So the marital duties went entremely well a few nights ago, as I'm sure all three of my loyal readers are relieved to hear.
The sun was almost down when the spousal unit and I were relaxing in the sweet afterglow, a tangle of arms, legs, and rumpled sheets.
I was playing with his hair and letting him know that if I had any gold stars handy I would plaster them all over his forehead. Grinning, he lifted his head off my chestal area, looked at me with that kind of sleepy, almost childlike expression he gets after dancing the horizontal tango and said:
"I owe it all to internet porn."
If he keeps making me laugh like that we may have to put rubber sheets on the bed to protect the mattress, eh.
Yeah, despite everything, we still make each other laugh.
There's been a fair bit of bickering happening here over the last few weeks. It appears that for the spousal unit and I, planning the itinerary of a big trip is just about as stressful as raising a child.
We haven't argued this much since Jess was little, eh, and we were .:cough:. discussing .:cough:. things such as what religion if any we'd raise her in and whether we'd have her educated in English or French. For those keeping track: religion--none, education--French. Marn 1, spousal unit 1.
Trying to work out what to see in Australia is proving to be just as stressful. He has a horror of going to tourist spots. My attitude is heck, we ARE freakin' tourists, and I refuse to miss Uluru just because it is considered a tourist destination. So, to get Uluru I had to agree to a five day desert hiking and camping trip around it.
Thinking about camping evokes the terrible camping trips when I was a kid, sleeping on hard ground in a tent that always seemed to leak on me, soaking my cheap, lumpy sleeping bag. The spousal unit says it will be much more comfortable in Oz.
Yeah, as long as one of us isn't dragged out of the tent by a monster perenty. The more I read about Oz, the more I'm convinced that the mission of almost every indigenous plant, animal or bug is to kill unsuspecting tourists.
Fortunately, it looks like this Uluru trip will include a camel ride, which has always been something that's intrigued me. I am so riding a camel. Go ahead, laugh. But I am so riding a camel. That is, if we can ever sort out the rest of the freakin' trip. We haven't been able to book our tickets or accommodation at all because I still can't get him to decide what he wants to see when we're in Western Australia.
It's odd, eh. I mean one moment I'm looking at travel brochures for this country on the other side of the globe that is mostly desert with a belt of green around its coastline, and the next moment I'm looking out my window at spring.
It's a slow spring here this year despite our record breaking heat. You'd think that the four feet or so of snow we had this winter would have wet the ground as it melted, but the ground was frozen and all that water ran off. The last rain we had here was April 12 and right now things are so dry we're under a forest fire watch.
My daffodils don't care. They're planted so deeply that they catch whatever moisture is hidden in their meadow. Even now, when dusk has almost turned to darkness, I can see their glow splashed across the field, smell their perfume.
The cycle begins again.
Spring is the season of small things. It reminds me to stop, hunker down, and look closely. Walk too quickly and you miss the waxy beauty of the tiny pink flowers of the epimedium, the contrast between the bronze foliage left behind last fall and the lime green of new spring leaves.
Walk too quickly and you miss the subtle interplay of leaves, the lime of the epimedium, the dark green spikes of the daylilies, the purple waxy saucers to be of the ligularia.
I've spent the last few weeks hunkering down, building callouses, playing in the dirt.
I'm glad I did.
Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.
This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine. Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.
©2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.