On Milestones

The last time I posted, it was my “second” 21st birthday.

Nope, I’m not 42. I’m a good decade older than that. It’s 21 years since I was diagnosed with–and subsequently recovered from–cancer.

The Offspring never seemed too bothered by having two bald parents for a time

Having choriocarcinoma in my early 30s probably did change some of my paths in life, but marginally. It’s cancer of the placenta. The risk of it returning if you have no more placentas is nil. We did attempt, briefly, to expand our family further but those pregnancies didn’t take and the cost benefit analysis very quickly just didn’t stack up. The risk may have been worth it for more kids, but if we weren’t actually getting those, then it was time to focus on the two that we had, who actually turned out to be kind of wonderful.

Those kids walked beside me at multiple Relays for Life, joining with our community to raise awareness and funds that would mean fewer families would face what we did while they were still so very, very young (Child the Elder was in Kindy and Child the Younger in preschool when I was undergoing treatment). Ultimately, Child the Elder would serve on the organising committee with me.

A young child and her Mum, both wearing red caps, white shirts and smiling. The Mum is wearing sunglasses. — Team members at our first Relay (2005)

A middle aged white woman with grey hair and her 20-something daughter. Both are wearing glasses and yellow committee shirts, and are smiling. — Committee members at our last Relay (2023)

For his part, Child the Younger accidentally scored us a sponsor when I once materialised at his work on Relay day, frazzled, and asked was there any way they could blow up some purple and yellow balloons, stat, because our planned supplier had dropped the ball. While they were working on this, his boss asked whether there was a personal reason our family was so involved, and my boy matter-of-factly responded, “Oh yeah. Mum.” The balloons were donated that year, and for quite some years afterwards.

A young boy in purple leading Dougal the bear, the mascot for the Cancer Council, onto an oval. Behind them, a young man in a purple shirt and wearing a black cap backwards is leading Sid the Seagull, the mascot for the Slip. Slop. Slap. campaign. — Child the Younger handling his Mum and Child the Elder being handled by our Josh.

Those “kids” are now grown and have been kicking some serious life goals lately.

In late June, Child the Elder and her Sweetie got engaged. Unlike me, she was the kind of child who dressed up as princesses, brides, and princess brides. As a teen, she created her first Pinterest wedding board.

Round cut engagement ring on left hand. Winter leaves in background.

I am happy to report that she must have got all of that out of her system, because she’s being very sensible now that wedding planning is an actual reality.

My main task is to grow the flowers for the bouquet and table arrangements. (No pressure!). Luckily, I have a Garden Design assessment coming up in my Diploma course, an enabling spouse, and a tradie on speed dial who’s used to my insane ideas and yet is still willing to assist when I inevitably bite off more than I can chew in the landscaping projects arena.

Just a couple of weeks later, Child the Younger graduated. As someone who was a long-term employee of his university, I have been to a great many graduation ceremonies, so I was surprised that I got a bit emotional at this one.

Blue banner with white writing that reads: UOW Graduation Ceremony. Congratulations! — Beaming parents with the Graduate!

The Deputy Chancellor in black and gold robes and bonnet congratulates a young man in black shirt, gold tie, tan pants with cobalt blue robes and trencher, holding a certificate. — Beaming parents with the Graduate!

In between, I had a professional milestone of my own. Two, I guess. First, I went to my first academic conference since COVID.

Secondly and more importantly, while I was there, I was awarded a HERDSA Fellowhip. Basically this means that I put together a reflective portfolio of work focused on how and why I teach the way I do. Anonymous assessors judged it and came to the conclusion that I actually care about teaching quite a lot and do a pretty good job of it, which was very nice validation to receive.

The conference and awards were in Perth, meaning I got to catch up with a couple of long time friends.

I took advantage of the only working 4 days a week thing to add in a quick trip to Rottnest Island. (Aside: Angel and Dick Strawbridge from Escape to the Chateau had the same idea. I nearly fell off my perch when I saw them). There, I made some new friends:

Kimberley, in a black jacket, grey jumper and jeans, kneeling in front of a quokka. — My first quokka!

Sign: Don't let the quokka inside no matter what he tells you — My first quokka!

I loved everything about Rottnest Island–except the ferry ride over. The less said about that, the better.

