Chapter 5

Mitchell’s Creek, Sunny Corner, New South Wales, Australia:5

A downturn in the local economy didn’t affect me much. Jim had seniority in the firefighting business. The economy didn’t bother him. Emergency workers are like hospitals: There will always be sick people ... there will always be fires ... even if the fire involves an entire state. Since the weekend had more idiots, Jim had to work more fires. He still had a maximum number of hours he could work. That left the weekdays open to pursue his hobby.

I only had me to worry about. Unless my stockbroker went bananas and ran off with my money ... hmm ... could happen. Where was I? Ah ... contemplating what I would do when I caught him. Not if ... when.

What did affect us was the rise in prices. It became increasingly expensive to live, let alone deal with petrol expenditures. I bought a diesel Ute. It wasn’t as fast but it did take us where we ... read Jim ... wanted to go prospecting.

We went regularly. So did a great many others ... much to our dismay. Gold prices soared. What was once thirty five dollars an ounce had risen to two thousand an ounce. There were people camping at our favorite places. Our diggings were invaded. If one could drive to the site there were people there.

I turned 27 ... Just Abbie was twenty. I sent her off to racing school. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate her ... I did. But she was underfoot. When I received standing orders to spray my odors after a visit to the throne ... and the spray was very girly girl ... Well ... Off to school, girl.

Jim came over.

“Is she gone?”

“Yup.”

“Where this time?”

“Racing school.”

“Melbourne?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll have to buy her a car.”

“Already did.”

“Why don’t you just marry the girl?”

“She doesn’t like my prospecting.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Her looks. If she wore glasses she’d be doing the Mom look.”

“Oh God.”

“Know the look, do you?”

“Oh God.”

“Besides, she gets bossy and I can send her off.”

“That flowery shit in the bath?”

“Yup.” I said, “Over the past two years,” I ticked each point off on my fingers. “Shoes in the house. Squeezing the toothpaste in the middle. Dishes in the washer dirty ... what’s a dishwasher for? That wreck in the garage. The motorcycle ... that’s a BIG one. The mower.”

“The mower?”

“She can’t start it.” I continued; “Jeans inside out.”

“What?”

“It’s how they are made and they get cleaner ... she says. Toilet paper on the roll backwards. Wiping hands on the fancy towels. And I don’t appreciate her.”

That got a look.

“She got a haircut... 10 millimeters. I didn’t notice.”

“I see.”

“She’s worse than a wife.”

“How long is the racing school?”

“Two weeks.”

“You ready?”

“Always.” I asked, “Where to?

“Mitchell’s Creek.”

“Great! It’s been?”

“A year.”