Epilogue to Longreach
Do I really have to keep saying that? I hope some of you are now beginning to see a trend here and understand how this works.
You see, when we go on our trips we have about 8 cameras available to us. Some are actual cameras and then we have all our electronic devices. You know the drill.
“Quick hand me the camera.”
“It is in the car.”
“Do you have your tablet?”
“Yes, but it isn’t charged”
“Darn, my phone is dead too. What about your cell?”
“Nope, I put it on the charger in the caravan, but you brought the lap top right? Want me to run and get it from the truck?”
“Never mind, the once in a millennium shadow across the mountain that reveals the secret of life has already passed. Maybe next time.”
Derek says he liked it better when things were much simpler. You see he liked it when the only thing that took pictures was a camera and you couldn’t take a picture of yourself, or check that you got a good shot immediately after snapping it. There was a lot to be said for waiting until you got home from the vacation of a lifetime or from having seen your parents for the last time before they died, taking the roll of film in to be processed, waiting for 3 weeks to get the pictures developed and when you finally got to see them, realizing that someone’s thumb was over every picture, or that you left the cap on the lens. I guess people did not let that bother them because they were all so unstressed without cell phones and computers.
I get home from our trips and I take all the electronic equipment into my office. I like to lay it all out, make sure everything is there, it is all cleaned, and that all the appropriate cords, attachments, etc are all in the right spot. Then, I go through them and download all the pictures onto my computer under the file I have prepared for them. I do that so I will know exactly where they are when I want to go through them and clean them up or crop them, if needed. I then pack everything away where it is supposed to go so we have it for next time.
Derek likes to take a “less complicated approach.” It employs the technique where he wanders around and put things down to be “sorted later.” Later, when it is “sorting time,” he picks up a piece of electronic equipment and he puts it in the
electronic closet big black hole where everything electronic goes. His theory is that, “everything is in there.” He knows where it is. It is all put away. Then, when you need something, he can go right to the “closet.” He opens the doors and stands there looking in. He looks and he looks some more. He looks very hard.
Then he yells, “Aria, where did you put the cord to recharge the camera?”
And I answer, “You put it away.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes, remember I asked if you had seen it and you told me you had put it away already, and I said I wanted to keep it with the camera so I would know where it was and you told me that you put it where it belongs?”
And then he begins to pull out a cord or two to see if the cord he is looking for is under one of those cords. It isn’t. Then he pulls out a few more. And then he begins to grumble about the closet, the one that only he ever touches. He complains it is a huge mess and he wishes people would just leave things alone and leave them where he put them. All this time he is pulling out more things. The swearing begins. Then he begins to throw the boxes of everything out until his entire office looks like a bomb went off in it. Sometimes he has to go through the closet, repack it, and go through it again, several times, before he finds what he is looking for.
Usually, he finds it on the pile of stuff he set down to be sorted later that had not reached “later” enough, to be sorted.
My favourite time is when he shows me how to wrap all the cords and put them neatly in a box so they do not get tangled like mine do sometimes. I just smile because those same cords will be flying out in handfuls in just a few days. Meanwhile, if he needs a cord to charge something, I can pull out my drawer where yes, there might be some tangling going on, but any one of those cords will do what we are looking for.
I think it is a good thing that our offices are at different ends of the house.
I have put razor wire and land mines down around my desk.
He constantly messes with my alphabetized books.
So we, like most families, end up with pictures from our trips, on several devices. Derek never checks for pictures. He is too focused on making sure things are put in his special “electronic closet” and that the cords are all wrapped properly.
Eventually, usually when it is time to buy a new phone, he asks me if I want any of the pictures we managed to snap of the Second Coming from his phone back in 2003. (ya, it happened, you missed it) So THAT is the explanation as to why these pictures were not in the file where they belonged. Had they been, I would have already written about the day golfing.
You know how some golfers complain about the condition of the greens when they golf? Ya, this is not that story. This is a golf course where no one ever complains about the conditions of the greens, probably because there are no greens.
How much can you complain about the dirt? What is the dirt supposed to do anyway? It lies there, it does exactly whatever it wants to. This dirt is so dry that each particle is pancaked into almost non-existence, but not quite. Then it gets together with other particles and becomes this fine talcum powder like substance, only much browner. It sticks to you like nothing else I have ever seen. And men, only because they can’t take “no” for an answer, have deemed this dirt to be a golf course. So they jackhammer holes into it and take their clubs and hit the ball all around and pretend they are having the best game ever.
I love that they put some trees in, to help give it that lush feeling . Here is where most of the men “relieve themselves” half way through the course. It is the only reason there is some grass there. And look .. someone tried to make it a “park” by adding a bench, dedicated to golfers who died by the time they reached this part of the course, either from the heat or from inhaling 132 lbs of bull dust. You can see the discarded golf club of the most recent tragedy, he dropped right on the spot. I think a herd of crows picked him up and carried him away. Probably thrilled to finally have something else to eat besides the steady diet of kangaroo road kill. I am thinking this is so freaking luxurious now that they will have to hike the membership fees just to keep the riff-raff out.
I also cannot believe that Derek paid to play on this.
I used to put a long black skirt over my head and pretend it was long hair when I was a kid. We called it “having a great imagination.” Then I grew up, and I realized that a skirt was not hair, and no-one would ever be fooled into believing it was – even though I really tried. I had to grow my own real hair to flick over my shoulder. I really tried that too.
Women understand these things. Just because you want to play golf, you can’t make a paddock of dirt a golf course. They call them “the greens” for a reason. When women cannot grow long hair they move on and put their energies into something different, like starting a club for women with short hair, making sure no long haired bimbos are allowed to even apply. We spend our lives proving that women who flick their hair, have brain damage. We do something useful with the rejection that reality give us. We don’t try to play golf for heaven’s sake.
Surprisingly, Derek’s son thought playing golf in the sandbox would be awesome, so off they went. Just because you find another man to pretend with you, does not make it real either. Other men who golf on this dirt pile are just enablers. You are all very very ill and need help.
Derek and his son came home with eyes that disappeared when they blinked and even their teeth were coated in a fine brown paste, that cemented the flies right in there, some of them still flapping their wings and kicking their hind legs in protest. It was not sexy. They both had to be power hosed.
All men should look at these pictures, really LOOK at these pictures and consider that you do not want to ever pick a fight with an Australian bloke. These dudes play golf in the 40°C+ in the dirt. Either they are animals . . . or lunatics … either way, you do not want to take them on.