Sun breaking through a grey sky. The ferry is coming in from the right. A bird flies above it. — So picturesque. This was taken from our verandah.

A Day of Transitions

Today, I turn 52.

I also moved from full-time employment into … something else. Something TBD.

It was not my intention to “retire” at 52. To begin transition into retirement –ie move into part-time work– was the hope. The state of the higher education sector meant that that was not even a discussion. Just: thanks, you did a great job, we don’t know quite how we’re going to manage with this ever-shrinking team, but there’s No Money.

As someone who wears my leftie little heart on my sleeve, it is both profoundly ironic and profoundly disappointing that I managed to survive the Rudd era pulling of funds from universities to fund schools’ Gonski(-esque) reforms and a decade of political inertia interspersed with robust political uni-bashing and a global pandemic, only to fall as the hoped-for reforms were … well, talked about. And then somehow linked to a housing crisis (which, by the way, started during COVID when there were precisely zero incoming international students, and which ignores basic common sense–like, thinking for approximately 30 seconds about what proportion of the housing market is tied up by international students, and whether student housing typically looks anything like what Mum, Dad and a couple of kids are trying to lock down in the suburbs. But I digress).

My first job was as a waitress in a little steakhouse in Blackheath when I had just turned 15. I’ve had some sort of job pretty much ever since. As of this minute, I have precisely nothing going on until a couple of marking gigs next March. And I don’t quite know what to do with that.

And so, we continue on with our manic little December. Last night, we celebrated my father-in-law’s 87th birthday (Dec 18), my 52nd birthday (Dec 20) and my daughter’s 26th birthday (Dec 21). I am usually vehemently, violently anti-combined celebrations of any flavour in December, but logistically, this was the only thing we could get to work.

Child the Younger, Son-Out-Law, Child the Elder, Father-in-Law, Spousal Unit, Self, Parental Units.

When the cake shop says they can only do a max of 35 characters …

And so I have a lot of thoughts but am a bit short on words and utterly devoid of answers to well-meaning and enthusiastic enquiries as to what is next. So, for now: Happy Holidays. And 2025, on balance, probably has to better than 2024, so cheers to that.

Recent Regional Adventures

Last week I took the leave I’ve accrued, combined it with the Public Holiday, and went regional. Well, more regional.

I have a complicated relationship with the public holiday, ANZAC Day. It is not something we particularly commemorate in this household. Both my grandfathers were in protected services and my Dad somehow managed to actually be lucky during the appalling years of the Vietnam birthday ballot. My husband was in the early years of High School when Australian involvement in that war, mercifully, came to a close. So we have no family medals to proudly pin to our chests and go march with. Our service people are a bit further removed (for example, my great Uncles).

I also, however, get extremely irked by people talking about “celebrating” ANZAC Day, not knowing what ANZAC stands for (I was once mortified when we were in New Zealand at an academic conference on ANZAC Day and a peer starting explaining to a Kiwi what the day was … I’m pretty sure they already knew!), draping themselves in the Australian flag (which anyone who had ever fought “for the flag” would never do, because they tend to adhere to flag protocols) or conflating ANZAC Day with acts of heroism on the Kokoda track during a totally different war.

And so it was that we left our navy town and ended up in an army town on ANZAC Day, where we had moments of quiet reflection but didn’t participate in any public commemorations.

First, however, we stayed in Milawa in Victoria, where we’re previously stopped only to visit the cellar door of Brown Brothers. We’ve always looked longingly at the lovely accommodation across the road and the quaint shops, and I’ve googled all the gourmet food experiences, but this time, we were determined to experience at least some of that.

I called this phase of our trip “Superannuants among the Vineyards.”
We had an absolute ball, but owing to the Sunday/Monday timing, we had to have both our “special” lunch, at Patricia’s and our “special” dinner at Lancemore on the same day.

It’s fair to say that my dreams were particularly lurid that night. I’m not sure I’ve ever eaten that much food in one day.

We then moved on to Seymour for a visit with our faux-niblings and their Mum. We got to see the kids’ school-albeit briefly–and were both offered jobs on the spot! As per usual, we failed to take a single photo to prove we were there and spending time together. I did take one of me “cheating” on my cats by snuggling with one of theirs.

