Christmas in July

As it's winter here now, Australians are reminded of all the Christmas traditions that the rest of the world gets to celebrate when its cold. So they started one of their own called "Christmas in July". Realizing there are relatively few merchandising opportunities in late summer Hallmark may have made this holiday up, I don't know, but, ready to embrace all that Australia has to offer I decided to celebrate it. As luck would have it, this was pretty easy. Walking home from the bottle shop one afternoon, my New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc tucked under my arm, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a Christmas Tree! Through the window of Hotel Indooroopilly I saw twinkling lights and shimmering ornaments decorating a real honest to goodness Christmas Tree! 

Now, this was before I knew about "Christmas in July", so at first I thought  - I am NEVER going to eat there, my God, if they can't be bothered to change their decor you know they can't be bothered to refill the toilet paper rolls! Then curiosity got the best of me and I stepped inside. "Oh, I'm so sorry ma'am this isn't a Bring Your Own Bottle establishment" (very common here by the way) we're full service."  I explained that I was just curious about the tree and before I knew it I had two red yo yo's tucked inside my purse, a new BFF and reservations for Sunday night's Santa Dinner! 

When I told the girls about "Christmas in July"  they made it pretty clear they were glad we moved to Australia. Then there was some impromptu dancing and carol singing.

Mike was traveling during all this festive holiday planning and didn't return until Christmas day. So when set off for the Santa Dinner, the girls grinning ear to ear, me humming Jingle Bells, I think Mike was just wondering what exactly went on while he was away that he could find himself in his present predicament. But we skipped the four blocks there on the imaginary wings of reindeer and entered the restaurant with expectations as high as kites. Santa! Santa! Santa! 

But something was wrong…….terribly wrong. The place was empty. There was absolutely no one there. I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach and Nola asked, "Mommy, where's Santa?" The tree that had stood tall and sparkling only days before was no where to be seen. "Table for four?" a very un-Christmasy waiter asked. 

"Um, I have reservations for the Santa dinner?" I squeaked, looking around for the hallway that would magically lead us to the North Pole . The waiter looked at me sadly and shook his head. He looked even more sadly at Nola and Rosie and said softly "the Santa Dinner, was, last night."

Is that Santa coming?!

In all fairness, if they want to celebrate Christmas in July, 6 months before December 25th, it's not completely crazy that I mess up dinner reservations by just one day. I was the most disappointed out of anyone in the family. Mike just said, "Yes, table for four, let's eat." The girls reassured me it was OK, that this wasn't really Christmas, it would still come in December. I knew I needed to buck up. So I tried, and almost succeeded, until I realized Kenny Roger's The Gambler was playing on a loop and would be the soundtrack for the evening. At least the food was good, and they even let the girls take a peek at the tree - sad empty undecorated tree that it had become. If Kenny Rogers taught me anything that night, it was that I knew it was time to walk away. Next July the only holiday I'm celebrating is Independence Day.

And my anniversary! July 31st Mike and I celebrated our 8th wedding anniversary. Some of you reading this were at our wedding and may remember that one of the wedding vows I made to Mike was to "never have more than three dogs at a time".

Mike will be happy to tell you that I have kept this vow. In fact, we have lived for the past four years without any dogs. We had actually just made the decision to get another dog last fall, mere days before Mike got the job offer in Australia (coincidence? I am beginning to wonder…….) But then I learned Australia's quarantine for dogs is 6 months. In a kennel. Couldn't do it. 

Needless to say the girls and I were quite disappointed, but the thrill of new adventure helped eased our suffering. However, the thrill of new adventure can only carry you so far, and we've learned it can't carry you past wanting a dog. Nola and Rosie have developed a good coping strategy though. They remembered that we once had a dog, and in fact, he is still with us in spirt. And in a small gray urn. So in lieu of a new dog, they have taken to once again including Max in many of our family activities. Max snuggles on the couch with us for stories. He has dinner with us, he sleeps at the foot of Nola's bed, he even occasionally accompanies us on outings. I think this might be wearing on Mike's nerves, but the girls are just thrilled to have a dog, even if he is no longer able to fully participate in family life.

The girls particularly like to decorate his dog house, a.k.a., final resting place, or if you will, urn. I often come home and find him tucked into a doll's crib with a tiara or two on his lid, sometimes adorned with flowers, once even my hat. The other day there was some discussion over what color blanket he might prefer. Rosie was pretty adamant he wouldn't want a pink blanket, being a boy and all. But Nola pointed out that "he's deeeaaad Rosie, I don't think he'll mind!"

Nola reading Max a bedtime story. He's wearing his bedtime
necklace and she's wearing her Christmas nightgown.

All this has made me, I'll admit it, question my family's sanity, laugh out loud, occasionally tear up, and miss Max all the more. But it certainly illustrates how ready we are for another dog. So I have solemnly sworn to the girls that the first thing we'll do when we move back to Seattle is get a dog. Or even three!

We may not have a (real) family pet, but here is some real evidence that Australia has incorporated us into the fold; last week Mike got a speeding ticket and I got a parking ticket, and we have both been pulled over during random road block breath checks. Mike's was at 7:00 in the morning. I have actually had two, both at about 11:00 a.m. 

This is, after all, a country where you can buy a car called "The Saloon", or, if your car budget allows, "The Super Saloon". And the same country where most every bottle shop has a drive through, so I suppose it shouldn't surprise us that the police frequently organize random breath checks to make sure people are not driving under the influence. 

I think the random breath checks are a great idea, but when I mentioned to someone that perhaps they'd have more success holding them in the evening rather than the morning I was told, "Ah no, in the morning everyone is still drunk from the night before." I see. Last observation - they call it "drink driving" not "drunk driving". There is nothing passive about Australians.

This is a picture taken the afternoon of Rosie's school's Sports Carnival. I include it just so you can see how people protect themselves from the chilly winter weather. (It was 78 degrees that day!)

And this picture, taken at a park during a birthday party - see Nola? There she is in her tutu standing next to the child in a turtleneck and cardigan. It was 75 that day!

Finally, someone wanted to see pictures of the dog food, so here you go!

(Apologies for the sprawling layout - my tech support is traveling.)

