Returning home

The time has come to leave the cosseted world of the support team and return to the real world at the Trash Palace.

It’s another cold morning in Shepp, typical for this time of the year, when temperatures are low and frost is thick on the ground. I’ve managed to negotiate a civilised departure time and spent last evening packing the convalescent travel necessities in the small, red suitcase.  

MyVeryBestFriendCarmel had suggested she could accompany me on the train to Melbourne and do all the bag carrying; I wasn’t so keen, train travel is OK when you are fit and well but the idea of taking public transport right now doesn’t hold much appeal.  The Godchild has offered to come to Shepp and collect me but it seemed a half-way meeting point would be less travel for everyone.

MVBFC has persuaded her friend Madeleine to come along and provide company on the return journey.  Madeleine is a non-driver and the trip to Seymour is just that, time spent in a car watching the passing scenery, chatting and entertaining us with her family stories.

The lead story today is about her grandson who, at the ripe old age of nine, aspires to be a champion footballer but is currently plagued with injuries and has his own method of dealing with this setback.  His firm belief that watching television in a warm bed, shared with his Grandma, will benefit his injured knee, seems to have some merit; they both fall fast asleep and around 3 am Grandma is shaken awake to be informed that the knee has made an astonishingly rapid recovery and he is now game-fit. Grandma shares his delight briefly, before turning over and going back to sleep.

The other story is about her sister, closer to ninety than nine; a retired school teacher who at this time is revisiting her old schools in the Northern Territory to help out with admin needs on a voluntary basis. J taught for many years in the primary school system both in Darwin and Daly River, and loved the climate, the lifestyle and above all the kids she taught each day. Retirement saw her return south to the regional city where her own children live but any opportunity to return north again is eagerly embraced.

The traffic is light on the highway; anyone with any sense would be at home out of the cold today.  We arrive at the Seymour meeting place and I investigate the Railway Hotel to see if I can wait there.  The interior of the hotel is uninviting and the temperature only slightly higher than outside on the street.

Within minutes The Godchild arrives and luggage is transferred from one car to the other.  MVBFC and Madeleine are gone in the blinking of an eye; Madeleine has to be home by mid-afternoon to babysit a grandchild or two and MVFBFC will relax only when she is finally back at her house.  

This has been a long drive for her; she worries about problems on the road and will be truly stressed until her car rolls into the garage at 42 Pig-iron Drive.