"Practice" Is Perfect

The majestic Doo Doo Brown, sadly, has passed away. Except it wasn’t too sad to see her go. It was more like a weight off of our shoulders. Now we’re free to travel without fear of breakdowns, we don’t have to worry ourselves with maps and driving directions, and there’s one less car on the road. Literally. The mechanic bought it from us for a small sum since she had some salvageable parts, but the damage was costly and extensive, and a fix isn’t always a permanent fix with such things. As my dad pointed out, Doo Doo Brown truly lived up to her name. Naming something is a powerful act.

The other day I said to Pete, “Well, at least this is good practice.”

“Practice!” he exclaimed, “Practice for what?” And he was right. I think we may never own a car again. Not that we were thrilled about the idea in the first place. It’s funny how we can regard experiences as practice, as if we’re building up to something bigger and scarier. It just made me realize the value of the individual experience—to think of it in terms of practice is to deny it the quality of the experience itself. Sometimes there’s no such thing as “practice.”

Today is probably our final day in Ballina, and we enjoyed ourselves all day. We found new wallets at a nearby thrift store (or “op shop” as they’re known here), we drank a couple of flat whites at a café, and took a long walk along the river until we reached a sandbar just before the river met the ocean. Pete took some pictures of coastal creatures, and we bought a cheap Australian cell phone from a pawnshop down the street. It took me a minute to get over the moral quandary of buying a phone that had probably been stolen from someone’s car, but we really needed one, and it was the best deal in town. The irony is obvious and sad.

Since we have yet to hear back from our farm contact in Mullumbimby, we’re planning to go out on a whale-watching tour tomorrow. Migration occurs from June-November, as the Humpback whales swim down to the Arctic waters for summertime food, and then back to more temperate waters for breeding in the winter. I just hope the bus system isn’t too difficult to navigate. At this point, though, we feel capable of tackling anything.

And in case you were wondering (Morgan), no, Pele will not be getting her rocks back any time soon.