It’s not actually raining right now but it was yesterday evening. Raining, pouring, streaming, gushing, rushing, teeming, flowing from the sky. And I was able to enjoy it, not because our house had arrived but because I already knew that it wasn’t coming. Apparently house moving is a bit like train timetables. One hitch and the whole schedule implodes and some convoluted realignment of the universe is required. The house ahead of us in line is currently stuck in mud on Russell Island. When it is extracted, it will be our turn. ETA is approximately next Thursday -- Valentine’s Day. Perhaps I need to sacrifice some chocolate to St. Valentine (purely in the service of efficiency of course).
I feel more confident about the house move because the gentleman who will actually be doing the job paid a visit yesterday. Other than his assurance that it will happen next week “come hell or high water” (mmm…not sure that he should be talking about high water), his appearance inspired confidence. He looked like a man who could and does personally corral and hogtie any errant house. I was particularly impressed by his ability to button his shirt while talking to me (perhaps it is more comfortable driving in deshabillé or maybe the tatts needed airing.) He reckons that it won’t be difficult, took the contact details of our bulldozer driver and already has everything sorted with him.
The rain was marvellous. The ground is so saturated at the moment that any additional moisture runs off. According to reports, the famous gully was running. All the dams are overflowing. Our neighbour’s little dam, called the dimple dam by us, had a silver thread of water flowing over its edge. One of the dams behind our house had a stream winding out of it and down the valley. Black Snake Creek is deeper than I have ever seen it and has spread out below the bridge in town. Where we often walk down a green alleyway is now a shallow sheet of coffee-coloured water. The money spent on the detention basin seems to have been well spent with water flowing steadily down the creek instead of rushing into town.
Right now though I think I’ll just make a bit of a start on that chocolate…
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I am reminded of the joke my father used to tell, of the travelling salesman who found shelter from a pounding thunderstorm in the middle of the night, in an old farm house. On the morning after the storm, as he stood looking out the kitchen window, the salesman noticed a straw hat floating across the pond at the bottom of the garden. Strangely, when it reached the side of the pond, the hat spun around and floated back to the first side.
"What is that hat?" he called out in surprise.
"Oh, that's just Grandpa," replied the buxom farmer's daughter. "He said he was going to mow the lawn today, come hell or high water."
Hope the chocolate appeases the gods of house moving. Make sure they get plenty!
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