Last Night's Walk
We try to walk around town at night, after the flies go to sleep. If there's one thing the various medicos (both official and Mike's shanghai'd friends) agree on, it's that exercise is good for my back.

(Now a day of codeine and Voltarin and madly failing to design beds that let big-bosomed ladies with or without Dutch accents lie on their stomachs has passed, but I'm too unimaginative at the moment to change the post title for the purposes of accuracy.)

Behind and somewhat part of a historic hotel is a drive-thru "bottle-o" aka "bottle shop" aka liquor store. In this case you drive into the hotel's motel parking lot (because guests of the historic hotel actually stay in a differently historic motel out back - it's complicated), do a U-turn, and pull-up alongside the wide side door of the store. A guy will then come trotting over to the car window, like valet parking, but instead he asks what booze you want. I know this because one time it was after 6pm (when the big/close grocery stores close) and we wanted soda to go with some pizza we'd just picked up. I never felt so prim and descended from generations of Baptists as when the guy passed us the 1.25 litre of orange Fanta.

On this particular walk we detoured through the front door. (Oh here, have a proper look at the historic building. The hotel itself is out of frame to the right.) I wanted some ginger wine or maybe some chocolate liqueur because, if I remember the canon of Hollywood biopics correctly, mixing painkillers with drink solves everything. (Okay, Panadol Osteo is basically just extra-strength Tylenol and is sold over the counter, but can I at least pretend to be a troubled starlet with mayonnaise-shiny curls, yoga pants and oversized Fruit of the Loom t-shirt aside?)

Alas, looks like I have to go to Dan Murphy's for my particular poisons. All this place had was wine and beer and spirits and absinthe. (Sheesh.) You win this round, liver.

Across the street is the newly relocated cake decorating shop with its newly adjacent cafe, featuring this cake in the window. It's lovely, but what is it? Is there a real cake inside or just stacks of ruffles? I'm dying to see a cross-section.

(I swear, perhaps even without hyperbole, that a quarter of the businesses here are perpetually "newly relocated." Looking at Google Maps and its two-year-old data backs me up. I'm very tempted to make a Tumblr of local "we've moved!" signs - it would probably be updated more often that this site. Just in the past half-year, just in the center of town, I've noticed the following slightly change their addresses: the ice creamery, the cake shop, a dress shop, a surf shop, a tattoo studio, and a cafe, plus the produce market moved a few miles down the road and not long ago I noticed the ghost sign from the location it had before that.)

What really grabbed me in the cake shop's cafe (which is cute but nowhere near as dangerously inspirational as the main decorating shop next door with its charming aprons in the window and fresh buttercream in the fridge by the door) is that THING on the counter. On the right. With the three tiers. And the dome. I'm about to burst into exclamation points just looking at it. Where do I get a multi-level glass baked-thing thingie like that?!

Maybe I'll start carrying a proper camera on our walks. Until then, we have one of many examples of local roundabout art.

Our town has a classic theatre/ballroom begging for a buyer and currently hosting a couple of shops. (Not the furniture store shown in the link. That's gone, or maybe it just moved a few streets over - I shouldn't assume anything.) On the corner edge and recently opened (pretty sure not just relocated... pretty sure) is a tiny dress boutique that's quite fetching with its wooden pallet backdrop barely visible in the above photo.

And they have that mannequin.

We're almost home when we reach the posh furniture store. I want to be aghast at their prices (because I'm a spoiled American learning to live without cheap imports), but I'm too charmed by the bookshelf with the ladder. Granted, at that height perhaps it doesn't actually need a permanent ladder, but a ladder plays into all of my librarian/curator fantasies.

I don't know how to end this post. Should I mention that I need to leave now so I can find some modeling clay in order to try to make small frying pans to accompany a card game on its way to us? Well, I do. Yep. So...

30 December 2013 |






Carnival Elation (2009)
Carnival Splendor (2009)
Carnival Spirit (2010)
Carnival Spirit (2011)
Carnival Splendor (2011)
Norwegian Pearl to Alaska (2012)