Shouts From Down Under

No spring chicken but still in hot water.

A sense of humour helps the days pass, and keeps loneliness, depression and self pity at bay. (Who'd feel sorry for me anyway !)

So returning to my roots / growing up region has jogged my humour along a fair bit.

I've met a few strangers here. Was surprised to meet a couple of school class "mates" although one didn't remember me. She was rather popular with most fellows around town, so I'm wondering if it's a good thing she doesn't remember me?

There's something about small towns, or just places (even big city communities) that you've never been, where they have these local "laws", or small rules. You don't know of course and if you're me, mostly you blunder straight into it. Very interesting the reactions sometimes. Lot's of rules that probably make sense, IF you knew.

Then, I decided to walk home from the main street, to the parent's block, about probably a mile and a half? Couple of kilometres, whatever. It was stinkin hot as I'm trudging determindly up the road, finally passed the last town houses and began to walk on the gravel verge of the very dry and very hot asphalt road.
There, in all it's glory was the dead cat (pic in previous blog) and he'd passed away a few days before by the smell.

My steps quickened and I scanned everywhere for the snake that most likely made life morbid for poor moggy. Every sign I passed shouted at me to Don't do this, Do that, etc.

Then, at home finally, there are the mosquitoes. It's so dry I cannot fathom where these fellows come from, and perhaps the dry is an indicator of why the ones that do appear on the fly screen doors and then sneak in when it's opened, are so small and nasty. They don't even make the tiny scream noise. Silent misery and the first you know of it, is itchy ankles, neck or elbows.

Yep. Just the ticket for editing, I'm sure.

So day before yesterday, the big evaporative A/C unit on the roof was roaring away, and I noticed the water pressure pump was cycling all the time. Seemed far to much so there may be a leak. How to get on the roof? I made sure Mum was ok, then went searching for a ladder.

Already set up on the highest possible reach needed from the lowest point of ground, Dad has a ladder made of square metal tubing welded together. It leans on the guttering at the top.
Quite strong...and flexible. Very flexible. And I struggled to feel any security the higher I climbed.

I made it with scratching fingernails onto the corrugated iron roof and strode up the pitched roof. The a/c unit was operating normally, no leaks. As it turns out, cycling is normal apparently as the unit uses some water all the time. Seems expensive to me, powering that pump every few minutes. But, what would I know, I'm just the carer.

There was no way I was going back down that ladder. Noway.
I went down the roof and onto the carport, dangled my feet and legs over the edge far as I could, took a deep breath, and jumped. The gound that was meant to be so soft came up a lot quicker than it should have, and wasn't soft at all, it was rock hard blue metal gravel coated concrete by the feel of it. And my knees that were meant to bend just stayed straight as ram rods. I hit the ground and the shock went straight up my legs and spine to my head. I fell to the ground and cut my hands. Yep, up quickly and dusted off so that nobody saw it. .

You know what? I've never felt better~! Crazy.

Almost as crazy as the next morning, while taking my mum to the Doc's we passed a house with three police vehicles parked outside, one in the drive, an ambulance reversing in, and the State Emergency Service truck turning the corner and pulling in as well.
Heard later it was "a drug house". A drug bust? In this quiet old town?

I think I'll stick to Blog entries and editing. And some dried up, shrivelled, pale, imitation humour.

At least the joke won't be on me.

Sparky

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