Farewells, snakes and late night hunting

Last night was my farewell from Mulga Bore as well as being our usual end of term celebration. Robyn who I work with at the school had put a lot of time and effort into planning a few surprises for me but there are some things you just can’t plan for!
We had gathered outside as it was a very balmy evening and let’s face it that mob would rather be outside than in pretty much anytime. We had just finished handing out all of the certificates to outstanding students and had given everyone a copy of the new Utopia School CD which we are all very proud and every one was very excited about. We had finally settled all the kids down and Robyn had just launched into her very serious and moving speech about me and my time at Mulga Bore when what should I see slithering along the ground towards us but a very small, very fast snake! I pointed it out to Violet who was sitting beside me 2 seconds later the entire 150 people, men women and children had scattered and begun to climb trees, verandahs and each other to escape from the snake. Admittedly Violet and I were the only ones who had seen the size of the snake and once people realised it wasn’t a major threat one of the old women casually walked over and thumped it with a large lump of wood. That crisis averted, we moved everyone inside, just to be safe, and started the speeches again.
What followed was one of the most special hours of my life. The outpouring of love and pride and sorrow at my departure was truly humbling and many tears were shed. The kids had decorated the classroom with signs and paper chains and they had all written little thankyou cards which they presented to me one at a time while shaking hands to say goodbye. The shaking of hands in the indigenous world is a custom usually reserved for ‘Sorry business’, usually when someone dies. While last night was actually a happy celebration in many ways of the relationship I have built with the people of Mulga Bore, there was certainly a lot of grief about it too. The community teachers and adults had a chance to speak too and their effort to express complicated emotions in a language that is hard for them was really touching. Speeches were followed by a Community BBQ and a disco with matt and Kelly from Music Outback doing the musical honours.
Finally at about 9:30pm the evening wrapped up and it was time for me to drive some people and myself home. We were in convoy with another car from 3 Mile community (one of my pick up points) and, predicatably, something went wrong! They got a flat tyre. Luckily they had a spare. You can’t always count on that! Unfortunately the spare was not as inflated as it could have been so we were reduced to driving quite slowly for the 50 or so kms home. Fortunately this meant that when the other car hit a kangaroo were were going slowly enough to avoid hitting it. This also meant that were were going slowly enough to stop and have someone grab it before it limped away. This task fell to Angela who was travelling in the front seat. She fairly leapt out of the car and quick as a flash grabbed onto the tail. The kangaroo, sensing perhaps the fate that awaited him, struggled to free himself from Angela’s grip. At this point Angela decided to call for back up, specifically ME! So I did my bit, jumped out of the car and I too grabbed hold of the tail. Then the cries came from the back of my car ‘Hit it in the head!’ I should say at this point that the kangaroo had been injured when the car struck it and could no longer hop. Out here that leaves you with one option – Ker (meat). So Lachlan, one of my students joins us on the road with a great big tree stump in hand and proceeded to thump the poor old kangaroo on the head a couple of times. I have to admit I turned away at this point, but I was still holding onto the tail. The Ker was then tossed into the back of the other car and we got underway again.
It’s hard to convey the mood in the car after this unexpected hunting activity, but it’s fair to say it was light. People were happy. They had had a good night with all the families together, a BBQ, a disco and now they had tomorrow’s breakfast all lined up. Maybe it doesn’t get much better than that?
It was such a great night and one which in so many ways reflected all the things I love about being out here. I found myself struggling to remember the reasons why I had decided to leave.

Last times

Today was my last Monday at Mulga Bore. Tomorrow will be my last Tuesday. On the weekend as I drove back out to Utopia from Alice Springs I realised that it would be the last time I would drive back to Utopia. Of course I'm being melodramatic. It might not be my last time doing any of these thiings. I might end up back out here. But nothing is sure. I guess if I think about it I have been experiencing Last Times for a while now - last winter in the desert, last time at Ti tree Sports, last Christmas concert, last time wrapping Christmas presents for 50 kids (not so sad about that one!), last hunting trip, last time listening to bad country/gospel music, last time making fritz sandwiches (not too sad about that one either!!) Maybe the noting of Last Times is our way of making sure the passing of a significant moment doesn't pass us by? As we were cleaning the school today and I was joking around with my Senior girls one of them said to me suddenly 'Lisa stop'. I have heard this phrase before, usually when I'm driving the car and someone see's a goanna crossing the road, but the tone was different this time. I said to her 'stop what?'. 'Stop here' she replied, 'Dont go'. 'But I have to go and have a rest' was all I could think to reply, quickly adding 'I might come back'. 'You wont' she answered with the voice of someone who has been promised such things before and been let down. And my heart broke a little bit. And I wonder to myself why I'm not 'stopping'?
Last times are hard. Leaving is hard.