Then it was back on the road, this time to Lithgow. For those playing along at home, that means that, somewhat improbably, I’ve been there three times in six weeks.

On this occasion it was a for the wedding of a dear friend. I was really chuffed to be invited. A group of us went out for dinner on Friday night and I finally got to meet the groom. And then the next day was big event, and we were adopted for the evening by a gaggle of aunties. I got to catch up with her “little” brothers and sister, and teased the daylights out of the younger brother, who I had last seen over thirty years ago, at which point he’d told me that he didn’t like teachers but supposed he could forgive me for deciding to become one.

I totally missed the opportunity to get a photo with my friend (clearly, it’s a behavioural pattern) but how cute is the happy couple?

Once again, being “home” filled my cup and has made me smile all week.

Which is probably a good thing, because I’ve spent some time this morning trying to forward plan and diary wrangle and I fear that I am once more trying to juggle a few balls too many. Stay tuned to see how that all plays out.

Adventures UpOver

I’ve been back at work a couple of weeks after a blissful two months off under that delightful Australian invention, Long Service Leave. As a female who has had what is called, in HR parlance, “interrupted or non-linear career progression;” (known more colloquially as “having kids”), including lots of short term and casual contracts, I never expected to qualify for LSL. But I have, and it’s awesome.

My husband retired at the end of last year, and then a few weeks later took up a post-retirement casual contract for this year, and then just as promptly took ill and was unable to work for a month. So between broken ankles, oncology scans (thankfully, I was cleared), hospital stays, and then elderly in-laws also taking ill, I never really believed that we were actually all going to get on our booked flight, and I found it hard to get excited about a long dreamed-about adventure. (I went back through old posts and can confirm now that this trip was two years in the planning).

But somehow, we did. Master 21 came over for the first fortnight as well, and became Master 22 while waiting in a queue at Disneyland. It was a queue for the gorgeous car photo below, because apparently Disney After Dark nites mean fantastically short queues for rides, but much-longer-than-anticipated ones for photos with static props.

Master 22’s trip overlapped by two days with the start of the visit from his American host-sister, Ellyn, and her family. Ellyn lives on the opposite coast but loaded up her entire family and flew out to California for this much-anticipated reunion. I was pretty determined to get a photo to mark the occasion, and while there is an “official” one, this feels like the most Cole-Quinn portrait ever, right here:

Ellyn’s lovely groom has very thoughtfully taken on a job with Disney recently, so we had great access to the parks. Tony and I bought “Grandma” and “Grandpa” mouse ear shirts from Walmart, which caused some confusion at the gate on Day 1 as David introduced me as a family friend and the Cast Member asked, “Isn’t she Grandma? Her shirt says she’s Grandma!” and Ellyn said, “well, she is …” and then I burst in with my best Strine accent and announced “I’m Bonus Grandma!”

Well, Miss 5 picked up on this, and from then on, Bonus Grandma I became.

Both kids quickly adopted us as family, and Tony (who was NOT an exchange student, and is also therefore inclined to use “friend” language) marveled at this. At one point I told Master 3 to hold the hand of “one of his grown-ups” and he promptly returned to me and offered his hand. “He didn’t know you two days ago!” Tony pointed out. “Kids know when someone loves them and they’re safe,” I reminded him. And after being climbed all over and loved on for a very short while, he decided that yes, he really was a Bonus Grandpa and the lack of biological ties doesn’t mean much, and the whole thing is actually kind of cool. And so now there are live discussions about our “next trip” and perhaps staying much closer to our American family.

We crammed a lot in … a trip to see Redwoods and Huntington Beach, multiple trips to the Disneyland parks, character breakfasts, an abortive attempt to interest the kids in baseball, and lots of long chats about very important things like ATAT walkers and Chef Mickey artworks (the latter now hangs in my office).

Along the way, there were plenty of fun park moments. Geppetto– one of the less common characters–was out and about in Fantasyland when we were there. At one point, he walked past and waved and blew me a kiss, and I blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl, for no sensible reason.

I also had some discussions with adults in cartoon suits as though they actual cartoon characters. Notably, there was a chat with Dale about how Chip had rudely ignored our table, and then there was a conversation–admittedly a one-sided one in verbal terms, but there was some very expressive mime involved–about style with one Minnie Mouse. I kind of assumed they couldn’t see much, but she saw my brooch. And then she saw my shoes, and mimed for me to take them off, and I told her no, I wasn’t giving them to her. And she dragged me to my feet for a photo that featured them properly, while I complimented her style and ongoing appreciation of a good polka dot.