Mike's Birthday

We celebrated Mike's first Australian birthday back in May. While I do love to throw a party, I was mostly excited to have a reason to visit Kenmore Cakes again! The girls decided Daddy would like a truck birthday cake. I agreed and went one better and ordered a cake replica of the truck Mike had when he was young and carefree and going on a dump run was actually fun. I think the cake turned out great, even if it is a low rider version of 'ol blue.

I ended up making four separate trips to Kenmore Cakes in my attempt to provide Paul, Australia's best cake baker, with enough detail of the truck. The initial cake order probably read something like this "Truck - wife doesn't seem to know more than that. When pressed said it was blue but can't tell me what shade. Doesn't know license plate number, year, make or model, but thinks it might have had four wheels." Paul needed more than I could give. He wanted a picture of the truck from the front, a picture from the side, from the rear, and from space. Turns out I have 52,713 pictures on my computer (really) and none of them are of Mike's truck. Ultimately I got some pictures off the internet but since I couldn't remember the model or year they were just my best guesses. I didn't want to give anything away so tried as nonchalantly as I could to ferret out the information from Mike, "isn't it weird how there are no trucks in Australia? Certainly none like yours?" My question was met with a blank stare and "what are you talking about?" What could I say - what was I talking about? But just so you know, Ford does not export F series trucks to Australia. So Paul had never seen first hand what he was asked to recreate. I didn't understand this until later, but didn't he do a brilliant job?! (Australians say "brilliant!" quite frequently, for anything remotely nearing good, be it a knot, a muffin or an idea. But in this case the cake was definitely brilliant.)

The timing of the birthday was exactly right.  Mike had just returned from Karratha, the heart of Australia's mining operations, before leaving the next day for two weeks in Korea and Japan. Yes, still lots of travel for the expat. Yes, trailing spouse still a bit jealous. But Mike said Karratha made Moses Lake look like a thriving metropolis. No worries though, I quickly redirected my jealousy towards his trip to Viet Nam. Karratha ("God's Country" in the Aboriginal language) is in the Pilabara region of Western Australia and is the seat of government for the Shire of Roebourne (there are Shires here!) The Pilabara is basically a huge empty desert. But it is responsible for Australia's resources boom and has had much to do with the healthy state of the Australian economy.
Unfortunately, Mike was not able to time his trip for August when the town holds it's biggest event of the year -  the much anticipated annual FeNaCING Festival. Yes, that's right - Fe for iron, NaCI for salt and NG for natural gas - the three main export commodities. It's not just the biggest event in the shire, it's the biggest event in the entire region. It is of such local importance that in 1987 it became a public holiday. I was told that The Festival is like an agricultural show…..but without the agriculture. The other claim to fame Karratha boasts is Australia's largest Christmas Lights Competition. It's clear to me the tricky part is only deciding when to visit, August or December.

Speaking of December, it's been so long since I posted that winter arrived and the unthinkable happened. It got cold. Fall went by in a rapid blur of sun dappled afternoons and freckles on Nola's face and then, all of a sudden, winter was here. The days are still sunny, and it was 74 today, but the mornings and nights are down right chilly! We unpacked our coats and are actually wearing them. Nola and Rosie appear not to be as acclimated as I am and are still running around barefoot and half naked - but then again they are much younger than me. And they don't have my shirt wardrobe. It may be cold but the weather reports still list the UV rating as "very high", or "extreme". The only time the UV rating is "moderate" must be in the middle of the night. All the weather forecasts here include a UV Alert. It's similar to the terrorist alerts in the US I think. Your uncomfortable, maybe even frightened, but you still go out about your business. When I first heard a weather report I was driving the girls to school. "Temperatures reaching a high of 35 Celsius today with the UV rating extreme." Did he say extreme? What does that mean exactly? Should I keep the girls inside? Should I find the nearest underground parking garage and stay there until the sun goes down? After 6 months of living in UV rating "extreme" I can tell you it means this - even after religiously following the Australian Cancer Council advice to "Slip! Slop! Slap!" I have developed sun spots. Fair skin does not fare well here - I need to put my game face on and it needs to look like an ad for zinc oxide. 

Australia has the highest rate of skin cancer in the world. (UV rating extreme after all) The Australian Cancer Council organizes a widely successful annual fundraising event called "Australia's Biggest Morning Tea". It is said to be Australia's "best-loved" fundraising event. Their goal this year is to to raise a whopping $11,500,000. I am proud to report I have raised $1,121.00 towards this goal!

I am not a fund raiser, but I am someone who, when they first moved here, volunteered to do a lot of crazy stuff they had no business doing. Like organizing a pizza party for 300 students. Remember that? Since I so infamously bombed Term 1's Pizza Day I was given the chance to redeem myself by combining Term 2's Pizza Day with an Australia's Biggest Morning Tea fundraising event. Redemption…. or punishment? 

It's all behind me now at least. And yes, it went just fine. One lovely mum even gave me a bouquet of flowers for my efforts (try counting over a thousand dollars of unfamiliar currency on your kitchen table - with coins with kangaroos on them for God's sake -  and then discovering the school has a coin counting machine….)

I at least can say I'm busy. My fear of having too much time on my hands is no longer what I am scared of. It's hungry kids with enormous shoes, cold pizza, and teapots that fill my dreams now. Here is a picture of Rosie's school chums lining up for pizza wearing their dainty school shoes.

I realize it's summer in Seattle, so you guys may be experiencing a few scattered sun breaks. Please don't forget to Slip! (on a long sleeved shirt) Slop! (on the sunscreen) and Slap! (on a hat)! The mascot of this campaign is a seagull, Sid Seagull to be exact, so it seems more than appropriate for my Seattle friends.

Happy Summer! to you all from our winter in July.

ANZAC Day

Anzac Day was April 25th. It is Australia's equivalent to Memorial Day. Except that ANZAC Day is a major deal, and I mean major as in it competes with Christmas as the most significant national holiday. Major. I suppose The Vietnam War ruined Memorial Day for the U.S. So it was interesting for me to experience a nation commemorating a military action with such complete and absolute reverence.

ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps and April 25th marks the anniversary of the first major military action fought by the ANZACs during WWI. They were instructed to land on the Gallipoli peninsula to open the Dardanelles Straights for the Allied Navy. According to most, it was a terrible plan and doomed to fail from the start. An estimated 9,000 ANZACS died.

I saw so much pomp and circumstance walking around Brisbane on ANZAC day I could almost imagine the war had just ended. I half expected to be able to find Monterey Jack cheese now that rationing was over. Seriously, tear down the black-out curtains and pin on a red poppy! It's incredible how Australia has kept this spirit of remembrance alive so many years after the war's end. For an entire week I could not turn a corner without finding myself in the middle of a parade or candle lighting ceremony.  Every school had an ANZAC day assembly and there were countless ceremonies in public parks, churches, and anywhere more than one person might happen to be. Followed, depending on the time of day, by tea or a sausage sizzle. It is a country of social extraverts after all.

During Rosie's school's ANZAC day ceremony both Australia's and New Zealand's national anthems were sung. After one minute of silence "The Rouse" was played (signifying waking up to a new day) then the speaker said "Lest we forget", and in unison everyone repeated "Lest we forget". Well, everyone but me, and I am assuming Rosie, (we weren't sitting together). But now we know. 

There were several odes and a poem but I can't tell you what they were as Nola was extremely anxious to be elsewhere. As only four year olds and dogs in a vet's waiting room can be. So I was a little distracted. The school's Chorale sang with the Australian Army Band, the flag was raised and lowered several times, and then I was finally able to put Nola out of her misery.

On ANZAC day itself there were dawn (the time of the landing at Gallipoli) ceremonies in each and every neighborhood of Brisbane. Seriously, how amazing is that? I woke up early and walked over to Keating Park (without my four year old) for Indooroopilly's Memorial Service. As I came down the hill I wondered what I would find. I arrived a good 5 minutes before it started and was surprised at the number of people there. I found a place to edge in beside a tree, a three generation family and this handsome bagpipe player.

I listened to everyone sing Australia's national anthem, "Advance Australia Fair", several hymns including "Lest We Forget" and "Royal Hymn", I watched as school kids and the elderly placed wreaths on the Memorial Stone and stood stock still as my hunky neighbor played his bagpipes. There was an address by a young Cadet Under Officer and a prayer and benediction from Father Michael Chiplin. When the ceremony concluded people flowed to the Memorial Stone to take pictures and talk with their neighbors. I eavesdropped as best I could. Both little girls in this picture are being told by their dads about the sacrifices the Defense Forces and their families made.  

I was struck by how many parents were there with their young kids talking about what ANZAC day means to them. The ANZACS who fought at Gallipoli really are not forgotten. And clearly this under populated island nation never will forget them. How they faced the Gallipoli challenge is said to have awakened Australia's national identity, "a discovery of ourselves" as father Chiplin explained. I see it first hand and let me tell you, I like what they discovered. And their reverence is moving.

While I'm on the subject of remembrance, I'm turning up my stereo to listen to the Bee Gees, again, because I can't get enough. They actually lived here in Brisbane in the 50s and 60s, in a poor neighborhood where the airport now stands. You will have, no doubt, heard that Robin Gibb passed away last week. Much to my listening enjoyment, the Brisbane radio stations are remembering him, lest we forget.

Hello Again

I fell off my blog bike but I am determined to get back on and pedal faster than ever. Life in Australia is starting to just feel like life - we are all busier than ever and pretty much, dare I say it, completely settled in. This week alone Rosie was invited to three birthday parties. She will attend a roller skating party, a dance party and a gymnastics party. Last month it was a horse riding party. She has stopped having nightmares about crocodiles and no longer needs to ask me questions about God because she knows everything about him, even, so I've been told, how he smells. Term two saw her with yet another new teacher as Ms. Crompton moved to Melbourne. But my old Rosie is back, skipping into school expecting to like any teacher they throw at her and assuming she will be liked in return. When I had my parent/teacher meeting with the newbie she said Rosie was a very serious child. Yes, I replied, it's true, but wait till you met her father.

Mike is just back from a week in Bangkok. He was there meeting with suppliers and getting massages. Really, I do know it was a trying week of meetings and negotiations, but when someone is able to book all 20 of your party into massage rooms at your 5 star hotel at 10 p.m. after a full dinner where someone polished off an entire bottle of vodka, I have to wonder if I made the right decision to leave the work world. But I suppose that's my work fantasy, not Mike's. After 9 hours on the plane catching up on emails he arrived home exhausted. I was as sympathetic as I could be, but stopped short of manipulating his bath towel into the shape of an elephant carrying a fresh orchid in it's trunk, assuming he was sick of that sort of thing.

The week before that Mike was on the Gold Coast (about an hour south of Brisbane) celebrating Genie's 15th year in Australia with some of the company's nearest and dearest. It was a party to end all parties and I am sorry I missed it. They arrived in 15 chauffeured stretch hummers (Australia is really big after all) and walked down the proverbial red carpet which was flanked by cheer leaders. How nice it would be to enter a room and be reminded of how great you are by eight young and gorgeous women shouting accolades at you. Well done Genie Marketing.



15 years ago was 1997, a great year wasn't it? Clinton was in office and Axel Rose was just going off the deep end. Besides cheerleaders, hummers and well placed character actors, 1997 was remembered with several rounds of semi pro boxing complete with famous Australian cricket personality and sport hero Max Walker MCing. Here is Mike in the ring with Max - thankfully, not boxing.

Actor or Kiwi?

Kiwis getting into the spirit.

Paid Actors

Not pictured were Madonna, Zoolander, Sister Theresa (who won the Noble Peace Prize in 97), Stephie Graf and Robin. Some of the these costumed personalities were not paid actors though....some of them were customers! I never thought a group of people could top the Aussie's zest for life, but apparently the Kiwis really get down. I hope we move there next!

Kiwi






I thought about bringing the girls down the coast after school on Friday to join Mike and have a fun weekend at the beach but then remembered we had Wiggles tickets. I am being completely honest with you when I reveal I had never heard of the wiggles before last month. Rosie came home from school all abuzz that the wiggles were playing so I bought tickets. Ten minutes into the show I leaned over to Mike and said, these guys have got to be Australian, yeah? He just looked at me like I was crazy and on the way home explained to me the billion dollar corporate empire that is The Wiggles. Yes, they are Australian and it makes so much sense that they are. Little Red Car! Toot! Toot!

