As we drove from Caloundra to the hospital at Kawana, a dark bulging mass of blackness seemed to be following us. When we left the hospital, heading to the Kawana shopping centre for a coffee, it seemed even scarier, full of foreboding.
As we walked into the cafe, it was almost with a sigh of relief that we had beaten the upcoming deluge…but it never came close. By the time we left Kawana, the clouds had gone somewhere else and the sky was once more beautiful and blue. I’m not sure where the darkness went.
We went to the hospital in order for mum to have an x-ray and then a check up. And what a hospital. It’s almost brand new (the plastic has only just been taken off the seats) and full of wide corridors, lightness and very helpful volunteers. It’s also where Denise works.
They even have these whizzy little shopping trolley-like wheelchairs which can only be operated by someone who can walk. I did wonder what happened if you turned up on your own but Denise assured me that a volunteer would be there, ready to speed you round to your appointed ward…or x-ray.
We were there for a while but, thank goodness, the rolling TV news kept us up to date with the developing nonsense in Windsor. Actually I heard on the radio this evening that there’s a British pub that has instigated a swear jar for anyone who mentions anything to do with the wedding. I really think they need a few of them here in Oz.
Annoyingly, it was wedding news that forced me out of bed this morning. I was happily listening to ABC Brisbane and a talk about the town hall clock tower in Brisbane. It was the highest structure in Brisbane until 1969. These days it’s quite difficult to see it. Still, you can go up the tower on tours and look at the view that once was there. And the grandfather clock. The grandfather clock is quite special. Then back to the bloody wedding. Seriously, this country has become one big Monty Python sketch.
So, we left the hospital and headed for Kawana and a date with some coffee and Jenny. There was a lot of organisational texting with Jenny but it was eventually sorted and we all met up outside the coffee shop and had a jolly good chinwag.
There was a lot of laughter but, all too soon, we had to part company as Tracey was waiting (im)patiently in mum’s driveway. She and Bob had driven up at stupid-o’clock this morning. Bob was taking mum’s car back down the coast and a date with destiny, and Trace was up for the weekend.
We sat around and chatted until Bob returned with various bits of official paperwork and then drove off back to Coffs. Then straight into traffic which meant he wouldn’t get back home until gone 10pm…or so Tracey said.
Rather than driving anywhere, Tracey and Denise stayed for lunch. Salad, of course. Sadly I have announce that I am the only one in my (immediate) family who likes brie. I know that may be hard to believe but there you go. Cheddar is fine but once it gets a bit runny and French then it’s all about rejection. Actually, just between the two of us, mum has been seen to peel brie before attempting to eat the runny cheese inside the rind. Fruitless is a word that springs to mind.
After lunch, Denise and I went to the bottle shop for some more beer supplies – Tracey insisted – before deciding to go to Bulcock Beach for dinner. So, armed with nothing but ourselves, we jumped in the car and drove down to Happy Valley, claimed a table then went and ordered food at the chippie.
We were surrounded by thousands of lorikeets as they settled down for the night, squawking and rustling and generally making a racket. There were also quite a few other families enjoying a beach-side meal as the sun slowly sank. It was lovely and quite rare for the four of us to be together.
I had some quite nice calamari but, no Fiona, not a patch on Vikings.
And for anyone who doesn’t believe how noisy the birds were, here’s a short video. My apologies but for reasons known to possibly only the birds, I filmed this the wrong way round.
Mum was so rude when we were with Jenny today. She said something about the screwdrivers for the vacuum cleaner and I said that Tracey was bringing one up but she insisted it was Mitchie. This escalated into quite an argument over nothing. She then got all nasty and said she wanted to go home, that she’d had enough. Denise said she’d have to walk and I think she was tempted to get up and head off. She just sat and fumed for a bit.
I felt a bit embarrassed for Jenny but she took it in her stride and, according to Denise, she has had the same experience from her mother when the dementia started to kick in.
Anyway, a little chocolate poodle walked by (with his owner) and I managed to distract mum by pointing it out and saying how like Emma he was (he wasn’t, really). Then her face changed and she was happy and pleasant again.
Poor Denise has this sort of thing all of the time.
Mum seriously needs to be in a home.