In the after-glow of Christmas, we were sitting in our arm-chairs, pre-dinner reds in our hands, listening to Chris Rea and talking our heads off, as we still do. With a lifetime of stories to tell, we wonder if we’ll ever run out and be still of them.
Anyway, this was the scene. There was a knock at my front door. We were sitting out the back. I thought it was Lincoln, my son. ‘Come in’ I shouted.
‘Can I come in?’ he shouted back.
‘Of course,’ said I.
A few seconds later I turn in my chair to see this six-foot-four young stranger standing in front of me – a big box of pizza in his hands.
‘Your pizza,’ he says.
I look and feel astonished.
‘Nooo, not ours.’
He is now apologizing profusely. He has walked through my house looking right and left into rooms until he has found us.
‘Oh,’ I say, ‘probably the people down the back.’
I lead him back through the house and point to where the neighbours’ cottage is.
‘Just drive down and turn left at the bottom of that big shed.’
He and the pizza return to his little car and he proceeds to back down my driveway. There’s a little dog-leg at the bottom, somewhat covered by garden but defined by an edge of rocks. He mounted the rocks, and the little sedan gave a sickening crunch as it scraped the rocks and dropped back down onto the driveway. We saw what had happened and went down to inspect the damage with him. It wasn’t too bad – just the front bumper faring that needed re-arranging. More profuse apologies from the young lad. By now he was completely flustered, missed the shed he was supposed to turn left at, picked another shed and headed off down through the vineyard to the river. No sign of a house down there. He did a u-turn at the bottom and saw me, in the farm-yard, four hundred metres away, waving and beckoning. When he reached me I pointed to the cottage of, presumably, the pizza orders.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, for the tenth time.
I’m laughing at the complete comedy of errors and saying, for the tenth time, ‘Don’t worry about it.’
The poor darling. I felt so sorry for him. I reckon he was pretty brand new at the job and I’m sure this was a delivery he’ll never forget. I so admire the young kids who start their working lives this way. I can only imagine some of the situations they find themselves in – although maybe not many as the complete debacle this one was.
The week leading to Christmas this year was lovely. For the five years prior, since Warren died, I had tried to hang on to traditions alone. We’d always had just our kids and their families in, three or four nights before Christmas, to see our tree, and for a quiet time of celebration, as Christmas Day itself has always been big and noisy with the greater family.
Last year, I decided it was all too hard – trying to put together a Christmas tree out of branches off of my Cyprus pine, and have the family in for a meal, so I gave it all away. I didn’t know how sad that would make me.
This year I’ve had Leigh. We built a lovely little tree together. He put the lights on it, I hung the decorations. I made a Christmas playlist on Spotify – some of the old faithfuls but I found quite a few more English folky songs that were lovely for a change.
He loves to cook, so we had the family in for a meal – out on the piazza. The balmy night was perfect – all of us sat at a long table – with new lights hung, candle-light, music, wine, the usual family chatter that gets funnier as the night wears on.
There are so many lovely Barossa enterprises for me to show Leigh. Yesterday we went over to Pindarie – a spectacularly beautiful property. It was established in the eighteen hundreds by early German settlers. I actually went to school with one of the great grand-daughters. The current owners have restored the old winery, shearing shed, outbuildings to pristine condition. The views from the main cellar door are to die for. There are countless cellar doors in the Barossa, but this one’s point of difference is its views.
We are all expecting this level of visitation and success for Lincoln and Nicole’s new enterprise ‘Kaiser Ridge.’ They have built three up-market tiny houses for accommodation in the Barossa Ranges – on a spectacular block of land that has been in the Grocke family for generations. Their point of difference here too is ‘views to die for’, and the fact that they are off the grid, leaving a tiny foot-print on the pristine, native land-scape. The seclusion, peace, wild-life, and close proximity to the Barossa’s beautiful towns will all make this a very sought after experience I’m sure, as they become known. The work and tenacity they have put in to make their dream come true, is something I am in awe of, and of course very proud of.
Today Leigh and I are making plans for a trip, next year, to France and South Africa. This is beginning to look a lot like a life to come. Happy days.
Well I hope you all had a happy Christmas, and have a year of great expectations for ’25.
Warmly,
Sue
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