Booyoolie, Goblebackinglup, Bangingoo - no, not Wiggle song lyrics. Australia is full of fabulous Aboriginal  place names that make you feel warm and fuzzy inside. I recently found a book translating Aboriginal words. I opened it up, flipped through the pages I until I found Indooroopilly, hardly able to contain my excitement to find out what it might mean……tropical paradise? mango station? sunshine satellite? rainbow factory? Imagine my disappointment, no, my dismay, to discover our neighborhood, Indooroopilly, actually means Gully of Leeches. Hmm. At least I haven't seen any, which is comforting since I ended up here instead of WabbaPickinCoke, where Don Johnson parked his turquoise porch in a driveway lined with white rocks and birds of paradise.

I am very happy we landed in the Gully of Leeches though, as the neighbors here are fantastic. Because of all the fencing and gating and remote control action it took us a while to actually meet them - but meet them we have and thank goodness. It was the Saturday we saw the Wiggles. A gloriously hot late afternoon walk home from the train station found us whistling wiggles songs, toot toot! As we turned the corner onto Neulans Rd we saw some kids on scooters and bikes, a couple of dogs, and our next door neighbor picking a leech off his youngest. We stopped to introduce ourselves. Wine bottles and cheese platters appeared almost simultaneously from two houses across the street. That was 4:00. At midnight we stumbled off our neighbors porch, carrying 2 over excited little girls home to fall asleep exactly 30 seconds later.

Since that eventful night Nola has peed on one neighbor's carpet and walked another's blind black lab around the block - bonding is complete I'd say. Between our four houses there are 12 kids between the ages of 3 and 17 and 8 adults who like wine and cheese, nice people all - for this I can forgive a few leeches.

Now it is Mother's Day. Rosie gave me a cross. It's my first one and quite tastefully decorated with pink beads and silver sequins. I think Jesus would be touched. The girls also made me breakfast in bed and for some reason insisted on washing my hair. Now Mike has taken them to the science center, leaving me in a too quiet house to get back to blogging. But not before rinsing a bottle of shampoo from my hair, mopping up the bathroom floor and hosing down the kitchen. 

Happy Mother's Day Moms! May any cross you bear be sequined!

What to make for dinner - two good recipes.

Forgive me friends for I have not blogged. It has been almost a month since my last post.

Fear not though, I am alive and well. I did not go to Perth. I went to Noosa. I did not drown, I swam. I was not bit by a poisonous snake or a deadly spider, but by a lot of mosquitos. I was not attacked by a crocodile but I did see one eat a chicken. I did not get heatstroke but I did get a bit of a heat rash. All this to say I finally left Brisbane to explore the Queensland coast!

But I don't want to get ahead of myself so let's start where we left off in March. Rosie and I were super excited to see our first Australian ballet. The Australian Ballet Company performed Romeo and Juliet in Sydney and Melbourne last year, and now are touring Brisbane, Adelaide and Perth (and there you pretty much have it - all of populated Australia. This is a vast and empty place, but more on that later) We hopped on the train for the sold out performance and found our seats near the roof of the theatre. (As a point of comparison, The Lyric Theatre in Brisbane has 2,000 seats and McCaw Hall in Seattle has 2,900 seats.)  We enjoyed it very much, however bold they were in the interpretation; the opening scene was in Verona, the wedding scene in Japan with Juliet arriving on a bicycle and a Hare Krishna officiating, and the fight where Tybalt and Mercutio are killed takes place in India. Row boats were involved. Very global.

This week we saw the local Queensland Ballet perform Alice in Wonderland. They stayed very close to script, with the exception of playing rugby rather than croquet.  Even my dad enjoyed it and thank goodness because he gave up watching the final game of the NCAA basketball championship to accompany us. And his alma mater was playing (and won) Whoohoo UK!!!

Autumn here is really pleasant. Much like a Seattle summer. Our AC is off and our windows are open. I was actually almost chilly one morning. It is confusing that it's Fall, but April, and Spring back home (and the rest of the world for that matter) I often have to pause before I write the date - actually I always have to pause before I write the date - and puzzle out what month it is in an upside down season, while remembering to put the day before the month.

When I got my Queensland drivers license I had to fill out the paperwork twice because when I signed and dated the form I said it was October 1st, instead of 1 April. They looked at me funny but still agreed to let me drive in their country. The entire process renewed my faith in my desire to live in Brisbane. I was in and out of that DMV in 15 minutes and was called either doll or luv once for each of those minutes - by someone young enough to be my daughter. As an American with a current US license I was not required to take a driving test. Not even a written test. Part of me is thankful that was the case (I doubt I could pass a test, I don't even know what day it is) but I wonder if the Australian government is overly confident in my ability to drive?

As often happens when typing these blogs, I find the need to talk about food. But - I! Am! Going! To! Stay! Positive!

I'll start by saying It's-A-Good-Thing that we didn't have much time to contemplate our move here. If we had, I might have started thinking about just how far away Australia is from Mexico. Then I might have wondered about the availability of good Mexican food in Australia.  As it was, I naively stepped off the plane and added Monterey Jack to my grocery list assuming, in a spoiled American way, that I would be able to buy some. It would be right by the cheddar cheese. Wouldn't it?

Really, it's funny (staying positive) how naive I was about the variety of food available here. I realize the population is small, I realize it is far away from civilization as I know it, but surely there is a market here for cheese? Did you know, according to the semi scientific study I conducted, that the average Australian has never even heard of Monterey Jack cheese? (in all seriousness they really haven't) Yet I was able to buy a delicious block of Manchengo the other day (which Nola and I ate in it's entirety in one sitting thank you very much) but Monterey Jack? Yeah no. And by that I mean no. I love cheese. A whole lot. And I am very thankful that I have been able to find Manchego, good feta, even d'affinois (Hi Berkeley!) It seems that the more exotic, the more chance I'll have in finding it. But just your basic cheddar, or Monterey Jack, not so much. Yeah, it would be nice, no you can't get it here. When we first arrived I noticed that a lot of cheese was called "tasty". I could not find cheddar and finally someone told me "tasty" cheese IS cheddar cheese. But it's not. Yeah, it's cheese, no, it's not cheddar. And it actually is anything but tasty. This is definitely the place to be if you are lactose intolerant.