This amazing brooch from @acrylic addict has interchangeable ears–this is the Small World version, worn on the Small World ride.

The thing I love most about the Disney parks is the attention to detail. I’ve often joked I could write a whole blog post about the light fittings, and I’m seriously considering doing just that. I also took heaps of photos of the (largely edible) gardens, and the much improved accessibility options/inclusive practices. Certainly there will be more posts about our Big Trip, because this post has already dragged on, and there’s a lot more to cover.

But for now, I’ll finish with these contrasting images of my kids and grandkids over the fifteen years since we first visited DLR.

One very lucky Mum/Grandma, here.

Loup Garou

So, Halloween has just passed–a time I really enjoy, but which remains somewhat controversial in Australia.

One of the things that annoys me most is the annual whinge on Facebook about how “American” it all is.

It is true that the popularisation of Halloween trick or treating has largely made its way to our Southern shores courtesy of American television and movies. It is patently not true that Americans invented Halloween itself. Nor is it accurate to say that Halloween didn’t exist in Australia until very recently. Trick or treating was not a thing; true. But All Souls’ Day (or All Hallows’ Eve) has always been a Holy Day of Obligation in the Catholic church, as is the following day, All Saints’ Day. Growing up, our priest was quite insistent that we were expected to attend Mass at least three times in that particular week, so it’s not the kind of thing I’d forget.

I also love to point out the Holy Day of Obligation thing to people who think that Halloween is somehow Satanic. It’s a better argument for that particular audience than my all time favourite one, which comes from Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. In that particular strain of pop culture lore, Halloween is actually the least scary day of the year, since the in-story “real” supernatural beings find the human performativity of spookiness so very cliche as to render the day “like, dead, for the undead;” a potential night off for vamps and slayers alike.

Samhain, the pagan version of what would become Halloween, is actually of Celtic origin. Turnips were carved in the shape of a face, and lit from within, to attract Jack, a will’o the wisp now better known as Jack o’ the Lantern for reasons that will soon become apparent; a disembodied soul who roamed looking for a new body each year. He did this on the day when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead was thinnest (observed on October 31). Jack got fooled into going into the lanterns rather than humans or their homes. Kids wore disguises to discombobulate him further.

When folks moved to the American colonies, they switched to pumpkins which were more plentiful and a lot easier to carve.

Carving pumpkins are available via Coles Delivery, these days

So it ain’t an American idea. And I also wonder why, on this one day of the year, it’s suddenly acceptable to throw around “American” as an insult. “Oh, it’s so American” folks sneer, as they hop in their Ford to do a Maccas run, before settling in to binge-watch Netflix for the evening.

The other Facebook cohort who get under my skin are the people who ask which day they should go trick or treating. (I am, for now, going to ignore the “trickatreat” crowd–yes, people actually spell it like that–and the fact that practically nobody seems to understand that “trick or treat?” is an actual question with a couple of possible answers). Halloween is like Christmas, folks; it is not a moveable feast. If you decide to celebrate on another day because it’s more convenient for your family, you can’t reasonably expect other families to know that you made that call.

All that aside, I love the idea of the thin veil; of our loved ones being close(r) at hand. I find it a loving, comforting concept, rather than a scary one. Maybe we can blame my time in Japan where there was an altar to deceased family members, and we left offerings like mandarins in Summer when families went back to their hometowns to visit. When I explained it to my Australian Mum, she said it sounded kind of like Santa, but with relatives you missed.

And what’s not to love about that?

At this time of year, I am occasionally contacted by people looking at running a “Halloween story” and this year, I heard from Virginie Nussbaum at the Swiss newspaper, Le Temps.

You can find that article here, but it is behind a paywall. I don’t read French, but with the help of Google Translate I could get the gist of it! Here’s the cover image and the title: “The werewolf, this Other who haunts our nightmares.”

Passport Update

There is no update. There’s been no progress.

We are eleven and a half weeks in.

I am grumpy.

