23 January 2007

A Bad Day

16 January, 2007

Tuesday was a bad day for me.

I woke up at 5 am in a fit of homesickness and cried myself back to sleep, only to wake up groggy and swollen eyed with a very busy day ahead of me. I had to return our rental car, pick up another rental car (since we have not yet found a suitable ‘banger’), check-out of the hotel, move the rest of our stuff into the apartment, wait for Cap’n Snooze to deliver our new bed, then struggle through the insanities of a giant shopping mall anchored by a Kmart to buy linens and pillows before heading to an interview with a recruiter…and to top it off, the seemingly mild day turned blistering hot.

I was exhausted and crabby by the time I picked up Kevin from work, but he was full of pep and eager to explore the bush-trails that lead from our apartment up to the village of Lane Cove. Knowing that a wonderful pub rests in the middle of the village, I mustered enough motivation to endure the 25 minute up-hill walk, which as it turns out, was absolutely lovely.

Leaving our apartment, we first headed down to the shores of Burns Bay, where hordes of giddy children were feeding yesterday’s bread to terminally hungry ducks. Flocks of wild cockatoos were hosting their nightly version of happy hour, which pretty much consists of screaming violently at one another and anyone else who walks by. From there, we wound our way along a shady creek side trail that emptied into a leafy street lined with beautiful homes and friendly cats who flopped onto the sidewalk for a belly scratch. The village was bustling with evening activities. Just as the butcher and the baker roll up their wares for the night, the restaurants begin setting out tables and umbrellas. The pub was packed with well-dressed commuters stopping in for a few schooners on their way home from the transit stations. We picked up some take-away curry from one of the many delicious smelling ethnic eateries and strolled home under a warm rosy sunset.

Later, sipping wine while sitting on our balcony in some perfectly serviceable chairs salvaged from yesterday’s dumpster run (it turns out that ‘kerbside shopping’ is quite an acceptable, if not sociable activity, with owners proudly offering advice and assistance as their neighbors trade rubbish – we even met a guy from Chico who told us when and where to find the best stuff), I finally experienced a wave of relief and peacefulness.


And I was really looking forward to climbing into that new bed.

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