There is a yummy family recipe from Sunset, "Chicken with Chile-Cheese Rice" that I used to make about once a month in Seattle. Go ahead and google it and make it for dinner tonight you lucky bastard. It's easy and delicious and impossible to buy the ingredients for if you find yourself shopping in Brisbane.  

Mike and I found a Mexican restaurant out in a suburb called Jindalee where the two of us ate lunch for $65. I think it would have been worth it if it had actually been Mexican food.  

this is what $65 looks like

We tried our luck again at a Mexican restaurant in our neighborhood and were equally disappointed. And as luck would have it, Rosie entered their monthly kid coloring contest and won, so we had to go back. 

I was curious about what kind of market there might be for Mexican food in case I decide to open a food cart (you can only go so far as the director of dry-cleaning) so I did some market research and learned, according to the Australian census, that in 2006 there were "1,800 Mexican-born persons residing in Australia". O.K., Garfield high school has more students than that. The current number is all the way up to "3,500 with a 30% increase in visa applications in the last 6 months", but they must all be in Sydney. Let's just say I now have a greater appreciation for the distance Australia is from Mexico. 

So as not to offend my Aussie friends too much I will say I was able to cook another favorite recipe instead, Jamie Oliver's Chicken and Leek Stroganoff with the best looking and greatest tasting leek of my life. 

I have been bragging about the delicious mangos we've been eating here and was so excited for my dad to try them, but mango season ended when he arrived on April 4th and that seems to be that.  I can't find a mango to save my life now - everyone just looks at me like I am crazy and simply says - mango season is over Mate! So different from Seattle where you can eat organic strawberries in December. I guess it just never occurred to me I would not be able to eat Monterey Jack cheese or out of season fruit. Forgive me, I have lived five blocks from a deceptively delicious grocery store most of my adult life.  

Happily, I did find a store that carries frozen wild Sockeye salmon from Canada. An ex-pat Canuck started a small company shipping wild salmon into Australia so he would not die of starvation while living here. I can't thank him enough. When I spied the package in the freezer case I jumped for joy and put it in my cart. When I saw the $80 sticker price I sighed and reluctantly put it back. Then half way down the aisle I turned around and retrieved it. This back and forth went on for a while until I finally gave in and bought it. I will say it was worth every penny! But it did make me wonder for a moment if I could get my old job back on the Alagnak river.

OK, enough about food, let's talk beaches!

As I mentioned earlier we finally got out of town and explored some of the Queensland Coast. We hit Peregian Beach, Marcus Beach, Noosa Beach, and Moreton Is. 

To break up the drive we stopped at Underwater World and got kissed by seals.

Then back on the road to Peregian beach. We rented a house at a place called The Retreat that boasted a "cooled swimming pool". You know its hot when you have to cool your pool down. The best feature was the boardwalk through the trees to the beach. We carried our pails and shovels and skipped over the boards and played in the surf and frolicked in the sand dunes until we read the sign that said "Watch out for the deadly snakes in the dunes" or something like that. Then we just stuck to the surf.

We also visited Sunshine Castle in Bli Bli (rhymes with bye bye) for an epic scavenger hunt. Sunshine Castle was built with all the things you'd expect to see in a Norman style castle. It had a moat, turrets, a drawbridge, towers and the largest and creepiest doll collection possibly ever assembled. Aside from the doll collection it was surprisingly fantastic.

Then we went back to the beach.

We also checked out The Ginger Factory because it was in the area and all I can say is, skip it.

Then we went back to the beach.

Our last day in the area we went to Noosa National Park and hiked a bit up the Coastal trail where we saw a koala and a bunch of surfers. Highly recommend. We also did a short walk through the rain forest trail where we got muddy and pretended we were back home.

Driving back to Brisbane we stopped at the Australia Zoo where we paid the GDP of a small country for entry. The Australia Zoo is touted as the home of 'The Crocodile Hunter". It really is. We went to the Crocoseum for the croc show which is still run by his widow Terri and their two children. Frankly, it gave me a lump in my throat. It was a good "show", and the zoo itself is beautiful. It looks brand new and the grounds are lovely. But I couldn't help wonder what it would be like today if Steve Irwin had not been killed. Don't get me wrong. His wife (who is from Eugene Oregon btw) still rocks it and the zoo does incredible conservation work, but it wasn't exactly packed. I think his larger than life personality and passion for the animals was the real draw and without him its probably not the same. If you don't know, he was killed in a truly freak accident while filming a documentary on the Great Barrier Reef, Ocean's Deadliest.  As he swam over the top of a sting ray he was pierced through the chest and most likely died instantly. For some reason I just couldn't shake the tragedy and his absence made me feel sad. There is his daughter Bindy in the picture below.

Mike was traveling for work when we ferried over to Moreton Island so we will have to go back. Moreton Island is a 75 minute ferry ride from Brisbane and 97% of it is a national park. Pretty cool. Moorgumpin is the aboriginal name of the island and means Place of Sandhills. It's the third largest sand island in the world and is perfect for sand tobogganing. Since the girls missed all the snow in Seattle this winter (or Seattle's winter at least, we still have Australia's to look forward to) it was great to be able to go "sledding". But I had no idea how much your toes would hurt hiking up a sand hill barefoot. Once at the top, thirsty, hot, sweaty, sore toed and heart pounding, I was ready to feel the breeze of the coastal air whipping my hair back as I zoomed down. But then I looked down. And realized I couldn't do it. I had vertigo. Worse than in our seats for Romeo and Juliet. So I selflessly told everyone that I needed to take my frightened children back down - no - really, it's all right, I'll just take them down near the bottom to slide since they are frightened. Nola cooperated with the story (thank you sweetie) but Rosie said something like "see ya at the bottom chicken" - wasn't she 5 when we moved here? 