Progress Update: on Passports and Position Papers

This WordPress Wednesday (she writes, as though she were still doing this weekly) comes to you from regional Victoria, where I’m once again ensconced in the spare bedroom. Most days the soundtrack to our mornings has included the detonation of devices at the nearby Army base, which is arguably still better than the muffled loudspeaker noises which my Wollongong-based colleagues are enduring in light of the UCI event.

Personally, I think UCI sounds like a medical complaint and have been referring to it as “the stupid [expletive-deleted] bike race,” like many people I know. It may do well in terms of getting Wollongong an international profile as intended–that remains to be seen–but my goodness, it’s inconvenienced a lot of locals in the process.

Speaking of deleted expletives, I’m starting to think that the F in DFAT doesn’t stand for Foreign, after all.

Australian passports are supposed to be processed and returned within about six weeks, but I’ve had a few in my time and I don’t recall it ever taking more than two. Enter COVID. Now, way more people than usual are applying all at once and the system is failing. Spectacularly.

I had my interview at the post office and handed in my paperwork on July 25. For those playing along at home, that is 8.5 weeks ago. It is still showing as “Under Assessment.” One wonders what could possibly take so long to be assessed, given that it’s a renewal and literally nothing has changed since last time.

Putting the rotten thing in was stressful enough in itself. The local PO guy–the PO is under new ownership–had taken the photos for us, after first telling my husband he couldn’t take his photos because he didn’t know the dimensions for a British passport. Again, we’ve had a lot of passports at our advanced ages, and it’s never been an issue. But the Spousal Unit went away, googled, and then returned to offer proof onscreen of what we already knew ie that they are the same size.

Then I rocked up for my booked interview and I was told that my original birth certificate was no good because it was foolscap and his printer wouldn’t scan it. I did point out that a great many Australians were born in the foolscap era, but to no avail. Apparently I should have somehow known that that particular post office had a printer/scanner that frankly, isn’t fit for purpose for most of us–Gen X and the Baby Boomers are all likely to have inconveniently sized paperwork. So I drove home and found the A4 version I’d paid to have reissued a few years back when I momentarily couldn’t find the original and panic-bought a replacement, and then I hightailed it back within the original booked timeframe. PO guy was most impressed that I had a differently sized version, and no wonder–most people wouldn’t.

Then he told me that he couldn’t accept my photographs. The ones he’d taken. He told me I shouldn’t have had my referee write on them the exact sentence that the passport office says to write on them–he needed an unmarked one. He kept repeating this with increased agitation, even as I kept pointing to the remaining photos, because you get SIX in a batch. Eventually, I got through to him that if he wanted an untouched photo, they were lying right in front of him. I’m not sure why I was the calm one when I’m the traveler and the one with diagnosed anxiety, and he was merely the guy doing the processing. “But they’re not cut,” he said. So I asked to borrow his scissors and hey, presto–virgin passport photo for the application.

So you can see why the delay in processing might be making nervous.

He then used those same scissors to cut through my previous, unexpired passport, meaning I’m now without one altogether. I still had eight months on the old one, which I also wasn’t able to use for more than two years because of the pandemic. A ten year passport is just not looking like good value for money right now.

The APO has confirmed by email that they have the application in the system and everything is there. So I do have that in writing. What I don’t have is evidence of any progress. At all. And I’m wondering how or when to try to escalate this, because honestly, with family overseas, I don’t like to be without a passport for any period of time. And I don’t see why I should be, given that I took steps to make sure it was renewed in plenty of time.

Meanwhile Mr-I-Never-Got-Around-to-Doing-my-Australian-Citizenship-Stuff got his British passport back in under two weeks. From the UK.

We have flights booked in eight weeks–heading for a brief beach break with my faux-niblings and -sister, under whose roof I’m currently lodged. Unfortunately, I have no confidence that things will be sorted out by then. According to the FB page for folks like me, the backlog seems to be being cleared for those who’ve submitted recently. But for those of us who submitted April-July–lining up in the nearest Passport Office within three days of your flight seems to work, sometimes. Not always. And my nearest Passport Office is quite a long way from the South Coast.

Back when I was enthusiastic about travel and believed in things like passports being processed, we booked accommodation for our big trip UpOver for the baseball and family Disney shenanigans. It’s hard to be excited, though, under the circumstances. Booking flights and sorting visas is significantly harder without a passport, so planning for that adventure is currently on hold.

