Seven Go On an Adventure

Lovergirl and I have been down to Byron Bay for the weekend. This morning I got up early and met friends at this beach, Brunswick Heads beach, and we rode our bikes along the shoreline to Byron Bay and back. It was only about twenty kilometres but I felt wild and adventurous and free all the same, like a character in an Enid Blyton novel. The sky was glowering and threatening to rain so the beach was deserted. We came across a big dead turtle, he looked like an old chap, with a barnacle-encrusted shell and raggedy flippers. We called the marine rangers who came out in their four wheel drive to do an autopsy. On the way back we stopped and went for a swim in the empty ocean. The reality of seven naked lesbians at varying proximity to middle age swimming in the ocean is less titillating than it possibly sounds.

I didn't feel homesick but I did have a gorgeous weekend.

Animal Crackers

Things I learnt about animals last weekend:

Rhinoceros' closest relative is the horse. Hippopotamus' closest relative is the whale. Whale!

The Melbourne bird of prey is the whistling kite.

Giraffe actually do make a noise but it's outside the range of human hearing. Too deep, apparently. Makes sense, with that long neck - long bass vocal chords.

There are no Mongolian horses left in the wild but they breed easily in captivity. The reason they are extinct in the wild is that they interbreed so easily with domesticated horses, they keep breeding themselves out of existence.

Young rhinoceros have to have an older male mentor or else they never learn how to have sex. They get aroused but don't know what to do with their tackle. Didn't think to ask how big a rhinoceros penis was.

Zebras are quite happy to hang out with rhinoceros but giraffe don't like rhinos much.

Giraffe get depressed after a member of their herd dies. Well, we don't know for sure they're depressed, admitted the ranger, but they certainly behave differently.

The biggest threat to animals is loss of habitat (I knew that already).

There are more than 160 different breeds of antelope. Antelope horns are made of keratin - same stuff as your nails & hair.

Cheetahs can't eat people. We're too big. They'll have a swipe at a child though.

If you see zebras locked in combat, don't yell 'ooh they're fighting' so the whole bus turns to look. Theyr'e most likely having marital relations. Or extramarital, for all I know.

On the weekend we camped at the Werribee Open Range Zoo. For the purposes of this entry we are going to sublimate any ethical concerns about zoos and focus on how important they are for breeding program for endangered animals. Anyway it was Liz's 40th birthday and if she wants to have it in a zoo then who am I to disappoint her? Liz is an old girlfriend of Lovergirl's; they met in Alice Springs as wild young things and drove all over Australia wreaking havoc. Liz still strikes me as pretty wild but now she is with the stable Jaguar (J picked this pseudonym herself - her real name is much more prosaic but as she is lying on the couch across the lounge from me here I gave her the opportunity to choose her own) and they have been together forever. Liz & Jaguar live in Melbourne in my sister's house.

If you have to live in a zoo, I reckon an open range zoo is the place to be. As tourists, you turn up and they herd you into a minibus and drive you around so the animals can gawp at you. They're trying to recreate the African grasslands so there are lots of grazing animals all hanging out together over about five hundred acres. The cats are in a separate section to avoid unexpected losses of herbivores - and tourists, I expect.

After we'd let everyone have a good look at us they took us up to the African themed campsite with our four star tents. We sat and watched the sun go down over the African savannah with glasses of wine, while the rangers cooked our African style barbeque.

There were sixteen of us on the tour - all couples except for Sheryl, an immaculately groomed blonde from Albert Park who had brought along her elderly Irish mother for her birthday. Mumsy, as Sheryl called her, was hating the experience I think, and wishing she had been taken to the Hilton and a show. All the couples kept to themselves. I thought the clique of lesbians might have scared them; but perhaps they were all keen to have a romantic night alone with the wild animals.

I expected composting toilets, seeing as we were in the wilds of Africa. The rangers said they had them initially, but people would ring and cancel their overnight stays when they realised. 'We're trying to create an upmarket experience here, and you have to give people what they want,' explained Adam the dour old ranger. Give the people what they want! The world is drying to a dust bowl and people demand flushing toilets. Hard to believe.

Liam the cheerful young ranger was a smart young casual doing a PhD in human responses to animals (Adam snorted ever so subtly when Liam said 'PhD')- something along the lines of how to promote attitude change to then create behavioural change.

We sat around the campfire, toasted marshamallows and told bad ghost stories. The lions roared a couple of times as the sun set over the African savannah (read: plains of Werribee)

The Paris of the South

As soon as I stepped off the plane at Tullamarine airport I knew I was dressed all wrong. Melbourne people just have style and unfortunately mine seems to have substantially rubbed off during my time in the hills. Even if I can no longer recreate it, at least I can still recognise style when I see it, unlike those blissfully unaware people still walking around with their jeans hitched up to their ribcages. Or maybe ribcage-skimming jeans are back? See, it's been so long. Certainly tailored knee length dress shorts are all the rage, worn with black stockings and knee high boots. I think they look ridiculous myself but there's an element of surprise - if I'd been around for their gradual introduction into the fashion community I might feel more kindly towards them. Instead I find myself snorting in disbelief, just like my aunt Helen did twenty years ago the first time I wore a teal blue shot-taffeta puffball skirt (which, alarmingly, are also back in fashion - the puffball, not the shot-taffeta). And knee length tailored shorts are never going to be kind to short-legged mid-thirties women with bums. So sneering is my best retort.

