Indian Summer
Without Prejudice
This year, 2017 in Melbourne winter seemed to go on forever. The swimming pool was set up and left so many times it developed a slimy green mould and had to be scoured by me for the sake of the grand kids less they slip and crack their heads.
It looked dirty and forlorn, though new, and I looked at photos of Summers past with shiny new pools of plastic that were deflated and stored for the next Summer but rotted over Winter and a new one was bought.
Yvette never cared stating a new pool was only $30 from Kmart and was better than trying to patch an old pool with the tiny little patches of vinyl that came with the pack.
Might as well as have a new one than fiddle around with tweezers trying to get that damn minuscule patch and bike tyre glue that had usually gone all gummy and thick in its tube to come together and adhere. Necessitating much swearing and binding of fingers together which then meant finding the bottle of gunk remover which took emptying out the junk cupboard and finding five other immediately necessary jobs to do and still not finding the gunk remover.
So a new pool every Christmas holidays which then necessitated Yvette finding the long electric cord and attaching it to a hair dryer to blow up the inflatable parts of the pool. More swearing and cursing when the whole arrangement would collapse under pressure from the kids to get it up. All dying to get in it and cool off on the one hot day we had after Christmas.
They used it once.
I found a portable air conditioner for them instead. Once the large brick house was cooled to 22 degrees instead of 35 it was amazing how they found comfort on the inside of home rather than outside in the flash bright garden with its white hot concrete and the bindi hidden in the dry brown grass that pierced the tender white flesh of un-hardened feet.
Then the heat arrived in what seemed like minutes and we were unprepared.
Unprepared for early mornings of brightness and late afternoons and evenings of stickiness where tempers snapped until small stomachs were full of chips and fish or pasta, Spanish meatballs and mashed potato with peas and corn which caused all the older males to leave their homes and come home to Mumsy Yvette. Even if they were not happy with her. Cupboard Love crosses all barriers as does the need for a cash loan for a car that's bung, again.
The heat, the light, crept in early under the front door exposing dust balls hidden in the previously shaded hall. Dust never sleeps. And cats scuffed at the mats and turned them upside down in a messy muddle that could trip the unwary. And did.
The air con was a God send to frazzled hot tempers and heated bodies, instantly turning the air into the temperature inside a freezer and no one complained except Yvette who took to trailing around in sweat pants and sweaters and shivering pointedly but no one took any notice. She is as skinny as a stick so feels the cold badly but better she's uncomfortable for a small while and the children are not.
And the heat continued. Past the first month of preps starting school which is always breathless and on into March which is officially Autumn and consists of cold crisp mornings and sunny days without the sting of Summer Heat.
Not this year.
The summer stayed and became an Indian Summer. A delightful time when the body is confused and preparations are made to bag up the cozzies and towels, buckets and sandy spades and drag out the sweat pants of Winter. But the preparations are delayed as Summer shines on in a perverse way and causes people to comment on it.
School Holidays are around the corner and Easter looms large in the shops already even though it's still weeks away. Hot cross buns came out on sale the day after New Year. Much to the disgust of the local population, and horror of horrors some of the traditional buns had chocolate chips in them. 100 chic chips one brand boasted and I wondered who counted them.
This year, 2017 in Melbourne winter seemed to go on forever. The swimming pool was set up and left so many times it developed a slimy green mould and had to be scoured by me for the sake of the grand kids less they slip and crack their heads.
It looked dirty and forlorn, though new, and I looked at photos of Summers past with shiny new pools of plastic that were deflated and stored for the next Summer but rotted over Winter and a new one was bought.
Yvette never cared stating a new pool was only $30 from Kmart and was better than trying to patch an old pool with the tiny little patches of vinyl that came with the pack.
Might as well as have a new one than fiddle around with tweezers trying to get that damn minuscule patch and bike tyre glue that had usually gone all gummy and thick in its tube to come together and adhere. Necessitating much swearing and binding of fingers together which then meant finding the bottle of gunk remover which took emptying out the junk cupboard and finding five other immediately necessary jobs to do and still not finding the gunk remover.
So a new pool every Christmas holidays which then necessitated Yvette finding the long electric cord and attaching it to a hair dryer to blow up the inflatable parts of the pool. More swearing and cursing when the whole arrangement would collapse under pressure from the kids to get it up. All dying to get in it and cool off on the one hot day we had after Christmas.
They used it once.
I found a portable air conditioner for them instead. Once the large brick house was cooled to 22 degrees instead of 35 it was amazing how they found comfort on the inside of home rather than outside in the flash bright garden with its white hot concrete and the bindi hidden in the dry brown grass that pierced the tender white flesh of un-hardened feet.
Then the heat arrived in what seemed like minutes and we were unprepared.
Unprepared for early mornings of brightness and late afternoons and evenings of stickiness where tempers snapped until small stomachs were full of chips and fish or pasta, Spanish meatballs and mashed potato with peas and corn which caused all the older males to leave their homes and come home to Mumsy Yvette. Even if they were not happy with her. Cupboard Love crosses all barriers as does the need for a cash loan for a car that's bung, again.
The heat, the light, crept in early under the front door exposing dust balls hidden in the previously shaded hall. Dust never sleeps. And cats scuffed at the mats and turned them upside down in a messy muddle that could trip the unwary. And did.
The air con was a God send to frazzled hot tempers and heated bodies, instantly turning the air into the temperature inside a freezer and no one complained except Yvette who took to trailing around in sweat pants and sweaters and shivering pointedly but no one took any notice. She is as skinny as a stick so feels the cold badly but better she's uncomfortable for a small while and the children are not.
And the heat continued. Past the first month of preps starting school which is always breathless and on into March which is officially Autumn and consists of cold crisp mornings and sunny days without the sting of Summer Heat.
Not this year.
The summer stayed and became an Indian Summer. A delightful time when the body is confused and preparations are made to bag up the cozzies and towels, buckets and sandy spades and drag out the sweat pants of Winter. But the preparations are delayed as Summer shines on in a perverse way and causes people to comment on it.
School Holidays are around the corner and Easter looms large in the shops already even though it's still weeks away. Hot cross buns came out on sale the day after New Year. Much to the disgust of the local population, and horror of horrors some of the traditional buns had chocolate chips in them. 100 chic chips one brand boasted and I wondered who counted them.
