2 legit disorganised 2 quit
Okay, so, it's been a year or more and that final post is yet to get written. This is not it.
This probably proves that I am far too busy to blog regularly and yet mysteriously unwilling to quit altogether. So, I now plan to just write something whenever and accept that the few people who used to read this may or may not return but either way I'll at least get the occasional bit of writing done.
The same theory has been working out pretty well over at that other occasionally updated blog of mine so lets see how it goes here.
So, let's start with the family trip to Queensland last July, because I've been thinking of writing about that for a while.
The flight up was pretty good, lunch at some randomly selected steakhouse in Brisbane was odd but pleasant enough, and they had coffee, and the drive to Mount Tambourine would probably have gone better if we had either a map or a GPS, but we figured it out. The brief stop at a very pleasant park with a lake in Oxenbridge was just a bonus, really.
The whole reason for this trip was my grandmother's 90th birthday celebration, which saw almost all of the extended family gather at a dodgy but nice enough conference centre on Mount Tambourine.
It was a fun few days. I captained the winning team in the "Queensland v Rest of the World" cricket match, my cousin and I rocked the family concert night with our version of "God Gave Rock and Roll to You" and I generally spent a lot of time catching up with some pretty awesome people who I am related to but hardly ever see. Bundle and Cherub bonded almost instantly with my cousin's son, who is about the same age as them, and the three of them spend the few days merrily causing trouble.
Next, it was down to the Gold Coast to spend a few days in a truly dodgy alleged resort that proved once and for all that there is a reason why places found on wotif.com never seem to be full, but which we forgave because it was walking distance to the beach and backed on to Currumbin Sanctuary. After that it was back to Brisbane to spend a couple more days catching up with relatives and discovering that Brisbane actually gets pretty cold in July. Also, for obvious reasons, hardly anyone in Brisbane seems to have central heating.
On our last day in Brisbane, we probably should have been keeping things low key and letting our exhausted children rest, but my grandparents really wanted to take us out for the day and since these opportunities come along almost never, we cheerfully said yes.
The plan was to take the CityCat to Southbank and do whatever. This would have worked better if my grandfather hadn't had some sort of massive allergic reaction to something he ate the night before, meaning he was far too unwell to go anywhere.
Since we had already told the kids where we were going, we went anyway. It was a sunny July day, and we felt warm for the first time since we arrived.
We found a playground shortly after we arrived at Southbank, which was okay but not nearly so exciting as the bungee trampolines set up nearby. After a small amount of very focussed begging, we agreed that the boys could give this a try. Bundle absolutely rocked its and was upside down in mid air in no time. Cherub, having only just turned three, took a little bit longer to get into it but he was soon somersaulting all over the place.
From there, we wandered around, played on the tiny beach, admired the water features, bought the boys an icecream each, spent quite some time trying to get it off their cheeks and noses, and eventually caught the ferry back to our car.
We finally come to the thing I really wanted to write about.
Since my grandfather had been too unwell to come out with us, we dropped in for afternoon tea. After we had eaten and shown the boys the banana trees and chickens, I found myself standing on the back verandah for a few minutes and I realised something.
The last time I had stood on that spot was about 17 years earlier.
This felt deeply strange, because this was the house where I used to spend three or four weeks every summer until I was 19. When I was a kid, my parents, my brother, my two sisters and I would get into my parents' Valiant stationwagon and drive for two days with no airconditioning, stopping at some tiny motel in Dubbo or Gilgandra, all so we could spend a few weeks in Brisbane. This continued through my teenage years. Even after most of my sibs had lost interest, I kept going because I absolutely loved it there.
Eventually, I got involved in some other stuff over summer and the visits dropped off. I went back once, in my mid 20s, because my grandfather (on the other side of the family) had had a heart attack and I knew it was time to say goodbye, but I didn't spend much time visiting anyone else. A few years later, I was back again, this time with my lovely girlfriend/almost fiancee/now wife, because two of her friends were getting married. This time I saw my grandparents, and even dropped in at their church, which is about two blocks from their house, but still didn't visit the house itself.
Then I got married, then there were kids, and suddenly nine years had passed without a single trip to Brisbane.
So, to be back at my grandparent's house after 17 years was a bit strange. It was nice that absolutely nothing had changed (I found a money box in the shape of a globe that I was fascinated by when I was about six still sitting in the room where I used to sleep during our family holidays) but it was also just plain bizarre.
If someone had asked me 17 years earlier whether it would be that long before I would be back, I would have thought that would have been unlikely. I would probably also have thought that my grandmother, who was then 73 years old, and my grandfather, then 71, might not still be living there in 17 years time. Happily I would have been wrong about that.
This probably proves that I am far too busy to blog regularly and yet mysteriously unwilling to quit altogether. So, I now plan to just write something whenever and accept that the few people who used to read this may or may not return but either way I'll at least get the occasional bit of writing done.
