Word: fruited
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...Sydneysiders take for granted an intimacy with nature that would astonish most city residents worldwide. Inner-city suburbs echo to the screech of sulfur-crested cockatoos and the laughter of sturdy kookaburras; brilliant rainbow lorikeets hang upside down in fruit trees squabbling over berries. As night falls, mighty Port Jackson fig trees discharge clouds of flying foxes, while possums patrol urban gardens and clatter across the rooftops. Everywhere, in parks, gardens, at the water's edge, the luxuriant subtropical vegetation-mosses and ferns, cabbage palms, ash and she-oak, ancient angophora forests and a hundred species of gum tree-reminds...
...Olympic Games juggernaut of athletes, officials, business executives and media that lands in September, and for most of the holidaymakers drawn in its wake. But there is more to Sydney, some of it darker, some of it frivolous, a hint of irresponsibility that suggests its delights are the fruit of serendipity rather than foresight. Too often Sydney's leaders and functionaries have been indolent, self-serving or downright corrupt, but somehow locals remain confident that, in the Australian vernacular, "she'll be right"; things will turn out fine. More often than not, they do. And, the wisdom of their inaction...
...More moving are the engraved records of that time, when Sydney's original inhabitants fished, hunted and gathered their fruit and witchety grubs. Over 2,000 Aboriginal carvings-of kangaroos, fish, platypus, hunting scenes-have been found in Sydney's sandstone outcrops, mute reminders, some of them 5,000 years old, that progress comes at a price. Modern estimates put as many as 750,000 Aborigines on the Australian continent in 1788; the first governor of New South Wales, Arthur Phillip, thought some 1,500 lived between Botany Bay to the south and the mouth of the Hawkesbury River...
...about her supervisor's behavior. The Clintons' apparent lack of direct involvement makes the story less juicy, but the suit did have some dishy details about life in the West Wing kitchen: Once, claims McCulloch, after spurning yet another advance, she was ordered to peel eight crates of kiwi fruit; and another time, instead of making the President's birthday cake, usually a highlight of the year, she was told to clean out the refrigerator...
...were great partners, my "Pigs in Space" lunchbox and I. We not only collaborated to carry my sandwich, fruit and cupcake on a daily basis, we also smashed fire ants, threatened bullies, and banged a nice little chip into my front door the afternoon my mom had a late meeting and wasn't home right after school. When I got a bit older, I callously traded in my friend for a disposable brown paper bag - but I never forgot the satisfying sound my lunchbox made when I snapped it closed after eating, or the comforting, slightly synthetic piquancy the thermos...