T-3 and counting

By all rights I shouldn't be blogging. We leave in days, and surely there are things I should be doing. But just to share the latest blips along the way. I have been warning the whole family to be oh so careful, "Don't injure anything at this stage of the game, we all need to be ambulatory for this!" Of course then, who should take a cartoon-like fall on the ice but moi.

Remember those "signs of spring" we were so joyfully writing about the other day? The bog had been spread with sand, and no more than two days later there came a wonderful southern breeze, a thaw, the sand filtered down onto the bog as planned and spring seemed a possibility. The glacial rivers that the trails have been of late began to melt and give way. Then, as quickly as it had melted, it refroze for the winds shifted back from the north and west. And, that snowstorm that pummeled the Midwest again, just sent us a lovely, "Ivory-Snow" flake inch or two. All the better to see tracks in right? And No Worries, for under the snow was sand. Or that was what I thought. Wrong, and nothing is slipperier than "Ivory Snow" snow on ice.


I remember thinking what an entertaining track I left. Confident striding footprints, then a clear outline of my not so graceful landing, followed by some staggering tracks which then headed off the trail and into the side brush lest I fall again. So, now a day of icing, and a wrapped bandage will hopefully be good enough. I will be the one-armed-wonder-sculler when snorkelling, hopefully not seen as a weakened species ripe for the picking by some nearby predator!

Not my luckiest day yesterday, for the computer monitor also decided its time had come. I must have worn it out reading all those reviews of hostels in Sydney, trying to chose from whether we would want one that promised broken showers and a smell that shall not be mentioned here, or one peopled primarily by avid drinkers and the aftermath that follows said drinkers. How to choose? Well, without a computer it will be up to my husband to do this at work, and thrift will win the day. Even for the delights of sharing a room with sick and boisterous people, one pays a high price in Sydney, so I can't even imagine how low he will go. Best not to think about it.

Think of Fairy penguins, think of the riotous names these Australian animals posses and the bragging rights if I were to see, say a Willy Wagtail,
or a Yellow Wattlebird,
who I hear sounds a lot like a vomiting Frat boy. Bandicoots, and Mulgara's,

if I see them, you shall hear about it. Not exactly household names these animals. At least not for we on the other side of the world. So, once again, may we come back able to tell our tales.

Till then, may the March of spring reach your door!