*CONFESSION/DISCLAIMER: I broke all the rules of NaBloPoMo by not posting yesterday and putting this in retroactively. I just wasn't near a computer yesterday. But I wrote it in my head, which sorta makes it OK...

Heheh, I like a surprise. I like to surprise my Ma most of all. Yesterday I loaded Ferris, my trusty and beloved bike, onto a V/Line train and trucked out to the station closest to her country estate. Then I rode Ferris for an hour and a half to her house and happily noodled down her driveway unannounced. She was pretty stoked and I was very pleased with myself for finally testing out the bike ride. It's a little gruelling, as it's uphill most of the way, but the scenery is lovely and the passing traffic was mostly very thoughtful and cautious. There was even time to stop off at the church op shop as I rolled into town - a solid gold op shop it is, too, where I have left many a gold coin, because that's all that anything ever costs.

So I played with Maggie the collie, who has filled out nicely so that you can no longer feel razor-sharp hip bones protruding and xylophone ribs, and knows how to work her charisma and goddess-like beauty. Ma and I toured her garden and ate lunch and gasbagged. I napped on the couch and drank tea. Then she loaded Ferris and I into the car and took us back to the station (as a return ride was completely out of the question for me!!).

I think I'll reward Ferris for his uncomplaining and faithful service over the past 9 years with a superdeluxe tune-up, and a spanking new set of paniers,

...why a car is a useful and good thing to have around.

One of them is for when you go on a late-Thursday-evening IKEA run to find a frame for the gorgeous 1970s Victorian Education Department poster of the life cycle of the apple tree that your very thoughtful friend with a great eye for things you'd like gave you, and you smash the frame while trying to haul it home on your bike.

Ooops.

It's the Curmudgeon's last day at his 'suboptimal' (I'm trying soooo hard not to be slanderous) job today. He starts a New and Improved Employment Adventure the week after next. I'm terribly excited for him because his old gig has made him quite unhappy for some time. I've been trying to get him to be all sloppy and irresponsible on his last couple of days, such as not shaving off the significant beardage he grew over the long weekend, and answering queries and requests with "Nup. Leaving. Do it yourself." After all, what repurcussions could there be? But the bloody man has this irritating consciencious streak and trotted off to work yesterday, smooth of face and crisp of shirt, and is being all grown-up and leaving gracefully. Bah.

The bloke who shared my lane at the pool this morning had 1.5 arms and 1.5 legs. Speed and stamina-wise, he left me for dead. Now, if he can swim like the Dickens, surely I, with my full complement of limbs, will eventually be able to do the same. 1.7km and counting...

After a couple of months of the cultural smugness one is permitted to display when one doesn't own a telly, I am once again besmirched by the presence of a hulking eejit box in my living room. Oh how it gobbles time and provides a droning soundtrack to my domestic life. Suddenly I find myself caring about fictional people again, when a few weeks ago I couldn't give a fig. Grrr.

The Curmudgeon and I went on A Nadventure today... a bike ride from Hurstbridge to St Andrews and back. I confess we took the shortcut back because we overestimated the fitness of ourselves and our bikes. Mine hasn't been quite the same since I got hit by a car, and his hasn't been the same.... since about 1994, and having spent the intervening years out in the elements and starved of lubricants. I had a good time. He hated it. But we both enjoyed the muffin from the Post Office Cafe on the train home, and we were lucky to see an echidna and pulled over to watch it snuffle about in the rocky soil.

I get Squiddy back tomorrow and I'm glad. I'm missing the little thug. The wind blew the dog door last night and my subconscious registered a chunky puppy entering the room. I was disappointed to find she wasn't there.

The title of this post is just about the happiest text message you can get from my friend K. And it's one that I received this afternoon. And the cake... oooh. Pear, apple and rhubarb tea cake. No recipe. It was a great moment in my life when I realised that the Cake Police didn't come to getcha if you didn't follow a recipe. Turns out that some of my best cakes have been entirely experimental. Perhaps I can just feel it in my waters when I have added enough milk or the proportions are just so. In any case, it seems K is similarly endowned with spooky cake-intuition because her cake was SUBLIME. (Please note... use of past tense is highly accurate here.)

The tin in which said cake was baked was purchased at an op shop yesterday, where I also saw a Little Golden Book called "Big Bird's Red Book." And I thought only Chairman Mao wrote one...