Between now and the totally-booked-and-paid-for-holiday-I-can’t-get-to-without-a-passport in November, there is a mountain of work to be done, including landing a strategic framework. Landing a strategic framework also involves significant consultation around a recently redrafted position paper, itself a substantial piece of work. But I just watched my mate submit a full draft of her thesis (the reason I came down to distract the adolescents this week), and my co-editors and I sent The Vampire Diaries manuscript off last week. So sometimes these big milestones get met.

Fingers crossed.

For now, it’s time for our leaving-night tradition (superstition?) of KFC before I make the long drive back tomorrow.

Have you been impacted by the great Australian Passport Debacle of 2022? Let me know if you have any tips on how to expedite the accursed process!

A New Normal (again)

This morning I received an email asking if I knew how to find one Dr Roslyn Weaver. Well, yes, as a matter of fact; I’d just been chatting with her over Messenger a few hours earlier. Oh yes, and I saw her a bit over a week ago, right before she went on her honeymoon and then moved to the UK (again–she moved there several years ago, and then to Canada, but now she’s back in England with her freshly minted husband, who resides there). And so we’re back to the future, still on different continents and in different time zones, but it’s somehow also very familiar.

The author of the email is trying to get in touch with Ros to send a copy of a publication that in her words, has been a long time in the making. This was also apropos because we’d been commiserating over publications that have disappeared into thin air once all the work was done. Notably we once both wrote chapters for an edited collection on Glee that has never seen the light of day and now, twelve years in, we figure the content is pretty well out of date!

But, just 24 hours before the aforementioned email, I received another one, saying that a co-edited collection on which I’ve been working has passed peer review.

My chapter within it was first written nine years ago. Then in 2019 one of the other contributors reached out to ask if the publication had ever happened, and after some sleuthing and checking that the original publisher was no longer interested in the long (un)dead project, we decided to take it on ourselves.

This was my motivational screensaver for quite a time, there.

And so, just like that, I go from not having any research projects on the go, to really needing to prioritise reading and acting on the feedback and getting it back to the publisher in as timely a manner as is humanly possible.

To add to the timeline crunch, we have another (our last!) SAL period coming up and I’ve also been asked to “reduce my leave liability,” which means effectively heading to regional Victoria in a few weeks to hang out with one of my favourite adopted siblings and my faux-niblings, only this time I won’t have to log on remotely and work while I’m there.

And I also decided to take a small step towards something we’ve been planning since April of 2021. For the first time in my life, I’ve worked somewhere long enough (and not as a casual!) to qualify for Long Service Leave. I’d pretty much ignored that milestone for a couple of years, because COVID hasn’t been conducive to travel and we had our bonus unpaid three weeks each year to use up as well as annual leave. But, luck permitting, next Easter we will head Up Over for what I am officially calling baseball leave.

Anaheim,CA/Los Angeles. Oct 29 2016, The main entrance of Angel Stadium, a major league baseball team in Anaheim,CA.

Apparently it will be a new manager at the helm after the canning of Joe Madden overnight. It was only a matter of hours between me putting in the paperwork and his shock dismissal.

All I can think is, my boys Jared Walsh, Shoei Ohtani and Raisel Iglesias had better still be there in Season 2023.

Milestones

It’s been a busy few weeks.

Our SAL (Special Additional Leave) block overlapped with the NSW school holidays this year, so those of us still actively affiliated with the Uni (one as a student, one as staff) tacked on an extra couple of days in order to facilitate a border-crossing adventure.

Now, before you get too excited, it was just a domestic/internal border, but even that has been a challenge for the last couple of years.

So when we were trying to figure out the best way to get to Queensland to see my in-laws, and to celebrate our son’s 21st the same week, he came up with a solution: we’d all go to the Sunshine Coast to visit Nanna and Grandpa, and then we’d stop by Movie World on the way home to mark his milestone birthday.

Ever optimistic, we also planned a couple of fun stops on the way home, including a visit with my Aunt and Uncle and going to see The Phantom of the Opera on Sydney Harbour.

Just before all that kicked off, though, I spent my Saturday in Batemans Bay with our team at the launch of the Wattle Walk, a community art project to mark the beginnings of bushfire recovery; which has somewhat ironically been been delayed by another large scale disaster, Covid.

