(It’s been over two months: Documenting the rest of this trip will be a major test of my memory.)
I wake up in a strange bed, in a strange place. I walk out of the bedroom and check a clock: 3:30am. It’s Sunday, August 15, 2010.
I wake up the computer then go to the kitchen where I started opening and closing cupboard doors. The fridge holds new contents from last night’s grocery shopping.
For some reason I remember where the chips are, which is a different cupboard than the biscuits.
Biscuits are cookies.
I blog for a little bit, then it’s back to the kitchen to my new favorite activity of opening and closing every single panel with hinges.
In and out of sleep until 10:00 am or so, when I decide it’s time for pancakes, because they’re delicious.
Becky and Karl are about to head off to a meeting. But we chat for a little bit while pancakes jump into my mouth.
I read for a little bit before getting ready for church.
Becky and Karl return from their meetings.
It begins to rain, and Karl tries to use that as an excuse to not to go church.
For lunch, we make sandwiches from the chicken from Red Rooster. We watch the rain turn to hail. Honestly, I’m curious about church here, though I’ve spent most of the summer not really caring about church in general.
The weather has cleared.
Church. Is the same. Except for the accents. And the organist who looks like Ronald Reagan.
We get back to the apartment and change, then we head over to Karl’s parents’ house. They’re rich.
We have a lovely dinner of pork roast, potatoes, green beans, and carrots, and homemade cracklings. And lemon fizzy drink.
The family tells stories around the table. I ask a question every now and then.
After everyone helps with clearing the table, we sit on couches and talk.
Karl’s mum makes fun of his very white legs.
And then, Analiese pulls out of the oven an amazing chocolate pudding for dessert.
She cuts a piece way too big and dollops some cream on top of it. I eat the whole thing, then all of a sudden, being alive is uncomfortable. Maybe it’s sort of like a mild version of hell, where you have too much of a good thing, and the overindulgence is its own punishment.
When we return to the apartment, we rush to get into our pajamas. Then we decide it’s a good idea for Tim Tam Slams, because hedonism and hell both begin with h.
Now watch a famous Australian do it:
Vodpod videos no longer available.
Natalie’s using tea. Other people use coffee, but we use Milo, which is like hot chocolate. After a couple of rounds, we leave the biscuits on the coffee table and settle in to the mammoth leather couch to watch some “Banzai!” then I more or less pass out for a little while before Karl and Becky go to bed.
So maybe overeating and jetlag can be like roofies for Mormons.