Paintings

I bought a painting this morning. It's bright and abstract and colourful and I'm not sure yet if I like it. My friend Lucy painted it. She called in at the school office looking for someone who wasn't here. Lucy was perhaps the first Indigenous woman I got to know at Utopia. She comes from a place called Aniltji and I was the school teacher there for a term when I first arrived out here. When I first met Lucy she was almost completely deaf. She wasn't born that way. She made the mistake of marrying a man who drank, alot, and became violent against those around him when he was drunk. Often Lucy copped the brunt of his rage in an effort to keep him away from their children. He had beaten her so many times around the head that she had practically lost hearing in both ears. I remember one time seeing Lucy in town, literally sitting in a gutter. I sat down with her and we talked a bit. She used to get very frustrated by how little she could understand in conversations. What I remember about that time was the palpable sadness I felt sitting next to her. Here was this proud strong woman who had literally been beaten into submission. The day I saw her she was in fact on her way to Adelaide to have an operation on her ears. I cannot believe the transformation it has made to her life. She still struggles to hear some things but can hold a normal conversation if you speak clearly to her. She is painting again (her main source of income) and she is back living on her country with her children around her. She is happy again. I remember seeing here a few months back and we talked about that time I saw her in town. She just shook her head and said 'I was really sad that time, but now I'm good, I feel strong'. It was this strong Lucy who visited this morning, talking excitedly about the sports weekend on at a neighbouring community and how she needed to sell a painting to get fuel for her car to get her family up there. So I bought one of them, because while other people will come to my house and see it as a piece of decoration for my wall, I will always look at it and think of my friend Lucy.

Sports weekend

I have always known how important sport is to the people who live out here. I dont think I fully realised the extent of it until last weekend. The Utopia store was hosting a Sports weekend. This is basically a weekend where small Homeland Communities come together in a central location and hold a round robin Football competition for the men and Softball competition for the women. We whitefellas hear whispers of them when they are about to happen. People start saying things like 'Must be football this weekend'. It's never really clear whether the sport itself will materialise until the actual weekend itself. Sometimes people start the rumour because there was one at the same time last year. Sometimes it's because a particular group have intended hosting one but simply haven't gotten organised in time. But every now and then the rumours prove to be true and the sports weekend happens.
Thus was the case last weekend and the stream of cars heading north up the Sandover highway left a cloud of red dust in their wake. Groups had come from all over the place. Utopia Homelands, like Mulga Bore where I teach, were well represented but there were also teams from Mt Leibig and Areonga which are a good 5 hours drive from Utopia. It was actually the biggest gatehring for a footy weekend I've ever seen.
The action started on the Saturday. It's never really clear who exactly is organising the draw, but eventually two teams start playing when someone toots the car horn siren. At the same time the womens softball starts up with a team listing drawn up on a scrap of paper and someone recording home runs while sitting in the dirt under a tree.
While the adults play sport the kids run around playing their own smaller versions of the games, or clambering all over the playground or shooting hoops on the basketball court.
Mr Whippy has seen an pportunity to make a killing and has set up shop nearby. Sadly the machine isn't too keen on the heat combined with the demand for soft serve and periodically gives up the ghost. There was also the best looking ute competition, this year won by the ute completely done out in Bombers colours, with the Mightly Magpies taking out second place.

