14 Mar 2011
Let’s review something that happened last night before moving on to today’s activities. That would be our trip to the Scorpion House, previously known as the Ladies restroom. Now I’ve discussed in more than one blog my thoughts around campground toilets (as they are pointedly referred to here) and how they can all be categorized into a simple, two-tiered rating system. After last night, I might need to update my ratings.
Heading up the walkway toward the toilet entrance after dark, following behind a young girl who was tiptoeing along quite curiously, we were informed that she was doing so because there were “scorpions about.” Scorpions? We are not in the heat of the desert here, in fact, the mercury has plummeted and for the first time since shivering through last winter in a central-heating-less flat in Bondi, I am once again pining for my down jacket. So I am not believing this spacey teenage Tasmanian that I need to be on the watch for scorpions. Perhaps she needs to be on the watch for a methadone clinic. But then I saw it, and I’ll be damned, but that wasn’t a little scorpion scuttling across the floor. Are you freakin’ kidding me? This is what never fails to distress me about Australia – I can’t even go for a wee in an indoor toilet without being confronted by some crazy, prehistoric creature that can fell me with a single sting, bite, or chomp of its jaws. I mean seriously, aren’t the snakes and spiders enough? Now we have to add scorpions to the mix? I cry uncle, Australia. Where’s my cute, cuddly wallaby now?
The daylight brought happier sights, those consisting of lake views, tall trees, and an endless blue sky. It feels like autumn here, the early days of fall when the air crispens along with the leaves. We couldn’t be more contented right now, toodling along in our Charlie, our new home on wheels, driving these country roads as though we were crossing the North Cascades Highway, dropping down into the Methow Valley on a gorgeous October afternoon. The trees and accents may be different, but the sentiment is universal, the season shifting toward the reflective, the long, hot summer fading behind, the cool, crisp winter slumbering ahead, today the wakeful dancing between, when we sniff the air, deepen our breaths, and count our blessings on the exhale. And, if you’re Gina, ponder intensely how it is you will export this Charlie back to the States.
