Mamalade

Miles is five

Miles turned five last week. I went around to mind Hayley on Friday so that Frances could go to the Pre School with a birthday cake she’d made for Miles to share with his friends. The house was in turmoil when I arrived. Everyone had slept in. The cake was still being decorated, the kids hadn’t had breakfast and Joel was running late for work. Tempers were running short.

“Miles, wash your hands!” yelled Joel, “and use soap!”

Miles yelled back, “I DID……n’t!”

I don’t think we were meant to hear that last syllable!

On Sunday, his actual birthday, we celebrated with a visit to the Australia Zoo at Landsborough. The zoo is known mainly for it’s crocodiles, but there were lots of other animals as well. Hayley screamed when the giant tortoise lumbered toward us, but she was happy to pat the kangaroos and koalas. I loved the baby goats, especially one little brown spotted one that climbed up and leaned over the fence when we offered them food. While I was patting it, another goat chewed the ribbon off my hat.

It was a hot day and we were all pretty tired by the time we came home. I flopped in a chair in front of the TV and went to sleep.

A rescue

I was just wondering what to have for dinner on Saturday night when my sister Relle phoned.

“Do you feel like fish and chips on the beach?” she asked.

“I’ll be in on that,” I said. I grabbed a light jacket. It was a hot day, but the breeze can be quite nippy on the beach. I was glad of it, too, when the sun started to slink toward the horizon and a light misty rain began to fall.

“Do you think we should get under shelter?” asked Relle.

“I’m okay,” I said. “It’s nice to be cool.”

We’d almost finished our fish when a flock of noisy Rainbow Lorikeets descended into the tree beside us.

“Aren’t they beautiful!”

One of them suddenly flopped down into the long grass. We watched it for a moment. Something seemed to be wrong.

“I don’t think he can fly,” I said.

“He must have fallen and hurt himself.”

The bird hobbled over to the tree trunk and tried to climb up it.

“Oh, he must have broken his wing!”

“Do you think we should catch him?” I asked. “We could take him to the vet”

I took off my jacket and tried to catch him in it, but he kept eluding me.

“Here,” I handed the jacket to Relle. ” Your reflexes are probably quicker than mine.”

Relle crept up behind the bird, and almost had him, when he flapped his wings desperately and took off.

“He’s flying!”

But it was an erratic flight, just several feet off the ground. We watched in horror as he flew unevenly out onto the road just as a car drove by.

“Oh no!!” There was a thud. The car disappeared around the corner and the bird lay still in the middle of the road.

Relle stared at it in anguish.

“At least it was quick, ” I tried to reassure her.

Relle ran and picked up the bird. “He’s still breathing!”

It was hard to believe he could have survived. Relle wrapped him in my jacket, I rolled up the remaining fish and chips in the paper and we headed back to the car.

Of course the local vet was closed. After all, it was Saturday night. I phoned the emergency number and was told the nearest one open was half way into the city.

“He’ll probably die before we get there,” I said, taking the pathetic little body off Relle.

Suddenly, the bird regained consciousness. It fluttered out of my grasp and flapped around inside the car, screeching raucously. It nipped my hand as I caught him and wrapped him firmly in my jacket.

He lay quiet for the rest of the journey. I was sure he must been dead, but was afraid to look for fear he’d escape again.

The vet’s assistant carried the little bundle to a room out the back. There was a terrible screeching as she returned with my jacket.

“Sound’s like he’s still alive,” I said.

“I think his wing is broken,” she said. “If we can fix him, we’ll send him to a bird carer. There’s a woman who comes in and collects injured birds to look after.”

The vet didn’t charge us anything, so we left a donation in the tin on the counter.

Relle phoned them the next day and was told the bird had survived and had a mean temper.

“He hit that car with an awful whack,” said Relle. “He must have a dreadful headache!”

But I think he’s going to make it.

It’s four weeks since I updated this newsletter! Where did the time go?

Things look pretty grim with this war looming. I’m glad that Ben and Agnieszka are back in Australia. It’s probably no safer here, but at least all our family are in the one country. Joel saw Ben and Agnieszka in Sydney last week, when he went down on a business trip.

Frances phoned me just after Joel left. “Miles is upset,” she told me. “He said he’s missing his Daddy.” (Joel had only been gone half an hour!)

“He could come and visit me,” I suggested.

Frances brought Miles and Hayley around and left them with me while she went to get her haircut.Hayley played contentedly with the toys while I tried to teach Miles to play “Connect 4.”

“Look, I’ve got four in a row!” said Miles, but he had three pieces placed vertically, with one beside them.

“Ah, no, you can’t turn corners,” I told him. “It has to be straight down.”

Right at that moment, Miles’ chair slid from under him and he crashed down on the floor.

“I didn’t mean straight down on the floor!” I said.

Miles had opened his mouth to howl, but decided to laugh instead.

“This game is too hard,” he decided. “Let’s play something else.”

We found a packet of noodles to cook for our lunch. Miles said he wasn’t hungry, but after the first mouthful, he eyed my plate and said, “Don’t eat it all – I might want some more.”

Hayley insisted on feeding herself. She does very well for a fourteen-month-old tot, but the noodles kept sliding off her spoon before she could get it into her mouth. I’ve never seen noodles spread so far. I was still picking noodles out of my sandals the following day.

Mum had her second cataract operation two weeks ago, so her eyes are pretty good now. Her only complaint is, she can see more wrinkles when she looks in the mirror. She must think I’ve aged a lot, too. One of our elderly friends phoned me the day after the operation, to ask how Mum was.

“She’s still feeling a bit wishy-washy,” I told her.

“I did mine this morning,” said our friend. “I’ve got it all in off the line and done the ironing too!”

Miles had a hernia operation that same week. He took his teddy “Morgan”, and Buzz Lightyear with him for moral support. He was able to come home the same day. The following week, he had to go back for a check up and to have the dressing removed. He was feeling a bit apprehensive, so Morgan went with him again.

When the doctor started to remove the dressing, Miles yelled “Where’s Morgan!” He clasped the teddy tightly until it was all over, then he said casually, “Morgan was a bit silly for a moment. He wanted a cuddle!”

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On Sunday, I attended the Toastmasters Metropolitan Division Conference. I caught the train in to the city, with two of my Toastmaster friends. When we reached Central Station, we discovered that the lift (elevator) up to Wickham Terrace doesn’t work on Sundays. This was quite a problem, since one of my friends is quite disabled as well as being almost blind. (She’s an inspiration to us all in what she manages to do.) Anyway, we explained our dillemma to one of the staff at the station (A wonderful man called Rhys) He organised for the Sheraton Hotel to have their lift available for us, then he got a wheelchair for my friend and took us all the way up and put us in a taxi.

I had expected it to be a long day, but the conference was so interesting, the time just flew. All the speeches were great.. And Gavin Blakely, the International President of Toastmasters arrived and gave a short address. One of our members won one of the contests and will be competing at the next level in May at Townsville. (I don’t think I’ll get to that one!) We all went home on a high.