Now ordinarily a sports weekend runs over onto a Monday. This is a commonly accepted fact out here and we at the school, being the culturally sensitive and accomodating people that we are, dont try to fight this. We simply drive our cars up to the store and join in the festivities. It actually a really nice time of catching up with all the communities at once.
So Monday arrived and we headed up to the store. Footy was in full swing, as was the Softball. The Mulga Bore women were playing and there was contention when the pitcher for the other team was discovered standing too close and striking out our team far too cheaply.
The main concern came toward the end of the day when it became clear that the Football was not going to finish that day. The solution - keep playing on Tuesday. Not a problem for the Communties, more of a problem for the schools. We dutifully opened our doors only to find all of our students still holed up at the Store. 'It's finals today, must be no school 'gen' was the only comment from the Community Teachers. And clearly the fials is the business end of the season. I heard of no less that 3 major fights breaking out - disputes over umpiring or the outcome of the game. Apparantly even though there are scorers and timers and umpires the done thing is to let the Local side win no matter what - to save face. Apparantly that didn't happen and the Local side were none too pleased.
Finally on Wednesday the carnival was over and school could resume. Except for me. The Mulga Bore mob informed me that they were heading over to Alcoota for Sorry Business. An old man had passed away over there and they needed to go and pay their respects and compelte the traditional grieving rituals. Problem was they had been delayed a couple of days. "We'll be going soon as that footballs finished' they kept telling me. And here I thought everything stopped when someone dies. Apparantly football is the exception to this rule!

Weddings

I have just realised with horror that it is over a month since I have posted anything. Apologies to those of you who check this blog regularly. My only excuse is that I have been distracted by a new man in my life who I met at a wedding about 3 weeks ago. I had two weddings two weekends in a row, the first in Sydney, the next in Melbourne and both were for the loyalest and truest of friends so not going was not an option. The annoying part was having to come back to the NT inbetween. So having braced myself for the onslaught of being in aeroplanes most of my life I headed off to the first wedding where I knew almost no one else who as going. Turns out this is not such a bad thing as you get to make friends once you're there! In fact sometimes they are even sitting on the same table as you!
So now, barely two and a half weeks and about a thousand emails and text messages later, he has booked to fly up and spend a weekend with me in Alice in two weeks time. I'm not sure what it is yet but I like the way it feels!

Film makers V Politicians

I went to see the film Ten Canoes the other day. Go and see it! In the last few months there have been some pretty damning images and reports about life in remote Indigenous Communities in the Northern Territory,. This has been compunded by some outrageous, uninformed and dangerous claims and solutions offered by Politicians whose idea of visiting a remote community involves a day trip (if that!)
Rolf De heer has obviously taken the time to get to know the people of Ramingining. He has sat down with them and listened to their story. He has realised the humour that exisits within this ancient culture. He has recognised that their way of telling a story is different to our way and while we may be impatient for the story to unfold according to our expectations, that is not how everyone sees the world. He had seemlessly interwoven the hutning story with the Dreamtime story and shown how Aboriginal people have been doing education for time immemorial. Spend 2 hours watching this film and you will learn more about the original inhabitant of this ancient land that any text book will teach you. You will begin to see the struggle of a people who are trying to live in two worlds and you will start to realise why this is so hard for them but what amazing strength of character and humour thay have managed to maintain.
Go and see this film.

Airport

It's 3 o'clock in the afternoon and I'm tired. I'm tired because I got up at 4am this morning to meet a plane arrving at Melbourne airport, a plane that carried my parents abord. They had been overseas for 6 weeks, in Europe and the UK and it felt important for me to be there to meet them when they arrived home again. Partly I think I felt this way because of the countless trips to the airport they have done for me - this morning was payback in the best sense of that term. Partly, and more importantly, I wanted to be there because this trip was so important to my Dad. He's 63 years old and this was his first trip overseas. He doesn't like flying and I dont mind telling you that I had my doubts about whether he would get on the plane. But he did, and wouldn't you know it, it turns out he sleeps well on aeroplanes! I can never sleep a wink!
So apart from a couple of phone calls, text messages and postcards, I didn't really have a sense of how the trip went. He has been back only 10 hours and already his enthusiasm for the experiences he had and the larger world in which he now feels a part are both clear. At some point, perhaps when he is less jet lagged, I will hear more stories and see some of the 12 or 13 CD's full of photos he has taken! But for now I'm just proud of him, willing to leave his comfort zone and take on a new thing and open to the revelations that brings. I hope I am so willing at 63!