I spent ages on Brunswick St, sipping a skinny-decaf-cappucino, although I know cappucini are badly out of vogue - the domain of Kath & Kim chattering in Gloria Jeans in suburban shopping malls. Don't worry, if anyone had been within earshot I would have ordered a long black with milk on the side. At the table next to me at the Nova (I wasn't feeling up to Mario's) two mental health workers counselled a young woman displaying far too much cleavage about how to refuse her boyfriend's requests for money. In between snippets of advice, she took phone calls arranging her methadone appointment. I imagined her silently bargaining with herself - 'If I listen to these two nag for twenty minutes, they'll give me a lift to me methadone. Maybe if I let them go for thirty minutes, they'll drop me home again afterwards.'

People with long involvement in welfare services are trained to lose all sense of privacy. Retelling lurid tales of addiction/ sexual abuse / domestic violence/ suicide attempts to a neverending stream of social workers - counsellors- students - interns - GPs - crisis teams bleaches out the usual boundaries. I wonder if the two caring workers at the next table would cross examine a friend about her substance use & psychology appointments so casually in a crowded cafe?

Growing up here, it's remarkable that I'm a lesbian. The men are so beautiful in Melbourne - thin, languid artsy types toting folios or violin cases. Quite refreshing after too long amidst the beefy boofy beer drinkers of Queensland. Mind you I'm not jumping the fence just yet, as the young dykes walk past like roving packs of alert prairie dogs, all sharp black hair and layers of singlets over low slung jeans held up with studded belts. Was I ever that gorgeous?

I budgeted $250 for my weekend in Melbourne, and instantly blew half of it on a new outfit, so self-conscious was I by the time I had finished my second coffee.I'll have to wear the same outfit for the next five days but at least it's a reasonably funky one. The moment it became imperative to shop was the realisation that the outfit I was wearing I had had since I left Melbourne five and a half years ago! and god knows how long I'd had it before then. That, and a harsh toilet mirror that pointed out the baggy bits at the back of the skirt from too many years being sat on. Thus did I rationalise the stylish new skirt and top I found at the 'bargain' end (I merely mean compared to the high end, not bargain overall) of Brunswick St - over Johnston heading toward the Housing Commission flats.

For the last days of winter, Melbourne's turning on stunning mild days with streaky high clouds. I've had two days of playing about visiting friends and the Melbourne Writers' (Writer's?) Festival and Lovergirl joins me tonight. She's giving a conference paper next week - I'm that proud - on lesbian parenting. I'm going to try and smuggle myself into the conference to hear her speak. Thankfully in my new outfit, they'll have no reason to toss me out. I'll just blend into the stylish crowd.

Up, up & away

How far up am I? Twenty thousand feet? Fifteen thousand? I didn’t listen to the pilot. I’m en route from Cairns to Sydney and very happy about that. In Sydney I get to see my girlfriend whom I dimly remember from my days on the North Coast (which seem so long ago now).

Last night I went from Mackay to Cairns in a little plane with propellers, and we ‘cruised’ at thirteen thousand feet. ‘We are now cruising at thirteen thousand feet,’ said the pilot. It didn’t feel so much like cruising, despite the pleasant views of the tropical north enabled by the low altitude. It was pretty bumpy in places.

So the budget is upon us, with much fanfare and applause. Not much grizzling yet, as everyone gets a tax cut. I think mine is about $14 a week. I really would rather that $14 had gone to some decent public transport for the North Coast. It’s extraordinary that there isn’t a train line between Northern NSW and Brisbane – Australia’s fastest growing region, most dangerous stretch of highway, etc etc. I fantasise about a fast comfortable train with secure car parking. I’d catch the train on Tuesday mornings, it’d probably only take about an hour and a half to get to Brisbane (it’s a very modern train in my fantasy). I get to know the other Brisbane commuters and we exchange civil greetings but maintain a discreet distance as we doze our way to our day jobs. One group of more sociable regulars pull out a pack of cards and play – uno? Poker? Something simple. I think they have thermos of tea with them, too.

