Wednesday, February 21, 2007
The Two Fat Ladies Step Aside
I’d arranged for a house-sitting job to begin the week after my arrival in Adelaide. Although we’d exchanged numerous emails, I’d not yet met the homeowners. At 4:30, Carol picked me up from the horrible hostel and I was off to see my home for the coming 11 weeks. Along the way Carol informed me that she was a journalist, and prone to asking the serious questions. She also told me she’d read my blog, and I had to concede the point that serious questions were probably warranted. By the time we arrived at the house, she knew about my marriage, my childhood, my adolescence, why I hadn’t finished college the first time around, how moving to Australia, not to mention the house-sit, felt like fate, my lofty dreams for the future, and that I was secretly afraid of dying in the gutter. Good thing her partner, Louise, is a wine buff.
After informing me that she and Carol wanted to start a cooking show called “The Two Thin Lesbians” Louise poured me a glass of Adelaide Hills Sauvignon Blanc, and we toured the house, went over the list of instructions and all the technicalities of house-sitting, and signed documents on the dotted line. It was time for dinner. Louise had made chicken curry over pasta, Carol threw together a green salad, Louise opened a bottle of a South Australian red, and I sat down for my first dinner as someone other than Mrs. Walter, Walters wife, Walter and Kristin, or Kristin-getting-a-divorce.
I had an incredible time. We chatted about everything from relationships to moving to careers opportunities to slowing down and letting go, and engaged in a wonderful debate about the phrase “authentic hospitality” and whether or not such a thing really exists. I could have stayed forever.
My housesit, however, did not start till Sunday. As Louise drove me back to the horrible hostel, we made plans for her to pick me up again, spend part of the afternoon on the beach, have dinner, and transition their house from theirs to “mine”.
As I fell asleep at the hostel, the drought was the furthest thing from my mind.
The Two Fat Ladies Step Aside
I’d arranged for a house-sitting job to begin the week after my arrival in Adelaide. Although we’d exchanged numerous emails, I’d not yet met the homeowners. At 4:30, Carol picked me up from the horrible hostel and I was off to see my home for the coming 11 weeks. Along the way Carol informed me that she was a journalist, and prone to asking the serious questions. She also told me she’d read my blog, and I had to concede the point that serious questions were probably warranted. By the time we arrived at the house, she knew about my marriage, my childhood, my adolescence, why I hadn’t finished college the first time around, how moving to Australia, not to mention the house-sit, felt like fate, my lofty dreams for the future, and that I was secretly afraid of dying in the gutter. Good thing her partner, Louise, is a wine buff.
After informing me that she and Carol wanted to start a cooking show called “The Two Thin Lesbians” Louise poured me a glass of Adelaide Hills Sauvignon Blanc, and we toured the house, went over the list of instructions and all the technicalities of house-sitting, and signed documents on the dotted line. It was time for dinner. Louise had made chicken curry over pasta, Carol threw together a green salad, Louise opened a bottle of a South Australian red, and I sat down for my first dinner as someone other than Mrs. Walter, Walters wife, Walter and Kristin, or Kristin-getting-a-divorce.
I had an incredible time. We chatted about everything from relationships to moving to careers opportunities to slowing down and letting go, and engaged in a wonderful debate about the phrase “authentic hospitality” and whether or not such a thing really exists. I could have stayed forever.
My housesit, however, did not start till Sunday. As Louise drove me back to the horrible hostel, we made plans for her to pick me up again, spend part of the afternoon on the beach, have dinner, and transition their house from theirs to “mine”.
As I fell asleep at the hostel, the drought was the furthest thing from my mind.
posted by Kristin Van Bodegraven @ 1:02 AM
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