Parliament, Pedicures, and Play

After almost two weeks moving between Jan and Liz's homes, those friendships spanning over thirty years providing anchor and comfort, our girls' gathering was about to expand. Sophie and Grannie were flying in to join the celebration, transforming what had been intimate friend time into multigenerational reunion.

Sophie's flight arrived from Melbourne in the morning, her clinical trial finally complete after weeks of confinement. Grannie's plane from the Sunshine Coast wouldn't touch down until evening, necessitating two separate airport runs through Canberra's orderly streets. The logistics felt less like inconvenience and more like building anticipation, each trip adding another layer to our gathering.

The reunion between Sophie and Jess carried particular sweetness. Over three years had passed since they'd last seen each other, time and distance creating gaps that evaporated the moment they embraced. Watching them fall immediately back into easy conversation reminded us how some connections transcend physical absence, picking up mid-sentence despite years between words.

The two days that followed dissolved into laughter and leisure. Cards appeared on tables and refused to be put away, games stretching across hours with scores forgotten in favour of conversation. Sophie introduced us to Chameleon, her newest gaming discovery, its blend of deception and deduction prompting accusations and hilarity in equal measure. Pedicures transformed ordinary afternoon into spa session, feet emerging pampered while talk flowed freely. Coffee cups emptied and refilled with such regularity that the kettle barely cooled between brews.

Grannie's presence added unexpected dimension to our Canberra exploration. Despite having lived in the capital for almost thirty years, she had never visited Old Parliament House. This gap in her local knowledge seemed almost impossible, yet life has a way of making the familiar invisible. We decided to remedy this oversight with a day trip, piling into the car with the particular excitement of showing someone something new.

The formal tour held no appeal. Instead, we wandered throughout the historical building at our own pace, lingering where interest pulled us and moving on when curiosity was satisfied. The rooms carried weight of decisions made and unmade, of political theatre performed before audiences now dust. A display marking the fiftieth anniversary of the constitutional crisis drew us in: that extraordinary day when Governor-General John Kerr dismissed Prime Minister Gough Whitlam, fracturing conventions that Australians had assumed unbreakable. The photographs and documents sparked animated discussion about democracy's fragility and the peculiarities of our Westminster inheritance.

Afternoon tea in the parliamentary café provided perfect conclusion. Cappuccinos arrived alongside scones still warm from the oven, accompanied by dishes of jam and cream. We debated the correct order of application, cream first or jam first, this trivial controversy generating more heat than any political discussion had managed. The scones disappeared regardless of condiment sequence, their buttery crumble pairing perfectly with strong coffee and stronger opinions.

Throughout our time together, Grannie's excitement about the upcoming road trip bubbled beneath every conversation. She and Sal would travel together back to the Sunshine Coast, mother and daughter sharing the bus for days of highway and conversation. This journey stretched ahead like a promise, offering extended time together that our scattered lives rarely permitted. The anticipation in Grannie's voice when she mentioned the trip revealed how much she valued this opportunity, how precious these stretches of togetherness had become.

Our Canberra chapter was drawing toward its close, but not before squeezing every moment of connection from these gathered days. Sophie's laughter, Grannie's stories, Jan and Liz's generous hosting, Jess's reunion joy: all of it wove together into something that transcended simple visit. These were the moments our nomadic life made possible and precious, the gatherings that distance transformed from ordinary into essential.Read more