The Seventh Generation

Are we seriously having a conversation in this country that suggests that Nuclear power is safe? is environmentally friendly? is responsible?
I feel like I have taken my eyes off the political ball for a moment and the world has gone mad.
There is a Native American saying that says 'In every deliberation we must consider the impact on the seventh generation'. What kind of a world will we be leaving to the next generation, let alone the seventh generation from now, if we go down this path any further than we already have?
Our own indigenous people here in Australia talk of uranium as poison in the ground and that we shouldn't disturb it.
Check out these sites for more information and tell your Member of parliament that you don't want a Nuclear future for Australia.

http://www.rachelsiewert.org.au/files/releases/let-the-facts-speak-3rd-edition.pdf

http://www.7genfund.org/2006_uranium_summit.html

Long shadows hour

My favorite time of day is that when the shadows stretch long across the landscape. When the sun sinks down and casts the shadows of the trees in such a way that they stretch like giant fingers across the road, once again reclaiming the earth into darkness. The time of day when the sky blazes orange, then turns deep red and fades into pinks and purples and blues and you marvel at how no painter on earth could imagine how to pant such beautiful colours. Then you stop watching for a moment and suddenly the colours are gone. When the birds sing their evening songs, reserved for just this moment and we begin our nocturnal sommersault.

Mutaka vigil

On my way to school Monday morning I came across a white Toyota Troop carrier stopped squarely in the middle of the road, jacked up with the wheel resting against the side of the car. To the right of the car I could see two people sitting next to a small camp fire and to the left a bunch of swags rolled out on the dirt and a couple of bleary eyed faces poking out from them. I slowed to a stop and closer inspection revealed that it was a family from Mulga Bore and the bleary faces belonged to students of mine. I hopped out to have a chat and see if I could offer any of my bush mechanic skills (!) to help them. Unsurprisingly the job required surpassed my skills and instead I was asked to inform the people at the community down the road that the wheel bearing was broken so that the men there could come and help, then I was instructed to take the kids with me so that they could go to school. I was more than happy to oblige.
On the way home from school I was largely unsurprised to find the white Toyota unmoved. Someone from Mulga Bore had given me a car part to pass on to Harold, the owner of the 'mutaka'. Harold and Doreen had been sitting by their 'mutaka' all day. They had had visits from various people throughout the day I believe. Old Wendy was there when I arrived, eating her 'tinnameat' that she had just cooked on the fire. Doreen asked if I could bring them some water and I duly returned with that aswell as a billy, some tea, milk, sugar, bread and a few chops. They hadn't planned to break down and had nothing with them.
No one out here ever seems to plan to break down, but very often they do. When I think about the preparations we 'whitefellas' make for a journey of any distance it astounds me how far these people will travel with very little as backup. Often people will set off fully knowing that the car they are travelling in doesn't have enough petrol to get them where they're going, but they set off anyway, trusting that someone will stop and help them out.
Anyway, by the next morning two other car loads from the same family had arrived overnight to keep Harold and Doreen company. It was turning into quite a family gathering. I wandered over to see if there were kids to be picked up today and Violet, one of my teachers, popped her sleepy head up from her swag. Her older sister, who it seems had been awake for longer than Violet, asked her in language if she was going to school. Violet rubbed her eyes and said, "Lisa, I might go tomorrow."
By that afternoon when I drove by again, the Toyota had been moved off the road. It was fixed and they were packing up their makeshift camp ready to head for home. They returned my billy can with thanks and I watched them drive off in convoy.
Cars and family - two of the staples of life out here.

Casino feet

Joselyn is 5. She just turned 5. She's one of our preschoolers and I don't mind telling you she can be a handful . My nickname for her is "Bossy Jossy" because frankly there are times when she is the boss of everyone and CANNOT be told what to do.
I arrived at Mulga Bore this morning and made my usual stop at Lindsay's house. Joselyn came running up to me very excited. She was holding a pair of shiny black shoes that looked to be about her size.
"Lisa, look my casino feet."
She was proud as punch to own a pair of shoes that would gain her access to the Casino in Alice Springs. Sadly, I fear that she knows this phrase only too well because it is a venue frequented by her father. Joselyn mostly stays out at Mulga Bore and is cared for by her aunties and her grandparents. She's happy enough and all in all I have to say that she's better off being a bossy little school girl than a Casino orphan.

