I am so proud of myself, resisting the lure of bulk refuse day, (ok so I did re-home one tiny plastic chair). but in the scheme of things I feel rather smug. I even managed to chuck a few things out. In the midst of winning at adulting and congratulating myself on said self control…something came a bit unstuck.
My friend is moving house to the middle of ‘whoop whoop where the feck’. She posts a chirpy little invitation on facebook. “I am moving, we are having a garage sale please pop along, we have coffee”! How lovely I think, what could be more harmless than coffee and a chat? I innocently browse a few pics of items she has for sale, including some garden ornaments. Firstborn child -looking over my shoulder- says “oh look at the cute cats”. The cats are indeed cute, if a little stony faced.
Middle child arrives, “oh look at the gnomes, I like gnomes”. I nod knowingly, Middle child obviously is a child of discerning taste. I like gnomes too. Small but fierce concurs “how dorable”! And just like that, It looks like we are now in the market for some garden ornaments. I turn to the children, “Which do you like”? This seems like a logical question, but judging by the horror stuck expression on my 12 year old’s face, I am missing something vital. “Well ALL of them of course”. The garden ornaments live together in one house- ergo they are a family. One very big happy family. It is now my responsibility to ensure all garden ornaments are re-homed together. I have become the gnome DCP. Do you have space to foster an extended family of chubby bearded men in pointy hats? All of them? No gnome left behind? So, cut to.. Saturday morning, we are chugging the biscuit wagon down to Kwinana to pick up the new adopted members of the Writey family.
We are fa-mi-ly
There are quite a few of them.. about 136. They are all ours. Only three gnomes escape the mass exodus. One fella who looks like he drank too much toadstool juice, riding a bunny. A giant old gnome who is suffering from a bit of nasal erosion and another chap pouring over a volume of ‘gnomes weekly’. I persuade firstborn they have each other for company and will not be gnomesick. We start loading the concrete refugees into my people mover. An hour later, we are still going. The sheer weight of the rock solid crew has turned my vehicle into the sort of low cruiser, ‘Pimp my ride’ would pay good money for. If you were traveling on the freeway on Saturday afternoon behind someone, ‘low and slow’ doing 30kmph, my apologies, but believe me, I am sure your astonishment at my struggling suspension, paled into comparison with my husbands face when he unknowingly confronted a hundred garden gnomes on popping the boot of the car.
Actual photo of my overloaded car
I know what you’re thinking. Did he go ballistic? Well no, Mr ND is used to my brain farts. He has truly seen it all. I have walked through the door with many unsolicited surprises through the years, everything from galvanized watering cans, to baths. Baby grand pianos, to a horse… yes, a real live horse. I like to think I am going the extra mile to keep the excitement fresh in the marriage. He never knows what’s coming through that door, although the clip clop of tiny hooves will be hard to top.
We have a surprise for you dad!
So the ‘Gnomesville massive’ are currently all lined up outside my back door, a bit like the Monday morning queue for centrelink in Midland. All waiting, if be it slightly more patiently. There are one or two of them that look like they may have previously worked in a meth lab, and one very shady character with a maniacal grin holding a machete. I wouldn’t turn my back on him, but on the whole they are a very endearing bunch. They have only terrified me once, when I got up in the early hours of the next morning to get a drink, having completely forgotten they were there. Peering out of the kitchen window pre dawn to a silhouette of what appears to be a tiny Klu Klux Clan meeting in your garden is enough to make anyone wet themselves.
Must not look away
I know they are not real. The cat however has taken up permanent sentry duty at the kitchen door, presumably in an attempt to out stare the new stone cats that have taken up residence. She has resorted to hissing at the feline invaders in her attempts to intimidate them. I am not sure if this is a damning indictment on my cats intelligence, or her myopia. The only good thing to come out of this is that she is so phased by the new intruders, she has temporarily abandoned her hobby of bitch slapping the dog. In every cloud as they say.. and me? I cant wait to give them a lick of paint, spruce them up a bit and find them a nice quiet spot in our home. There going to fit right in with the other weirdos here.
The Gnomesville Mahoosive