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.

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.