Silence

It's after midnight and I find myself unable to sleep. There is a type of silence you discover when you live in the desert, silence that isn't really silence. A silence so quiet that it makes you acutely aware of everything around you. A tap dripping, the fridge as it adjusts to the nightime temperature drop, the house as it creaks and moans, the quiet noises of nocturnal animals. Once you are tuned into these noises that can only be heard in the silence they become as loud as the trams that used to pass by my bedroom window when I lived in North Fitzroy. They keep me awake. And so I stop fighting my sleeplessness and I step outside to breathe in the night air. I'm glad I did becasue it is the most miraculous night for stars. There is no moon in the sky, not yet at least. The Milky Way is a cloudy white blur that stretches from one side of the sky to the other. The sky is glittering from the sheer volume of celestial bodies visible on a night like this. All of a sudden sleeplessness doesn't seem so bad and I am glad for the noises that have kept me awake.

Bush trip

Last Wednesday we went on a bush trip. Now many of you might think that I live in the bush already. But trust me it is possible to go further bush than Mulga Bore. In fact going bush for them means driving out to some very special hunting grounds. I have been there twice now and still dont think I could find it by myself. The track to get there winds through scrub, creek beds and rocky outcrops. Often there is only a faint set of old tyre tracks to guide the way. Luckily for me I just have to follow someone else when I go.
The kids were so excited about our bush trip - running to school when they saw my Toyota arrive and excitedly reconfirming 'We going bush today Lisa?'
After the regular amount of pfaffing around and sorting out who would travel in which cars and which adult members of the community would be coming with us and which of their cars had enough petrol to get there and back - we set off. The kids in my car took control of the tape player immediately and put in the Utopia Songs tape - a complilation of songs the kids have written and recorded during my time at the school. They sang along at great volume the entire way!
About half way to our final destination we stopped at a significant rocky hill and the old men and women took pleasure is showing certain special features to the children - the piece of rock that had been made smooth long ago when the 'dreamtime people' sharpened their stone knives there, the rocks leaning together in the shape of a roof that used to provide shelter for people, the water hole where animals can drink.
Then it was back in the cars and on to the hunting ground. Once we arrived there the kids made a beeline for the huge rock hill and climbed it at great speed eagerly anticipating the views that awaited them at the top. Then back down they came and it was time to do some hunting. Some people went off looking for echidna and goanna tracks. Others took axes and went looking for sugarbag, some took shovels and crowbars to look for honey ants. I went with Maggie to look for witchetty grubs (Tyape). A gaggle of small boys trailed after us. Usually boys don't look for tyape -it's womens work. But these were young boys and still learning all the bush arts so it was OK. It didn't take long for Maggie to spot the first sign of possibility - the shed skin of a grub left at the base of the tree as it has entered the root system. Maggie dug up the roots like a pro but alas only found old cocoons - the grub had long since moved on. Same story at the next couple of trees but eventually we were luckly and dug up some nice, fat juicy tyape.
After a while we got tired and decided to head back to 'camp' where the BBQ was being cooked and two of the old ladies had decided to make damper. Egged on by myself and the kids this quickly turned into a race to see who could make the best damper and in the shortest time. Everyone had a great laugh as these two matriachs of the Community folded and kneaded their damper as quick as they could. Out of deference to both we declared the competition a draw. Both dampers were very good eating!
We found some bush fruits and bush medecine but unfotunately the creatures with feet managed to avoid capture so no goanna or perentie for us that day.
Never mind, I'm sure it wont be our last bush trip!

Something lost, something found

In my first weekend alone in my house since the start of the year I decided to have a bit of a spring (or autumn) clean. I was cleaning out the cupboards in my spare bedroom when I came across an exercise book with the lyrics to a song I wrote with my class written out in pencil. Above certain words the guitar chords were marked in. I soon realised that the handwriting belonged to my friend Kirk who died last year. I had a token stab a few years ago at learning the guitar. It lasted about 5 minutes but those 5 minutes happen to coincide with a visit to Utopia of Kirk and a bunch of other friends. I remember it being a crazy few days with their 3 or 4 cars arriving out here at about 8 pm one night - they had left town later than anticipated and driving in convoy on a dirt road at night is not easy! I remember all 9 or 10 of use sitting on my front verandah - talking, knitting, doing crosswords or marking of birds we'd seen in Birds of Australia books (not me so much for that one!). I remember Kirk particularly enjoying the hammock. This is possibly because he had called me a couple of times in the week before they arrived up here - to talk about logistics - and each time we spoke I had been in my hammock! I remember going out bush overnight, camping in the river bed, eating kangaroo tail cooked on the hot coals of the campfire - even Kirk the vegetarian bless him! I remember he and Kylie and I singing Closer to Fine and it being one of those moments where your voices connect and become more than the sum of their parts. I remember heading off to the Utopia Sports carnival on what should have been a school day and the boys from the city donning the Magpies jerseys and playing for the Mulga Bore Magpies. I remember Angela taking us to the caves and all of us stading on the top and taking a photo of our shadows all lined up. I still look at the picture and try to figure out which one is Kirk. I remember getting the kids to sing the Hunting Song for all my friends and Kirk loving it so much that he decided to write his own lyrics to the same tune offer the students the gift of a new song telling the story of his journey to Utopia.
And I remember asking Kirk to note down the chords for me so that I could learn to play the song on my guitar. He was only too happy to do it. I'm sorry now that i gave up on the concept so quickly.
The thing is that I could almost count on two hands the number of times I saw Kirk in the last few years - it really wasn't that often. But I think of him so often now.
There was a ceremony yesterday in Melbourne to scatter Kirk's ashes. I was sad that I couldn't be there for it but perhaps by being here I was in a way remembering Kirk for his fearless way of reaching out into distant places and embracing the world he found there.

