Penicillin, Advil, Tea, Breakfast of Champions

Hello there! Looks like Lucky Number Slevin won by a LANDSLIDE too bad it didn't do as well in the box office but I suppose none of that famous cast is really hurting from that one.

It's a beautiful sunny day here in the ACT and I come to you having just sent about three hours driving over the countryside of New South Wales with a Scotswoman who shouts like a Glasgowian (not sure of the term) taxi driver at any who have less than stellar driving skillz. This, my dear readers was after the third and final installment in my Tumut field trip series. 

The country was beautiful and the company lovely, the skies clear and the stars bright; there were but two blights on my lovely trip and because I love to complain you will hear of them in detail. Problem one: I was/am sick. I apparently came down with the flu shortly after my trip to sunny Queensland which i would have gotten over except that I then contracted a bacterial infection (strep) in my tonsils also known as tonsillitis here, no one understands me if I mention strep throat. 

Now I understand that the American medical system is incredibly flawed etc, etc. but let us face it, when i get sick at USC I can go to the health center and see a doctor. The doctor may dish out whatever drugs i ask for without much care, but the point is I see and MD and get what (lets all hope) I need. Here you need an appointment to see anyone and most appointments have to be booked a week in advance. When confronted with this problem I left the medical center and resolved to heal  myself through a seasoned blend of sleep, tylenol, tea, and stubbornness but to no avail. I finally a week later (ironically on the day i could have gotten an appointment for the week previously) waited with the tired and sick in a line in front of the clinic to get any cancelled appointments. 

I got there at 8:45 and there were already about 8 people, God knows how long they had been waiting. at 9:10 I was given an appointment for 12:10, I filled out my paperwork and biked back home for a quick 2 hour nap before returning. Then I slept through the appointment. The two short 10 minute bike rides had tired me so much that i slept until 1 pm, I feel terrible to think i cheated one of the people who cane in at 9:15 from an appointment and then booked a spot with a private practice to avoid showing my face in the uni medical clinic ever again.

Anyway, without any symtoms of sore throat or couching, i was diagnosed with the illness mentioned above and prescribed penicillin, which I scurried across the street to procure. They didn't have generic brand penicillin. Ok, it only cost me $15 AUS which is, roughly, let me calculate, about $15 US but it is the principal of the thing. Penecillin was discovered in 1928 for crissakes (yes i looked it up, wikipedia is awesome) it is a common treatment for tonsillitis which is much more common than, you know, plague or something, so how in 90 years have pharmacies neglected to stock the generic brand! What is this madness? 

I lost valuable minutes biking home with my healthful elixir because i couldn't remember whether i was allergic to it or not. I'm not, but I had to check with the parents; both of them because Dad's hesitation before answering he didn't think so was a bit worrying. (Sorry Dad, I know I am 20 and should know what I am allergic to) Anyways, 5 days in to my treatment and my throat hurts like it didn't when she first diagnosed me, so I can't decide if i am fulfilling my doctor's prophecy or i have the worst case of sneaky strep ever. The result of the illness was that i spent most afternoons napping in my tent instead of painting and then was clucked over by the many many older women in my group for most evenings.

Problem 2 with my trip: She who shall not be named. It is unfortunate when you meet someone that thoroughly ruins their name for you forever. Luckily in this case it was my Mom's middle name so i had a good association to keep it from being poisoned. This woman is a Martyr and yes, with a capitol M. If it isn't her bad luck with affordable housing, her mothering, her dyslexia (which gets worse when she eats apples, true story) it is her recent bad haircut. I am sorry, but if you live in project housing and have two children, WHY would you try to start a career as a painter and pay to dye your very curly hair bright fuscia and ask to have it cut in the shape of a diamond? Honestly when she mentioned the diamond shape i immediately imagined her as someone from the simpsons and had to leave the room to maintain dignity. It wasn't the broad sweeping insults, 'cake for dessert every night, how AMERICAN,' or the unwanted advice, which she gave often. It was the whole package that made my shoulders tense for an entire five days. (Including the two days that my friend and I had to chauffeur her around, with the windows down to keep her from 'drying out' or the formaldehyde in the air from getting to her)

I digress, I spent some lovely times in the streets of Tumut, my friend bought a yellow and green owl tea cosy and I purchased a ridiculous brightly colored Australia beach hat and some hot pink wool socks. We had high tea, and devonshire cream with raspberry jam on warm croissants with peppermint tea (served from a pot with an owl cosy) is my new version of heaven. The formaldehyde made some lovely mist in the mornings that blanketed the hills, and I saw a live wombat (several dead ones preceding it unfortunately) and possibly a white kangaroo. I also saw the milky way, the Southern Cross, Scorpio, Orion, Sirius, AND Leo on one stargazing adventure. We also bought sparklers and took slow exposure photography and drew things with them. 

We had cake every night, played a card game called shit head (similar to Lena's 'idiot', and taught similarly too, 'oh, BY THE WAY, you can lay down cards that are the same as well') Also one woman had brought her husband and young baby (not really to the sitting on his own stage yet so pretty little) who was extremely entertaining and lovely. It is so fun to watch eye hand coordination happen right before your eyes, if you aren't the one on the receiving end of the baby food that is. (the poor parents got much child rearing advice from She who shall not be named, as did I by proxy as someone who will eventually have kids. I logged every pearl away in the back of my mind of course)

I didn't really do anything productive except on saturday when i talked with a lovely aboriginal woman named Phyllis and then learned to make pine needle baskets from a lovely woman named Jan. Sunday, today, we drove home taking pictures of lawn ornaments and washing for my friends project (many an older woman came out the front door to see what we were on about). We also had cheeseburgers, chocolate milkshakes, and a pack of strawberry Hubba Bubba. I won the bubble blowing contest, needless to say. I find my scotswoman companion increasingly delightful because she is unafraid to fawn over ceramic gnomes, have victory dances for small victories, and write her name with sparklers.

Anyway, sorry for the long bouts of complaining and sorry i have gone so long without pictures, i just couldn't be bothered to dig out my camera from the pile of things on my bedroom floor, but once i sort out travel plans, write a 2000 word essay on Madonnas with Child, and heal, I'll get right on it I swear!

PS when i got home after a long day, I found a package from my Grandma with a lovely letter and my favorite oatmeal cookies in it! Thank god the Australian quarantine inspection let them through because they came at an absolutely PERFECT time. Yay for grandmothers and mothers everywhere, Happy Mothers Day from down under!