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| Tamborine Mountain Heritage Centre |
I went to phone my daughter yesterday and noticed the option of using Facetime. I miss seeing her adorable face and immediately buzzed her. An image of her in the car wearing a seatbelt, manifested on my screen. I gathered she was driving home from gym or something. She’s so health conscious that girl.
“I’ll hang up,” I breathed urgently into the phone. “I don’t want you to have an accident, sweetie.”
“It’s okay,” she replied. “I’m in the queue at KFC.”
Hmmmpf… so much for the gym.
I think part of the reason my kids don’t like where I live is because there are no KFCs. There is no Maccas, Guzman Y Gomez, Domino’s or Hungry Jack’s either and I hope there never will be.
Can you believe Tamborine Mountain doesn’t even have a single traffic light? Actually, we don’t even have street lights. It makes driving in the fog around treacherous, curvy cliffs very exhilarating.
I love the rural atmosphere and have resolved to open a petting zoo here in my retirement. Scotto supports me fully and happily listens to me list the animals I will have in my zoo. He’s even promised to help me with all the mucking out of stables and pens. I’m not sure what ‘mucking out’ means but I’m positive I will like it.
We go walking on weekends and lately, we amble along a circuit that travels past the Tamborine Mountain Heritage Centre. We snuck in today (even though it was closed) so I could take a photograph and an older man frightened us by seemingly popping out of nowhere.
“That sign is spelled wrong,” I commented, pointing to the TAMBOURINE mountain sign in a know-it-all, teacher fashion and attempting to divert him from the fact we were trespassing.
“No,” he corrected me. “It used to be spelled that way until 1920 when this was built.”
He went on to inform us that as the legend goes, there was a local business back in the day which had a truck, and the sign on it said TAMBO on one side and URINE on the other. Apparently the general population took offence and changed the spelling of the mountain.
After our walk, we went to the Mitre 10 hardware store to look for stuff to make a crown of thorns for my little Jesus. My class is performing Stations of the Cross on Thursday and Jesus is currently sans headwear.
Unbelievably, there didn’t seem to be a Crown of Thorns aisle in the shop and we left empty handed.
We will have to fashion one from something in the garden. Naturally, we won’t use anything with real thorns because it’s only a representation and I don’t want my Jesus to bleed in front of the preppies. Nailing Jesus to the cross will be quite enough for the under-fives to witness, I feel.
On Sunday, Lent will be over and I can annoy people on Facebook again.
Even though I haven’t been ‘liking’ or commenting or posting, I have been taking a peek at it now and again. Of course, I was still private messaging as well because that’s the only way some people will communicate with me.
My teaching buddy, Catherine Mary, told me she thinks that it all sounds very dodgy and shouldn’t be counted as a Lenten sacrifice since I have pretty much been stalking everyone on Facebook the whole time.
Hmmmpf… I’d like to know what Catherine Mary gave up.
Oh! I forgot to tell you! We sold Golden Boy! When the mechanic checked the car for the roadworthy he told Scotto my six year old brakes were almost at 100% function.
“Does she ever slow down?” the mechanic asked Scotto in astonishment. Little does he know I never speed UP. I drive to conditions even when there are no conditions.
That was my week.
But, I have a question for you...
Will you visit my petting zoo?
and also...
Did you even miss me on Facebook?