The same theory has been working out pretty well over at that other occasionally updated blog of mine so lets see how it goes here.
So, let's start with the family trip to Queensland last July, because I've been thinking of writing about that for a while.
The flight up was pretty good, lunch at some randomly selected steakhouse in Brisbane was odd but pleasant enough, and they had coffee, and the drive to Mount Tambourine would probably have gone better if we had either a map or a GPS, but we figured it out. The brief stop at a very pleasant park with a lake in Oxenbridge was just a bonus, really.
The whole reason for this trip was my grandmother's 90th birthday celebration, which saw almost all of the extended family gather at a dodgy but nice enough conference centre on Mount Tambourine.
It was a fun few days. I captained the winning team in the "Queensland v Rest of the World" cricket match, my cousin and I rocked the family concert night with our version of "God Gave Rock and Roll to You" and I generally spent a lot of time catching up with some pretty awesome people who I am related to but hardly ever see. Bundle and Cherub bonded almost instantly with my cousin's son, who is about the same age as them, and the three of them spend the few days merrily causing trouble.
Next, it was down to the Gold Coast to spend a few days in a truly dodgy alleged resort that proved once and for all that there is a reason why places found on wotif.com never seem to be full, but which we forgave because it was walking distance to the beach and backed on to Currumbin Sanctuary. After that it was back to Brisbane to spend a couple more days catching up with relatives and discovering that Brisbane actually gets pretty cold in July. Also, for obvious reasons, hardly anyone in Brisbane seems to have central heating.
On our last day in Brisbane, we probably should have been keeping things low key and letting our exhausted children rest, but my grandparents really wanted to take us out for the day and since these opportunities come along almost never, we cheerfully said yes.
The plan was to take the CityCat to Southbank and do whatever. This would have worked better if my grandfather hadn't had some sort of massive allergic reaction to something he ate the night before, meaning he was far too unwell to go anywhere.
Since we had already told the kids where we were going, we went anyway. It was a sunny July day, and we felt warm for the first time since we arrived.
We found a playground shortly after we arrived at Southbank, which was okay but not nearly so exciting as the bungee trampolines set up nearby. After a small amount of very focussed begging, we agreed that the boys could give this a try. Bundle absolutely rocked its and was upside down in mid air in no time. Cherub, having only just turned three, took a little bit longer to get into it but he was soon somersaulting all over the place.
From there, we wandered around, played on the tiny beach, admired the water features, bought the boys an icecream each, spent quite some time trying to get it off their cheeks and noses, and eventually caught the ferry back to our car.
We finally come to the thing I really wanted to write about.
Since my grandfather had been too unwell to come out with us, we dropped in for afternoon tea. After we had eaten and shown the boys the banana trees and chickens, I found myself standing on the back verandah for a few minutes and I realised something.
The last time I had stood on that spot was about 17 years earlier.
This felt deeply strange, because this was the house where I used to spend three or four weeks every summer until I was 19. When I was a kid, my parents, my brother, my two sisters and I would get into my parents' Valiant stationwagon and drive for two days with no airconditioning, stopping at some tiny motel in Dubbo or Gilgandra, all so we could spend a few weeks in Brisbane. This continued through my teenage years. Even after most of my sibs had lost interest, I kept going because I absolutely loved it there.
Eventually, I got involved in some other stuff over summer and the visits dropped off. I went back once, in my mid 20s, because my grandfather (on the other side of the family) had had a heart attack and I knew it was time to say goodbye, but I didn't spend much time visiting anyone else. A few years later, I was back again, this time with my lovely girlfriend/almost fiancee/now wife, because two of her friends were getting married. This time I saw my grandparents, and even dropped in at their church, which is about two blocks from their house, but still didn't visit the house itself.
Then I got married, then there were kids, and suddenly nine years had passed without a single trip to Brisbane.
So, to be back at my grandparent's house after 17 years was a bit strange. It was nice that absolutely nothing had changed (I found a money box in the shape of a globe that I was fascinated by when I was about six still sitting in the room where I used to sleep during our family holidays) but it was also just plain bizarre.
If someone had asked me 17 years earlier whether it would be that long before I would be back, I would have thought that would have been unlikely. I would probably also have thought that my grandmother, who was then 73 years old, and my grandfather, then 71, might not still be living there in 17 years time. Happily I would have been wrong about that.
There is also no way that I would have imagined that when I was next there, I woudl have a wife, two beautiful sons, a mortgage, a steady job that I'd worked in for 5 years. Any prediction I might have made concerning my future would have been absolutely way off.
It's kind of nice to have these moments where we realise that life can be filled with good things that we never expected.
I'll be in Brisbane again next week, although only for 24 hours. I plan to spend at least one of those hours standing on my grandparents' verandah and just enjoying the moment.
posted by I'm not Craig at 11:36 AM
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