So on the Friday I went to the launch of the Southern Shoalhaven Country University Centre in Ulladulla, then headed to the bay to help plant 7000 woolen wattle branches, and then finally we headed North.

with Mayor Amanda Findley at CUC Southern Shoalhaven

The Wattle Walk was a big hit locally. We ran craft workshops on Saturday, and were pleasantly surprised at how many people came out, despite the ongoing rainy weather we’ve been experiencing. The installation was actually extended by a week at the request of the Eurobodalla Regional Botanic Garden, who were finding they were getting lots of new visitors and lots of positive feedback.

Heading North was a bit of an old-school road trip, with two “kids” in the back, ie my son and his partner. My daughter and her partner joined us at the Sunshine Coast. We had a nice little reunion with The Scottish Grandparents, but unfortunately Nanna was carrying the coronavirus and was not yet aware. We had the most amazing accommodation at Twin Waters, with plenty of rooms and living areas, including a great covered area on the ground floor where we could host the mobility-challenged for our Good Friday lunch.

Unfortunately the private pool and spa were too cold for our blood!

The resort pool was slightly warmer than the unit’s one, and also boasted a lovely view of one of the eponymous Twin Waters.

All the Colemen and Coleman-adjacent people

Blissfully unaware of the virus hiding in plain sight, we enjoyed the random Good Friday fireworks (theologically speaking, that’s not a day of celebration, organisers!) and the Easter bunny arrived with chocolates and dorky pyjamas for all.

Easter Sunday was largely spent in a car, most of us contorted with knees around ears in order to accommodate 6 people and luggage, after several iterations of the travel plan were changed and/or abandoned.

Our Gold Coast accommodation was laid out like a rabbit warren, which fitted our pjyama theme, and quite dirty, which was horrifying. But hey, it had lovely views, so I guess they catch a lot of people once. I actually wrote a review to this effect, but it seems to have mysteriously disappeared from the website. Go figure.

Rob had a pre-birthday dinner and cake to accommodate his sister’s flight on the evening of his actual birthday, which we topped off with a visit to Holey Moley.

We headed to Movie World as planned, and discovered that while the number of visitors was back to pre-pandemic levels, the number of operational rides and the staff on deck probably weren’t. Tony and I went into the 4D theatre and had lunch, and spent the rest of the day sitting on a park bench. The young people were in queues from park open to park close, and made it onto two rides.

By this time, however, Tony was starting to feel very ordinary indeed, so it was possibly a good time to be sitting quietly by ourselves.

Right after we arrived in Coffs Harbour–meant to be Step 1 of our leisurely journey home–Tony got a positive Covid result, joining his parents, 13 others on his mum’s ward, and his sister among those who’d got an unwanted Easter bonus. Our daughter and her partner would soon join those ranks.

We could only look on this from afar as we regrouped in our room and made sure not to have contact with anyone else.

So long story short, it was a long and unexciting trip home, after dismantling and cancelling all the fun activities. Followed by disinfecting every surface in the car (twice!) and a week of offering room service to the patient, who was confined to his bedroom.

The return to working on campus was equally eventful. Day 1 was setting up for Shoalhaven Graduation, Day 2 was Shoalhaven Graduation, and Day 4 involved traveling to Wollongong for the first on-campus and in-person graduation in over two years, where the student I supervised was awarded her PhD.

Dr Kimberley McMahon-Coleman, the newly-bonnetted Dr Sandy Noakes, and Professor Trish Mundy

Special times, indeed.

O, Christmas Tree

I had a perfectly timely plan that centred around WordPress Wednesday and December 1 (traditional lights-on day) aligning this year.

But life got in the way, so welcome to Thursday, December 2.

At the moment I’m working 14 hour days because of HSC marking at night (and on Saturdays), so very little is getting done at home. This is not good because it’s Christmas lights time.

So on Monday, Miss Almost-23 and I both took a day’s leave and worked on decorating the house. Because it’s the most industrious time of the year.

According to my Facebook memories, her enthusiasm kicked in approximately eight years ago. In response to her sudden self-promotion to Head Elf, her brother apparently announced, “Now there’s two of them everything should get done faster, Dad!”

