Retirement offered no excitement for Ron, that is until Maggie noted his interest in archaeological digs. What a retirement gift – an excursion to a working dig. It would be perfect and Ron deserved it.
Maggie spent the rest of the day googling possible archaeological sites. There was such a limited choice and they certainly don’t advertise for helpers. She felt Google had let her down.
An overseas dig would offer more adventure than an Australian one, if they existed. But by the end of the morning, Maggie realised it was not going to be easy to find a warm welcome for helpers on any archaeological digs, overseas or Australian.
The phone shrilled, bringing Maggie back to the present.
‘Carol here Maggie. Have you time for a coffee – passing your place in ten?’
‘Yes, of course, I need some company.’
As the coffee brewed Maggie told Carol how she planned to send Ron to an archaeological dig as a retirement gift.
‘Are you mad Maggie? Who the hell is going to look after him? You’ve been his nursemaid for years. He’s lovable but useless.’
‘He’s very interested in archaeology Carol.’
‘And what has that got to do with it? Half the world is fascinated by Tutankhamen and his mates, but you don’t find them hunting down expeditions to dig for more bodies.’
‘It’s not just about digging up bodies in Egypt Carol. There are many interesting sites where they find pottery and ancient implements.’
‘Well, bully for them.’
‘You could be more understanding Carol. I am not giving up yet. Tomorrow is another day and I am determined to find a suitable archaeological dig for Ron. I can just imagine his excitement. It will be a dream come true for him.’
‘You do realise he may not come back Maggie?’
‘What do you mean? Leave me?’
‘No, not leave you, but unless he is accompanied by a day and a night nurse to dish out his cocktail of pills, he may not survive. He is close to seventy and always groaning about his aches and pains – and then there is his rampant cholesterol and raging blood pressure.’
‘You can be very spiteful Carol. Ron is not that useless. I might look after him, lay out his clothes and organise his medications, but that does not mean he cannot do it for himself. Anyway I enjoy it. And the trip will take his mind off his health.
Carol gave Maggie a peck on the cheek. ‘Gotta run. Ring me if you need me.’
The next day Maggie made a thrilling find. This company actually organised expeditions and sought volunteer labour. Excitedly she sent off an email, requesting details of available expeditions, signing in Ron’s name.
Within hours, the reply came offering Ron a place on an expedition to SIBERIA.
‘Siberia,’ Maggie muttered in distress. It seemed some members had pulled out and there was an urgent need for active lay folks to help the professional team.
Maggie thought of poor Ron in Siberia. He always complained throughout winter. The cold made his arthritis ache so much. He would never cope. Now she would have to compose another email to say he could not be involved. She wished she had not appeared so keen in her enquiry – written under Ron’s name.
Maggie began to feel uncomfortable, somehow trapped. And there was no way she could tell Ron – or Carol either. Siberia!’
To Maggie’s horror, there was a second email the following day, urging Ron to make a hasty decision, as it was important that the expedition leave as soon as possible before the Siberian winter set in – with temperatures down to 40 and 50 degrees below freezing.
In a panic Maggie sent off an apologetic email from Ron, explaining he was not able to be involved as he was not retiring for another six weeks.
She ignored the reply email – which accepted Ron’s apology and inquired about his health and his age, suggesting these expeditions require a great deal of stamina.
The stress was too much – Maggie made a cup of tea and attempted to relax with the local paper. And there was the answer – virtually right in their own back yard – open day for their local historical homestead. Archaeologists from the University were opening up the site where all the household rubbish since pioneering days had been thrown.’
Maggie could hardly wait until Ron came home. ‘Darling there is an archaeological dig at the historical homestead’s rubbish tip. They need helpers. I can pack some sandwiches for you – and I’ll bring your tablets. It is so much more suitable than Siberia.’
‘Siberia? What on earth are you talking about woman? I have no intention of helping to dig up somebody’s rubbish in Siberia or up the road. Let them find their own slave labour. I’m off to Spain for the Running of the Bulls.’
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