The rain had been pouring for days and at the first sight of sunlight, Isabella jumped into the hammock. The hammock had followed Isabella from house to house. It was a reminder that every now and again Isabella had to stop, breathe and soak in the goodness of her very being. It also served as a fabulous hangover cure – a lesson she learned in Fiji – hammock + shade from a palm tree + gentle sea breeze = loveliness. Isabella believed “Hammock Time” was a good substitute for “Fiji Time” where clocks were banished and things happened when they happened and if they didn’t – no matter. Oh, the freedom of “Fiji Time” is never far from Isabella’s thoughts. Bula.
Isabella and The Public Holiday.
Isabella could do nothing else but rest. A public holiday comes so rarely and after the weekend of radio triple j’s top 100 of the last 20 years, Isabella felt a sense of alchemy with the world. Every song had a memory – a place, a time, the friends and the outfit worn. Who knew the strength triple j had over Isabella and her generation, the one before, and the one after. Well done triple j. Well done.
Isabella and the Cat with Many Secrets.
Isabella was an animal lover. She was known by many as a Cat Whisperer. Meowkin, her 19 year old tabby cat had been training Isabella for many many years. Meowkin had lived a very full life and now in her twilight years had decided to let Isabella reveal the many secrets she had shared in a tell-all biography. The seriousness of the project was not lost on Meowkin nor Isabella. First though, it was time for beef in gravy (with real beef) and a small serving of warm milk. It was Meowkin’s firm belief that nothing can be achieved on an empty stomach. And she was right.
Isabella and The Pallet Garden.
It was another day in paradise and Isabella decided to tick off the first thing on her ‘must-do’ list attached to the refrigerator. She had been collecting non-treated pine pallets from the tip for 2 years now and today was the day she was going to turn one into her veggie patch. Isabella chose plants that could withstand the imminent frosts. Lettuce, leeks, silver beet and spring onions made the cut – all of which Isabella used extensively in the kitchen. Three hours later, Isabella was finished, exhausted and dying for a coldie. Luckily she had the foresight to put a couple of pale ales on ice at breakfast, alongside the quintessential bottle of Champagne. What a great day. What an even better evening.
Isabella and The Serious Need for Accessories.
Isabella loved all things fashion. She particularly adored all things that adorned her outfits in the form of accessories. Beads and beads and beads. Silk flowers, necklaces, chokers, ribbons, jewels and bows. Isabella knew that it was one of her heroes – Coco Chanel – who said “before you walk out the door, take one thing off.” This was one bit of advice that Isabella refused to follow, and as such was the most accessorised individual on the block. Isabella lived for accessories and always looked gorgeous. That was not the problem. The main issue was that as an international model, Isabella was required to arrive at the airport 4 hours before departure in order for airport security to check every beep and buzz. Isabella always had to strip within a thread of her underpants to get the all clear. A more dedicated accessories advocate would never out-do our Isabella.
Isabella and The Poker Face Training.
Isabella was a dab hand at poker. There was something in her blood. It was years and years of playing poker with 1 and 2 cent wagers at her annual and compulsory holidays with her grand parents on the Gold Coast. Isabella’s hippie mother blamed the ‘materially-focused’ in-laws with corrupting her beautiful daughter with the ways of gambling. Needless to say, Isabella also loved the bingo at the lawn bowls club too but didn’t tell her mother about those adventures for fear of never getting to yell out “BINGO” ever again – for line or card. So whilst Isabella loved the game, her poker face was not her strong point. Opponents read her face, could determine her bluffs and knew when she had the hand of her life. For this reason Isabella commissioned her favourite ceramic artist to create a poker-faced training sculpture. Three times a day, Isabella trained with the sculpture, a packet of glossy cards and a tin of bronze, decommissioned coins. She had a charity poker tournament pending and needed to perfect the poker face. Isabella had a long way to go but should be commended on her dedication. Let’s hope she doesn’t get a pictured card in her first hand. God forbid a royal flush.
Isabella and The Hoon Identity Crisis.
Isabella liked to think of herself as a bit of a hoon when it came to driving. Her hoon identity crisis stemmed from the fact that she drove a 6 cylinder Ford 4 x 4 Ute with a wooden tray. Truth be known Isabella very rarely reached the speed limit and the radio was always tuned to the AM station her father listened to when she was a child. Simon and Garfunkel often featured on the ute’s stereo and was only turned off when collecting wine at the local drive through. Isabella could not risk her hoon status by playing and singing loudly to Scarborough Fair. Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme.
Isabella and The Hoard of National Geographics.
Another beautiful Sunday morning. The coffee was brewing and Isabella decided to gather her hoard of National Geographic magazines into her favourite reading corner. She had a special place for those pre-1978 additions. This attraction for Isabella was not just for the out-of-this-world journalistic magnificence but for the photographs of the kitchie-kitch knitwear worn by all those captured by the lens. It was a special era for knitwear across the world. An era Isabella’s hippie parents embraced and encouraged throughout her childhood. Turtle necks, cable knits, toggle buttons, random hues of burnt orange and brown. Isabella knew her hoard of National Geographics was really meeting her need to relish her roots. God bless National Geographic.
Isabella and The Wheelie Bin.
It was Thursday morning and Isabella was in a sleepy coma. It was early. It was cold. And there it was in the distance – the sound of the rubbish truck clunking up the street. Isabella’s eyes opened. Her body stiffened. “Fuck!” Isabella had forgotten to put the wheelie bin out for it’s weekly collection. Within a second she was out the door. Grabbing the bin, she began running to the kerb. The sun barely speckled the long and winding driveway. Isabella made it. She waved to the rubbish truck driver only to realise that she was half naked. Walking slowly back to the house, empty rubbish bin in one hand, she covered her nipple with the other and laughed out loud. Well, what’s one nipple between friends?
Isabella and The Succulents.
Isabella loved to garden. She especially loved the succulents that thrived with such little attention. In the drought, they quietly did their thing and in the flooding rain they soaked up the goodness like plump sponges. Isabella especially loved the architectural nature of succulents. The angles and the structures of these plants played in the shadows of an otherwise uninhabitable environment. Isabella also loved their resilience. The way one broken petal could be shoved in soil and grow into a complete plant, bewildered Isabella. These amazing little succulents went about their business without any fuss. Isabella knew that the freezing frost was about to launch its wrath on these succulents. They had survived it in the past and again, they will conquer the cold with little complaint. Perhaps a lesson for us all.
On the Granite Belt 