Now, I know some people have beautifully curated trees and decorative themes, and while this is something to which I’ve always aspired, in reality we’re a little bit closer to the “Christmas threw up on our house” end of the spectrum than I’d like.

And as much as I annually check out the Balsam Hill site and sigh over pre-lit flip trees, I just don’t feel, as a proud owner of a mortgage or two, that I can justify it quite yet.

Aforementioned Head Elf and the Spousal Unit, however, have both acted as the devil on my shoulder, telling me I need one. Child the Younger, who has thrown to the Grinch side of the family, tried to convince me to instead buy a very economical and pre-decorated one from the discount store where he works. The very concept baffles me, if I’m honest.

Then the Spousal Unit had a moment and told me that he likes “our” tree. I told him I was looking at an additional tree, not a replacement tree, and suddenly he was on board again.

(We have two living areas: a family room and a formal room. If that’s not a recipe for two trees, I don’t know what is!)

You see, the reason we can’t have a beautifully curated colour themed tree like the ones above is that our tree’s “theme” is pretty much the history of us. There are the decorations made by the kids when they were in preschool. Sure, I tuck them away at the back, but they are there. There’s even one that my son made in Science a bit later on.

It’s a Santa hat. With crystals on it. He grew the crystals. He was very excited.

There are the decorations made by my friend Jody and my late bonus-mother, Sue.

There are even the clay present tags my niece and nephew made several years back.

But mostly, there are the “special” decorations chosen each year to represent something that’s happened in our lives. The idea is that the kids will eventually take “their” decorations with them, but we don’t seem to be there yet. Possibly because they have a curated, colour-themed tree at the flat. In fact, they also have a matching garland after I stopped in at Bredbo on the way back from a conference two years ago and the lovely staff dutifully went searching for a white garland, which the Head Elf/Child the Elder had, up until then, found elusive.

Significant appreciation for that garland is required. It took effort.

Some of our special decorations date back a long time; others have come a long way. Courtesy of multiple trips to Disneyland, we’re heavy on the Disney decos. That Cheshire Cat was the best surprise though … the smile glows in the dark. Magic.

Each trip, I would ask the kids to pick a decoration. This ranged from the ridiculous (“Really? You want a plastic M and M guitar ornament as a memento of this trip?”) to the sublime (“Well, yes. I do think Baymax tangled up in Christmas lights is the coolest thing ever.”) to the downright dangerous (“Sure. If we wrap that huge, fine, spherical Jack Skellington bauble very, very carefully, we can get it home on the plane in one piece. Probably.”)

Other times, we’d pick something that represented their year: Jamie’s obsession with Cinderella, Robert’s with Angels baseball, Jamie’s “graduation” from high school.

and Mum’s Converse obsession … prompted by a love of the Tenth Doctor

And then there was the time when Rob and I travelled to the States for Ellyn’s wedding. In New York, he found a Minnie Mouse-as-Liberty decoration and asked, “Mum, do you think this would be a good gift for Jamie?”

Why, yes, Son. In fact, it’s perfect.

Speaking of Ellyn, she’s represented, too. Back when she and Jamie were concurrently undertaking dance lessons, I bought some absolutely heinous (in my opinion) pink, glitter, ballet slipper decorations. They both love pink. And glitter. And dance. One slipper hangs on our tree; the matching one was sent to El.

For her part, she sends us representative ones from her state.

Because that’s another thing: when I travel, I try to find a decoration. It started with my Vancouver lights bear. Ros was with me when I bought him, and has of course been on many conferences with me in various places so she knows about this little habit of mine. Which means I have a lot of bonus decorations from when she’s visited Christmas markets in far-flung places.

We also have some matching ones, from joint trips. Matching Texas stars, for example. And also these matching paua shell angels, a personal favourite. Picked up in an airport after believing that perhaps I had missed my chance to find something on that particular trip, and look at her. She’s beautiful.

There are a bunch of decorations from our family travels. We’re missing South Africa and Antarctica, but all the other continents are represented, which is not bad going from our little regional Australian outpost.

It’s pretty much the history of us and our family, both biological and the ones we’ve claimed. And family times – the positive kind! – is what Christmas is all about. And so, from our family to yours, and to quote one of Ellyn’s gifted decorations: Merry Christmas, Y’all.