Yesterday on my plane flights I sat next to

• Townsville-Mackay: A sugar cane mill person from an hour north of Townsville who was on his way to a conference on a new technology that seemed to be some kind of x-ray for assessing the quality of the sugar cane without actually crushing it. He moved up with his wife a few years ago. She wasn’t so keen on the move as she actually had a career in Sydney, but now they have small kids at home and she’s thinking about going back to study corporate law.
• Mackay – Townsville: An older man who did something financial for the energy company, on his way to an inservice on a new accounting/bookkeeping tool they were using. Queensland electricity companies are still publicly owned, I hadn’t realised that, but the government has just decided to sell it off. My informant didn’t think there was much point to this. He didn’t care very much though.
• Townsville – Cairns: a young fitter and turner on his way to the tin mine of Cooktown. He gave me a new career idea: apparently lots of women work in the mines, driving huge trucks. They prefer women apparently, because women are easier on the gears and the mine owners end up having to do less maintenance. The truck drivers earn about $100,000 a year! He works fourteen days on and fourteen days off, but he has another mine that he goes to, a phosphate mine near Mt Isa, that has twelve day rosters, so sometimes he’ll skip the fourteen days off and go out there instead. He also occaasinally works at a lead mine. ‘I don’t like that much,’ he said. ‘You get covered in black lead dust, you have to wear full gloves, masks, goggles, long sleeves all the time. They say it’s not bad for you but I don’t believe them.’

Of the places I’ve visited in the last few days I liked Townsville the best. Cairns is a tourist town, all glitzy high rise at the waterfront dropping away rapidly to seedy boarded up shopfronts and people in footy beanies carrying pizzas and beers home for a night in front of the telly. Mackay seemed to be a cute enough country town, but Townsville trumped it with cafes on the waterfront that look across the sea to Magnetic Island and a gorgeous strand along which the entire population seems to picnic, walk dogs, play with kids and generally congregate.

Aha, I’ve hit on the difference – I found the ‘heart’ of Townsville while I was there, the gathering place where people look happy to be there. I didn’t find that in Cairns or Mackay – I was only in each one for a day so it would be unfair to imply they didn’t have one – but that is what has drawn me to Townsville.

Where is the heart where I live? I think it’s a bit harder to have a heart when you are a tourist town. People come and go, the faces are unfamiliar. For the men, the general store is a heart – the bottle shop is an unofficial pub, tolerating (encouraging?) people to sit around out the back and drink and chat. At the end of the day there are always a bunch of solid farming/labouring types drinking in the lean-to at the back of the shop

A heart is just a place to go an be, where you might know some of the people there but you’re not going to be with them, you are just enjoying the space together. When I lived in Melbourne the Merri Creek was one heart, and Brunswick St another. Hmm…I need to find one.

Back in Bris

Frustrating day today. There I was all ready to go to head off for work at quarter past six (so I could catch the 8am train from Helensvale to get to Brisbane by 9am - talk about dedication to the job - I get up before even the bleedin' kookaburras) and the car wouldn't start. Dragged Lovergirl out of bed to try and jumpstart it for me - no luck. It's all too tedious to repeat, the wait for the NRMA, ringing work to say I wouldn't be in as I was stuck in the bush house with no transport...anyway, I have decided that I really have to bite the bullet and get a loan for a decent car.

I did finally make my way to Brisbane - arrived here at 4pm so way too late to go in to work - J&V weren't really expecting me but I think it's okay.

I'm soooo tired though...think that's all I can write...a recital of my day's events would be very dull and I have no energy for lateral thinking tonight

sand, surf & Mum

Phew, I've finally finished the training - I've only got one more day and then I'm finsihed for six months.

I've been trainng a bunch of people on the Sunshine Coast (Queensland, Australia) for the past two days and it's really felt like hard work. Mybe because I'm changing jobs in two weeks and won't be training for a while, and I'm looking forward to having a break from it.

Coming up here has been good though. I invited Mum to come with me so she flew up from Melbourne to have a holiday on the beach while I work. It's been very good to have the company as usually I am just mooching around by myself. No matter how gorgeous a place is, it's kinda a slog to just hag around by myself for a couple of days, eating in rastaurants alone and seeing the sights.

It's been a really good way to spend time with Mum -we go for a walk before I go to work, then she entertains herself all day, then we go for a swim and find a restaurant in the evening and hang out in the very nice apartment, listening to the ocean. I've gotten much better with her. About a year ago we had a bad year - I only see her about twice a year anyway, as we live 1600 kilometres apart - but that year I went through a stage of wanting more from her. I wanted a 'closer' relationship. I don't know what got into me. i wanted her to be someone she wasn't. Too much listening to the hippies of the North Coast maybe, I thought I could have a 'deep, real' relationship with my mother. It was really hard on her because i kept trying to steer the conversations places she really does not want to go. Like whether she has any goals, and what she feels the purpose of her life has been. And I was constantly asking her not to do all the mother things, like clean my house and weed my garden and do my washing whenever she is in my space. I'm sorry Mum! :) I think I have gotten much better at accepting who she is. She is not one of my 'deep personal' friends but she's pretty good for all her foibles.

She's very supportive & eager for Lovergirl and I to have a baby. When Lovergirl interviewed a bunch of non-biological lesbian mothers for a research project last year, she found that their most discrimination came from their mothers. Lovergirl expected people to talk about social discrimination, or from medical services, but people just sailed through that. It was most devastating when their own mothers couldn't accept that they were the mother of this child that came from their partner's body.

I've found a whole heap of other bloggers on this blogsite about lesbians trying to get pregnant. it's very reassuring. Although some have gotten pregnant dishearteningly easily.

I wanna have a go! It's very hard to stand by, getting older, while Lovergirl tries.