It didn't occur to me she would actually do it, so I slid slowly back down on my butt clutching Nola's hand tightly in mine, poor thing she was so scared, leaving Rosie at the top with her grandfather. But then her grandfather came down. And then there I was, a million miles from my baby, the hot desert sand coating my tongue, looking up a 2,000 foot precipice at a tiny dot in a tied dyed t-shirt.

And then she was at 1,500 ft. And then a year later she was at 1,000 feet. And then as I aged a decade she was at 500 ft. And then before I could breathe she was sailing past me at 100 mph finally coming to a stop somewhere between OMG and OShit. Because she was the lightest (read youngest, smallest, tenderest) she went the farthest and so won a special award and a free t shirt. Also the admiration of every Japanese tourist in the island, of which there were many. For the rest of the trip we couldn't go anywhere without someone saying "Hi Rosie!" She was a super star and I was the mother with poop in her pants.

In the end she convinced me to hike back up to the top and "give it a go mum!" The first few seconds were terrifying but that coastal air did feel good.

Later that night we waded into the water clutching stinky fish in our palms and fed wild dolphins. They are very smart, when the fish ran out they butted my dad in the thigh just like Max might have, demanding another snack. They know they can expect these snacks (about 20% of their daily fish intake) from this beach at 6:30 every night and they show up right on time, playing in the surf as they wait for enthralled guests to be escorted out by someone from Tangalooma's Dolphin Care Team. An amazing experience all around. You can see why we have to go back with Mike. 

This has all been great fun, but now I feel like I missed my flight home. You know that feeling, when your vacation has been great, but you've reached the point when its time to go home, unpack, do laundry, pad around the kitchen barefoot and get back to regular life. I think Australia is a great place to visit. Maybe one of the greatest in the world. I feel so incredibly lucky to have done so. But my clothes are sandy. I am ready to come home and do laundry. 

Links to more pictures here:
https://picasaweb.google.com/103336932121670450817/2ndAussieVacation?authkey=Gv1sRgCOnE5ZTXk9L2Uw

and here:
https://picasaweb.google.com/103336932121670450817/FirstAussieVacation?authkey=Gv1sRgCLa6jtm82rr38AE

Killer Kookaburra

Hello friends and family!

Looking at the calendar today I realized we have been here for two months. Nine weeks to be exact. Except for Mike who has only been here for about 13 days in between a bunch of long flights and fancy dinners. It's incredible to think about all that has happened and everything we have experienced in that short amount of time. I will tell you something, it feels like a lot longer than 9 weeks. I will tell you something else, the US may have faults, but I want to grow old and die there. And, oh, the fortunate few that get to live in the Pacific Northwest! Where not only are grocery stores open past 5:00 you can buy fresh wild Alaskan King Salmon in them! 

Yeah, so I just got booted out of a crappy grocery store because they were closing. At five o'clock on a Tuesday! Sometimes I feel as if I have moved to an especially small town in the middle of nowhere. Particularly when I turn on the radio. There might be one or two benefits to this though. For example, this afternoon, the young man who came to the gate hoping to raise $$ for the Australian Special Olympics ended up having a gold medal worthy game of hide and seek with the girls. When the bell rang the three of us walked out to the gate (I have not figured out how to use the intercom yet and I've decided I'm just not an intercommy type of person anyway) When I opened the gate Nola dashed out and started running up and down the street with the wild turkeys that I am going to kill for Thanksgiving. She pulled the classic 4 year old maneuver of not listening to her mother while near a street. Special Olympic Guy, seeing me start to lose my cool, suggests to Nola that she hurry back into the yard to hide while he counts to 20. Then he played hide and seek with her & Rosie for a full ten minutes. You might argue that he hoped I would contribute to his cause (I did) but I can't see this scenario playing out in the US. After the game he gave me a brief history of the Special Olympics, being very excited that I was from America because "it was started by JFK's sister!" He did not know about the family connection to Arnold Schwarzenegger and was momentarily stunned by the news. It was hard for me tell if this pleased him, or if later today he would be tendering his resignation. A side note, everyone here says "America!" when referring the the US (except expat Canadians) I think am overly sensitive to the fact that saying I am from America, as opposed to the United States of America, will offend people. As a result, when asked I just say I am from Seattle. But the response is always, and I do mean always (unless there is a Canadian present) "America!!! How could you leave? Oh, I want to move there, I want to live there, I want to visit, America! America!" Sometimes marching bands appear and angels fly over head. At first I didn't understand this. I mean, it's pretty great here. People are so nice they'll play hide and seek with a surly 4 year old, the sun shines all the time, and the mangos are divine. But after two months I get it. I really get it. They want to go grocery shopping there. 

In my last post I mentioned I had joined and/or volunteered for a variety of activities. Most of which I am already passionately regretting. Especially the school related ones. Extra especially Pizza Day (the way I remember it I volunteered to "help out" not be in charge of it. Also, I'm pretty sure I was told it was an annual event, not something that happens every term - except for this term because the mom who volunteered to be in charge of it has no idea what the hell is going on and didn't get it planned in time). Lesson learned - don't volunteer for a bunch of stuff because you are worried you won't have anything to do. Wait for the tipping point. Which could be nine weeks. There are many exciting and glamourous roles one can take on as a Trailing Spouse, besides Pizza Day. Like, for example, becoming the family's Director of Dry Cleaning. As important as I know this must sound, it's actually a pain in the ass and I hate it, particularly because the nearest dry cleaner is a lunatic.

She has almost appeared in many a past post, but I ultimately always decided against it as the story was just to depressing to relate, or to relive. I won't go in to too much detail now but just so you have an idea, I sobbed once after leaving her establishment. The final straw, and also when I realized just how nuts she was, was the day she explained to me how peculiar Perth was (Mike was there at the time). Mostly, but not entirely, because of their abundance of serial killers. These multitudes of serial killers all go after white middle class female expats. She went into great detail about their various gory demises, information she was privy to because she happened to be close with a detective there. The detective relied on her brilliant powers of deduction to help solve cases. But not to worry, because when she corresponded with him she used an alias, in case the killers were able to hack into his computer system.