Anzac Day posting

I have taken advantage of the public holiday to add quite alot of postings to this page. Alot of the postings are stories or anecdotes that I have written over the course of the last few years while living and working at Utopia. Some people may have read these before as I wrote them first as emails to friends and family as a way of helping them understand my life out here.
I have also added photos from our recent trip to Melbourne - which I wrote about in the posting entitled First Times.
I will, of course, add some more current anecdotes as they happen, but for now this seems like a nice way of recording my experiences.

Samuel and his new aunties

My nephew Samuel came along to the Weribee Zoo with us and all of his Mulga Bore aunties were excited to meet him for the first time. He was more taken with the giraffes!

Too cool for school

The first night of the excursion when we were still in Alice Springs, the kids all decided to try on all of their new clothes (and sunglasses!) and then have me take their photos.

Leanne sees the ocean for the first time

It was Leanne's first time in an aeroplane, first time in the city, and her first time seeing the ocean. She loved it. She kept running towards it then stopping herself, then running some more. She asked if she was aloud to touch it. I rolled up my jeans and went paddling with her!

Mulga Bore HLC Excursion to Melbourne

Their first time on a plane was a big deal for many of the students and they were pretty excited. I imagine it was less exciting for the otehr passengers who had to put up with the kids forgetting they had their headphones and speaking at full volume across several rows.

What's in a name?

May 2005

On the way to school this morning we came across a mob whose car had broken down. Angela seemed to know them. We stopped to help. 'Any water?' the old bloke asked. Not unusually for out here the radiator had run out of water and overheated. We handed over all the water we had and wished them well on their journey in the opposite direction. 'Who was that?' I asked Angela. 'They're from Antarraningna, his name is Nextweek'. I did a double take, "What's his name?". "Nextweek" Angela replied casually and then a sly smile spread over her face as she realised my amusement. "Yeah, it's a nickname" she explained. "What's his real name?" I enquired. "Don't know, everyone calls him Nextweek, Nextweek Jones". Further enquiries about his family led me to realise who he was. His brother 'Two-bob' had dressed up as Father Christmas for our School Christmas Party a couple of years ago.
Earlier in the week I had given a lift to an old lady called Kathleen Motorbike. She has one sister called Polly and another called Topsy.
There are a fair swag of Biblical names out here too. I have a Lazarus at my school, very much alive. I also know of an Elijah, a couple of Isaiahs and an Ezekiel.
Then there's the theme names:
Names starting with K - Kennedy, Kaureen, Karina, Keenan, Keaton, Kassidy, Kiara, Kiana, Kerry, Karen, Kevin and Katrina.
Or names that sound the same - Trenedy, Grenedy, Benedy, Kennedy, Gwenedy, Renedy.
I think my favourite is still a little kid from one of the other schools - Amazon Glen. If you can imagine what an Amazon child would look like it would be this kid, pint sized with wild man hair!
The school day over and Troopy turned for home we passed old "Nextweek's" car about 20kms up the road further than we left it, abandoned. About another 2kms further still we found a tired little troop wandering along. We stopped and they piled into the back of an already crowded car and drove them to a nearby family member's house. Not sure how they'll get home from there or what they'll do with the car. Maybe they'll think about that next week.