DUBBO

I’ve just arrived at a motel in Dubbo, New South Wales, Australia. To give you an idea of Dubbo, well, first of all, it’s called DUBBO, and second of all, they have just inserted tomorrow’s breakfast through a “servery hatch” in the wall of our room. I don’t RECALL entering into a time warp, but it certainly makes one wonder.

Tomorrow we’ll be driving to Booroorban. I dare you to Wikipedia it. We’ll be staying at a “70s-style” farmstead. That means that they’ve intentionally designed the farmstead to be all retro and visually appealing in a nostalgic way, right? Mmm, actually they just haven’t touched a thing since 1970. So this will be my last connection to the world for the next two weeks, if I make it till then.

Let me go back to the beginning real quick. I’ve wanted to do this for as long as I can remember. My mom asked me the other day, “Where do you think you got this travel bug from?” My response: Please don’t end sentences in prepositions. “In prepawhat?????” I’ve wanted to do this for as long as I can remember. Just get lost. No itinerary, no spreadsheet, no bookings, no lists. Just hop on a plane and go. It’s the dream, right? Ultimate freedom? How lucky am I? WRONG I AM ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED OH MY GOD. You say “no itinerary,” I say “what the?” You say “no spreadsheet,” I laugh in your face. You say “no lists,” I run away screaming. For a person—try obsessive-compulsive, neurotic freak—like me, this is the ultimate challenge. The test of my entire existence.

And now, here I am in Australia, huddled on top of this motel kitchenette counter because it’s the only place in the entire town that has even an inkling of WIFI. And despite my worst fears, I am already having the time of my life. IN DUBBO. And that’s mainly because I’ve rid myself of all expectations, which is the most freeing feeling in the universe.

Rewind a bit. Enter Dorothy. My spectacular host practices yoga, does conversation classes with refugees, is in a bike club and a book club, and meets with her friends for lunch every Wednesday, naturally. She is nearly 6’ tall and will be 70 at the end of next month. While she won 1st place for 7 different entries at the Brisbane Organic Growers’ Incorporated competition, she also deserves 1st place for world’s longest legs and world’s biggest heart. Don’t forget Rusty, the three-legged mutt who rubs against you affectionately but really is just trying to get at an itch. Rusty’s on “holiday,” while Dorothy and I shall be cooks for a birdwatching camp in the middle of nowhere. Yeah, me. An assistant cook at a birdwatching camp. If these next two weeks don’t give me blog material, I don’t know what will.

Until then mates!

P.S. Actually there IS a spreadsheet but it’s not all intense-like so give me a break.

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5 thoughts on “DUBBO

  1. Keep it up Geiserman! I’m living vicariously through you so I need all the nitty gritty details and then some. I’m glad you’re already having the time of your life. It sounds absolutely lovely. Especially the 70’s style farmstead. And your adorable hostess. And good thinking about the blog; it’ll make it that much easier when I finally write a book about your life. Sending all my love from Kentucky ❤

  2. There is a saying by some famous cool person about throwing all the paint you can on a canvas that is supposed to be a metaphor for living the dream (I think). Your adventure makes me think of this. We miss you but we also love you even more for living your dream. Now go throw some more paint!!

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