As I stood there willing Mike's clothe's hangers into my hands from hers, I don't know if I was more relived to realize she was nuts, or more worried that it it took me so long to figure it out.

But, finally, I had had enough, and being the Director, made an executive decision to venture farther afield and find a more sane person with which to give my husband's suits . As it turns out, Mr. Spotts not only happens to be a smidgen closer, he is also a smidgen saner. My first visit, however,  did not go smoothly, although this had nothing to do with him. I pulled up around the corner from the blinking GPS dot that has become my nearest and dearest, got out and opened the "boot" (which I do like more than "trunk") I'm standing there hauling out a week's worth of Mike's clothes when a women materialized on the side walk with outstretched arms saying "Here, let me help with all that luv!" Really, I just can't get over the friendliness of Australians! But I tell her no, it's all right, I can manage. She, however, being the friendly, helpful woman she was born to be, won't take no for an answer and wrests the cloths out of my arms and smiling broadly carries them into the thrift shop behind her. 

Awkward. 

I enter the shop and explain, in a way I hope she will find humorous, the misunderstanding. She does not. She looks disdainfully at the pile of clothes on the counter and tells me my husband won't miss these trousers. I know, though, that he will. Very much. I am more than a little uncomfortable, but then I remember who I am. I am the Director! and I march authoritatively up to counter, grab the clothes and run as fast as I can around the corner to the steamy shelter of Mr. Spotts. Who I immediately like better than Crazy Lady, even though I'll have to park a mile away every time I visit.

Mike is actually in town for two entire weeks now so I might deputize him as Assistant to the Director, with all the privileges and perks of course. He returned from Auckland the day before my mom & Dick departed. 

Their last day here Nola and I took them to The Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary. We hit all our favorite spots and then decided to see the Bird of Prey show - I actually wasn't that keen on attending but it turned out to be fabulous. I have never seen birds of prey up close like this before. I actually got wacked on the check by one as it flew to it's keeper. My cheek hurt for an hour afterwards and I was surprised it didn't leave a bruise. The audience also got to watch the birds (of prey, mind you) tear apart pieces of raw chicken and devour entire mice. I urge you to skip ahead and click on the link to my pictures to see how close we actually were to their talons and sharp beaks before reading this next part because then it will make much more sense. 

Back? O.K. So you can understand how after an hour of that, with one of them actually taking a sucker punch at me, I might have had a heightened state of bird fear. Definitely a good time to break for lunch. We got a table right beside a tree full of eucalyptus leaf eating Koalas and were congratulating ourselves on this remarkable dining experience when it happened. I was viciously attacked by a killer kookaburra. I saw it swooping in and before I could warn Dick to "DUCK!" it was on me, all over me in fact. I batted at it and jumped sideways, knocking over my chair in the process, landing on the ground minus a shoe and the french fry I had only seconds before held between my finger and thumb. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, laughed at me. Even those that hadn't seen the sideways leap but only heard my panicked series of shrieks. I was told there were three. I don't really remember.

Did these kinds of things happen to me in Seattle? They must have. It all must just seem extraordinary to me now because when things like this happen the people I would turn to for commiserating laughter are fast asleep. And when they are awake I am asleep. But, I am happy to report we are planning our first tip home! Mike has to be in Redmond the last week in June and the girls will be on Winter Break then, so we figure if we can't take a family vacation here like we had planned, we should take it in Seattle! Rosie and I are beside ourselves with excitement. Nola is just plain excited. 

I plan on spending one entire afternoon in the aisles of Met Market fondling food. No! I'm going to go there at midnight because I'll be up and they'll be open. God Bless America!

Things are sorting themselves out here though. I have made peace with most of the kitchen appliances, found a terrific babysitter, been invited out to tea, dinner, a birthday party and even the symphony, so the slow gradual slide from aquaintance to friend I think has begun with several interesting women.  A social life outside the school grounds may be in my future after all.

Tomorrow night Mike and I are going to a Junior School Parent Dinner. Rosie's school seems to enjoy throwing a party. The last one I attended was actually pretty fun. I didn't know what to expect but intrigue grew as I approached the venue and realized there was a band. Once inside I was greeted by an army of upper school students swirling around with endless trays of champagne and appetizers. It was a "get acquainted" start of school shindig and I didn't know a soul, Mike was traveling, and I wasn't wearing a shirt. Fortunately many other parents had opted to break with Women's Weekly and wear dresses too, so I felt like the evening might turn out OK. It did. Like everything in Australia seems to. Unless you live in Perth.

Here is the link to pictures:
https://picasaweb.google.com/103336932121670450817/KillerKookaburra?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCJS-_a6pxKDokAE&feat=directlink

Birthday Post

This week I had my first Aussie close encounter contact with a cockroach, a snake and fear itself. It all started on Monday when the house was inspected for termites. Because of the climate it seems houses need to be inspected every few hours. While the inspector was here I tried, as nonchalantly as an insect phobic person can, to inquire about the deadliness of the great big hairy spiders that laze about on their webs in my yard. "Oh, yeah no, those buggers are harmless mate! It's the ones that hide that you need to be careful about. No worries though, they won't kill you, they'll just make you feel like you want to die, ha! Ha ha!" 

Many people here have the perimeter of their houses and yards sprayed with some kind of magic insect/reptile/things that go bump in the night shield. I decided it was time to look into this and fired up Google and, unfortunately, my imagination. By the time my research was complete I realized I would need a budget of approximately $13,000 to keep my family safe. Once you get started there is no end. And I really don't see how I can par down the list. I mean, if I'm going to invest in the "Outdoor Exterminator Axe Elixir" (which, trust me, is a no brainer) then it seems only logical to also get "Snake Away" and "Die Vermin Filth". Why wouldn't you? The only thing I don't think we need is the "Animal Away". I'm not sure I need to go that far….not yet.

