a distance and with enough time (inside my head, at least) they start to look like it.  Sometimes they are configured differently, so one might be holding his hand up and other might be bending to the right.  I don't know, it just tickles me).

This is real road now.  There are full line markings and even overtaking lanes - and roadworks, there always appears to be roadworks.

We are still amongst hills, so the wider road sweeps down and across bridges and around corners, but with trucks and motorbikes and caravans and cars all joining you and sometimes racing you and sometimes biding their time patiently or making you wait upon their timetables.

And they same coming at you the other way.

And then the phone rang.

Now, when you have had an hour or so inside your own head and there is a car about an hour ahead of you with your two most precious cargo on board, you ALWAYS pull over and answer the phone.

It was a bad line, but eventually I got the gist.

Last year, at the school that Paris now attends, there was an Open Day.

It was hot - and crowded.

There was a crafty sort of lane and 'Salina and Paris and I had promenaded along and admired and bought and admired.

One of the stalls was regarding a charity that is worldwide but grassroots - Day for Girls

Its a great concept - the local chapter here has monthly Sew n Pack days - unfortunately the joys of permanent full time work is that such delights are out of reach, being held on weekdays.

So my contribution to this very worthy cause was to buy some raffle tickets.

And here, however long later, was the phone call announcing that I had won.

The best bit?

Within a week of that photo being taken, the prizes - candles - came into very good use.

We had (another) rain event, and one particular evening it was decided by the weather gods that we needed to learn how to truly enjoy the delights and so switched off our lights to let our other senses take control.

Thanks to these candles (and some that are always on hand because the weather gods do like to frolic at times) we held the darkness back just that little bit more and had a candlelit meal.

(BTW - the rest of the car trip was uneventful)

Oh, and the tattoos?  Yes, I had to hand in my cleanskin card because I have now been tagged.

I still haven't actually started treatment yet - some time tomorrow I should be getting a phone call advising whether it will be next week - maybe the 6th - or the 8th - or even the week after - or not.  You know.  

I'm part of the system now, and given the delicate balance of wanting to know when things are happening because it is easier to stress less when you have more knowledge VS bureaucrats who speak in tongues, not always effectively, not always to each other and not always with the right tone of voice connecting with each other. 

Ommmm. 

I do know that Paris is taller than me now, and about to overtake 'Salina.  I am officially the shortest in my family.

I know that there will be 15 zaps between now and the End of Financial Year.

And I know that I can hold my breath for 25 seconds.

And I can breathe.