One of those backward steps

Our flatmate David just told me that my mother called last night. On finding out that we weren't home, Mum decided to talk to David instead. She asked about his Christmas. Then she said, 'So, what do you think about Michelle and Heather?'

Pause.

'I think they're beautiful, wonderful people, and whatever they want to do is fine with me,' he replied.

'That's a good way of putting it,' Mum replied.

David, of course, was not impressed. He said, 'It's like ... What do you think of Heather and Michelle BEING LESBIANS AND ALL?'

Some questions are not questions at all, just monologues that end with a rising inflection.

If that's the way you want to be

We are home again. We arrived back on Wednesday morning, and have spent the past two days chilling out, trying to get back to normal.

Just a few hours after we returned, we saw our neighbour's boyfriend. Now, 'boyfriend' is probably not the right term, since both he and our neighbour are in their 60s or 70s, and that quaint old expression 'gentleman friend' is probably more apt. But the two of them have a kind of spirited liveliness that makes them seem more youthful, and makes 'boyfriend' seem surprisingly applicable. For the purposes of description, I will call our neighbour 'Joyce' and the boyfriend 'Old Mate' (which is what we call him amongst ourselves, anyway).

Joyce has been a really good neighbour in the couple of years we've lived here. She's friendly, but also knows how to keep to herself. We help each other out in neighbourly ways from time to time, and have the occasional chat over the fence. Several months ago, Joyce started seeing Old Mate. He is much more talkative than she, and will often start chatting to us over the fence when we are otherwise engaged--like, when friends are visiting and we're in the middle of a conversation. This is a little irritating at times, but we don't really mind because he's just being friendly. He's also helped us out quite a bit in the backyard with tasks like trimming trees, and chainsawing branches and dead stumps. In short, we have spent a fairly significant amount of time with Old Mate and Joyce, and enjoyed their company.

Joyce knows that Heather and I are in a relationship. We didn't tell her, but she indicated that she knew, and she was fine with it. I assumed that she had told Old Mate as well. I found out on Wednesday morning, though, that he probably didn't know.

I was on the back verandah talking to my friend Deb when Old Mate appeared next door, said hello, and welcomed me home. He asked about the trip, where we had gone, and I told him. We went to America, around the Boston area, and up to Canada. He asked where in Canada, and said that he, too, had been to Toronto and really liked it.

'If you don't mind me asking,' he said, 'was there any special reason for your trip?'

I decided to be honest, since Old Mate knows us a little and seems like a cool guy.

'Actually, Heather and I went there to get married.'

Old Mate's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open. I have rarely seen anyone look so horrified. He struggled to find words. 'Oh,' he said. 'Oh. Ah, well . . . '

His stammering went on for a minute, and then he said something weird like, 'Well, if that's the way you want to be . . . I hope it all works out for you.'

I told him we were very happy. Mercifully, he said goodbye and went about his business shortly after that.

Perhaps, after that, Old Mate will never ask me a question again, and I wouldn't mind in the slightest.

Another departure

Today we start to finish our trip. We leave Boston and fly to Los Angeles, spend the night in a hotel, and then leave for Australia tomorrow. I'm excited to be going home, but sad to be leaving, as well. For Heather, leaving is particularly sad. She misses her family while she's in Australia.

Brisbane will no doubt be very hot when we return. I'm looking forward to spending a couple of days lounging around with nothing to do but catch up with friends, sweat, and go for frequent dips in the wading pool. It will be remarkably different to the climate here; this morning, I couldn't get into Heather's aunt's house because the button that you press on the door handle had ice all over it. I had to rub spit on it until the ice melted. There may be a better technique to resolve such problems, but I don't know it.

Thank you all for your messages of support since Ted's death. We both really appreciate them.