We've all heard about the deadly creatures in Australia. There are more things that can kill you here than anywhere else in the world. I'm sure you'll agree that all this could put one slightly on edge. It could even put someone, say me, over the edge. Particularly when the guy who mows the lawn can't stop reminding me to wear gloves and shoes every time I open the door, and to check first before opening the gate to make sure there aren't any nasty spiders lurking under the handle. "They like to hide under car door handles too" he told me, with not a little malice. Then it happened, I saw my first cockroach in the house. As if that's not bad enough it was in the kitchen under my foot. Then, later that same day, as I walked to the garage I saw a black snake slither down the path and into the scrubbery. I tell you this so you can understand my frame of mind as I drove home from the school meeting at Nola's Kindy tonight. I had a little conversation with myself that went something like this, "Ack! What was that? Something landed in my lap! Jesus, Mary and Joseph! It's crawling on me! Eyes on the road. I bet it already laid eggs in the backseat! Don't panic. I can feel it on my lap! Disgusting! It's going to bite me! It's probably going to kill me! Shitshitshitshitshit!" 

Shaking, heart thundering, I screech to a halt at the side of the road, leap out of the car and hear something hit the pavement. Every muscle in my body tenses as I realize just how narrow an escape I had from my hair clip. 

I hope by writing about this traumatic experience I will be able to put it behind me. But I know there are nightmares in store for me tonight.

Before this happened I was extremely happy. I recently celebrated my 42nd birthday and it was a doozy. It was the most exciting birthday I have had in at least a year. This past Friday, March 2nd, or as they say here in Australia, 2nd March, all the material possessions from our past life were delivered to our new house. We had been getting email updates as to the progress of the ship, customs, quarantine, etc. and the moving company projected a delivery date of 2nd March a few weeks ago. But it never occurred to me that it would actually happen on time. But it did! Right as I was leaving to take Rosie to school the trucks with our containers pulled up. Rosie saw them and immediately  developed an acute case of Being-Too-Sick-To-Go-To-School. I told her that since it was a special day I would pick her up early, right after Assembly (where she has to pretend to sing along to Advance Australia Fair, Australia's national anthem and perhaps the hardest song in the world to memorize).

As luck would have it, 2nd March also coincided with one of the only days Mike will be in Brisbane this month. While the movers did all the heavy lifting, they did require one thing of us. We had to stretch our brains super far and fast so that the grey matter would snap back leaving small welts on our foreheads. Let me explain. All our stuff - every book, spoon, towel, broken toy and pair of jeans that I wore in 1987 had been carefully packed, labeled and shipped. For insurance purposes the moving company had to know that it all arrived safe and sound. Here's where we come in. As the movers carried out each box from the two containers, they would shout out the box number to us (a number between 000 and infinity) we then had to correctly interpret the number they had just called out, flip through 89 pages of inventory, check off the box number and in a split second decide where that particular box should go, for example, "inthecrazywallpaperbedroom1stfloor!" before their arms gave out and they dropped the box on the pavement. And there were four of them so it was like clowns popping out of circus car. They just kept coming and coming. And this went on for hours. I thought I'd get faster as time went on but I didn't. I would look at these poor guys in the blazing hot sun with two hundred pounds of crap in their arms and think, Dear God! I'm killing them! All the while Nola is running madly around yelling things like, "My BIKE!" "My BED" "PLAY WITH ME!" Luckily Mike took over this job and spared me the misfortune of losing my sanity on my birthday.

Finally, despite me and Mike, the movers got everything inside, and the furniture unwrapped and reassembled. They left us with a house full of boxes and the worst BO smell high heat and heavy lifting can produce. Which let me tell you is bad. Really, just really nasty bad. 

Unpacking has been kind of fun. Especially for the girls. They are really good at taking things out of boxes, unwrapping them and then, and this is most helpful, scattering what they find wherever it happens to drop as they run from room to room. My mom and her husband have been a tremendous help. Dick has been a real trooper, breaking down boxes and organizing the never ending stream of packing material we throw at him. And my mom knows just where everything should go and puts it there. She transformed the girls room from an upside down inside out ferris wheel ride to a lovely pink and yellow paradise. Thanks yous twos!

Mike left again on 3rd March, with instructions not to unpack his 500 boxes of books which, while I'm pleased I married a reader, left me with the Great Wall of China between my bladder and the bathroom. Not super convenient. If you are reading this now Mike I am sorry but we brought down the wall. Let freedom ring.

I think, so far, the greatest treasures I have unpacked are the paintings Mike's mom, Kathryn, did of Max and a complete surprise….an empty, but very used, Cilantro Lime Shrimp container from Costco that for some reason was deemed necessary by the movers to pack. I don't know how this nugget of nefariousness slipped through quarantine and Nola's Easter basket was denied entry, but it is not my place to question. Only to unpack. 

I remember as we were preparing to leave Seattle l was moved and inspired by all those books about people simplifying their lives. The woman who didn't buy anything for a year, the couple who stopped buying anything made in China, the family who gave away all their possessions - so inspiring - but I have to say now that I looove my pillow and am so deliriously happy to be reunited with my bed. I enjoy drinking coffee out of my really big heavy mug, and I'm sorry, but I actually don't think it's possible to have too many shoes or fluffy soft towels. Yes, possessions can become burdensome, and perhaps we rely too heavily on them, but they can be very comforting too. Especially when you have been drinking coffee out of styrofoam and your kids have been playing with nothing but matches for two months. What a treat to have all my old stuff made new again, and on my birthday to boot. 

Australians end the Happy Birthday song by shouting Hip Hip Hooray! Which, no surprise, is really fun. When Rosie turned six her classmates shouted it 6 times. For me, in order to keep it fun, we decided to just shout it once. Since all the rental stuff had been collected but our kitchen boxes were still taped shut in the kitchen, except for the ones that somehow ended up in thecrazywallpaperbedroom1stfloor! we decided it best to go out for my birthday dinner. Even though Nola had only that day been reunited with her full wardrobe, she knew without hesitation what she wanted to wear - her mermaid costume from halloween, a pair of flip flops, and a pink cowboy hat. We celebrated at the 100 Acre Bar, but told the girls it was the 100 Acre Wood, and they kept busy most of the evening by keeping their eyes open for Christopher Robin. It was a great day, and a great night. Hip! Hip! Hooray!

You can check out Nola's outfit here:

https://picasaweb.google.com/103336932121670450817/BirthdayPost?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCI2GwZyqs4qF1gE&feat=directlink