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

Trailing Spouse

I fear I have become a trailing spouse cliche. Last week I attended my first Relocation Luncheon at a golf club with a group of expat wives, joined the Australian American Association, the Newcomers Network, The Newcomers Club, the Ionian 91 Club of Queensland, three committees at Rosie's school, volunteered to be the room parent, joined the board of Nola's Kindy and joined a health club. If the mountain won't come to Muhammad…..

I was super skeptical driving into the health club's parking lot, one, because you can only join so many things in a week, and two, my mom found it on line before she got here. But as soon as my foot landed inside the air-conditioned lobby I knew I was going to sign up. Have you ever heard of a family run health club? I hadn't. They opened it 30 years ago and still live upstairs. Upstairs! They have free child-minding in a glorious sunlight filled space that opens onto a grassy lawn where bubble wands lay scattered like easter eggs. Of course, I do have to wait until my tennis shoes arrive on the container ship before I can really hit it - there is just no way I am going to the mall to buy another pair. By the way, someone finally told me, it's not a mall, its a Shopping Centre. I stand corrected, but still not convinced.

The expat luncheon was an eye opener. These ladies are the real deal. I am merely a pretender. Collectively the 7 of them have lived in each country on the planet with a border. The woman sitting on my left cooked every meal for her family, including birthday cakes, out of a BarBQ the entire 5 years they lived in St. Petersburg (not to stereotype but, she is Australian). The woman on my right got into a crazy heated debate with the woman across from her about the best place to buy tea in Dubai. I didn't say much during lunch, deciding it best to keep a low profile and see if I could pick up any tips.

Which I did, but I don't honestly think I can execute any of them. The women who have most recently lived in Asia were all adamant I take up golf, every day all day and with a head lamp at night, provided there is a caddy. I also was instructed to start hosting large teas. It does not matter that I don't know anybody. The woman who arrived here via India told me she hosted an afternoon tea for 20 only five days after she deplaned. My hat was instantly off to her, but wondered if she invited random people off the streets? I bravely contemplated doing just that, but then, with relief remembered I only have 4 utensils, so it just wouldn't work. All in all it was a delightful lunch and I am looking forward to next month's meeting. You can't go wrong with a group of well traveled and interesting women gathered around several buckets of champagne.  

This past weekend, in our never ending quest to replace electrical appliances we became the deliriously happy owners of a washer and dryer. I must admit though, I had started to enjoy putting clothes out on the line. Which was fortunate since our rental dryer didn't work. And neither did the one it replaced. Clothes actually dry faster outside here in the heat of the day than they would in a properly functioning dryer anyway. The only thing is, you have to remember to bring them in before it rains. Which is hard because the downpours sneak up on you. It will be hot as hades all day, I'm talking 95 degrees with 82% humidity, then with out warning a monsoon will hit. Drenching all your sun dried clothes instantaneously. Had I a working dryer, I would have shoved them into it and pressed "start" and that would have been that.  As this was not an option I left the clothes out on the line to dry again. But then the cycle would repeat itself. After a few days of this I considered bringing them in to dry somewhere in the house, but good sense prevailed. I have learned something vital about vomit avoidal in a hot climate - and that is to never leave anything wet inside. If there is something wet in the house run, do not walk, run, as if your life depended on it, and find a way to dry it. If you have been quick enough it won't smell like you are hiding a trio of dead bodies in the closet. 

So when Mike returned from his latest trip he came home to a house that didn't smell like a graveyard, and a lot of clean, but wet clothes. He wasn't too keen on drying his boxer shorts with my hairdryer, even though I knew from experience it worked quite well.

There is a large appliance store at the shopping centre. So off we set. Parking level pink. After circumnavigating the shopping centre on a series of travelators, stopping once for coffee, then again to consult the map, then once more for water, we finally landed at the store entrance. Where we found it closed. There was a sign posted reading, "Harvey Normans has relocated to Wooloogaba in preparation for the Indooroopilly Shopping Centre Expansion". Expansion? Unless someone has invented time travel expanding this mall, sorry, Shopping Centre, seems like a bad idea. But indeed Brisbane is about to embark on a 500 million dollar expansion of the Indooroopilly Shopping Centre. Incredible. I suppose we can look forward to water slides.

We left and drove 20 minutes out of town to another Harvey Normans where we bought telephones, a blender and the washer and dryer. We would have also bought a vacuum, toaster and several lamps but they wouldn't fit in the car. The salesman repeatedly told us if we could wait a day, just one day, the washer and dryer would be delivered. We could not, however, wait one more bloody day. We drove to the warehouse, crammed the set into the car, sped home and somehow pushed/dragged/carried the washer and the dryer from the garage into the laundry room and promptly started drying underwear.

I have been doing my food shopping of late at neither a mall nor a centre, but at the Kenmore Shopping Village. It's where the girls take ballet and I decided to "give it a go". It reminds me of a miniature Pike Place Market, but inside with air-conditioning and no pigs. There is a wonderful fruit and veggie stand that sells terrific produce. Across from that is an Italian market where I bought some caramelized balsamic vinegar that my mom and I have been drinking straight from the bottle. Best of all there are no travelators or multi level parking garages. 

I also found the best cake shop in the entire world. If you come to visit I will get a cake from Kenmore Cakes just for you, and the 14+ hour flight will have been worth it. Rosie's birthday was on the 13th and she told me she wanted a round vanilla cake with pink frosting and rainbow butterflies. If you recall my kitchen trials, you will understand the fear in my heart when I thought about baking this cake.  Fortunately a friendly local told me about Kenmore Cakes and I rushed there to place my order. But Paul, the proprietor shook his head when I told him I needed a cake in three days. He needed at least a week's lead time. Swallowing my disappointment I ordered a meat pie for Nola and we sat down to regroup. It was a small shop, and Nola is awfully charming, and we got to talking with Paul. Turns out he and his wife relocated to Brisbane from London, 35 years ago when their two daughters were exactly Nola's and Rosie's age now. I can't say if it was this shared coincidence, Nola's enthusiasm for his meat pie, or my pathetic desperation, but before we left Paul said he would make Rosie's birthday cake.  "But it will have to be simple!" he told us. When we returned three days later we found a lovely (but simple!) round vanilla cake with pink frosting, and the most delicate rainbow butterflies found this side of fairy land. So while it's true I became a loyal customer even before eating one bite of cake, I cannot impress upon you how good it was. 

We explored more of South Bank this week by hopping on the train Sunday with the girls to check out the Gallery of Modern Art (GoMA). The train is great. It's super efficient, convenient and has all the requisite sleek subway tiles and groovy underground tunnels to make pretending you are in London quite easy. If you felt like doing that. And let's face it, coming from Seattle, Brisbane's public transportation feels mind blowingly wonderful. The only drawback for Nola is that she is too young for a ticket, which was terribly upsetting. Classic age discrimination. This was the first time we visited South Bank without going swimming. I think the girls just didn't realize we were there since we took the train instead of the City Cat. GoMA is part of The Queensland Cultural Centre, which consists of The Queensland Performing Arts Centre, the Queensland Museum and the State Library of Queensland. Before we left Seattle, Nola's teacher (we miss you Jane!) told us about a cool children's exhibit at GoMA and I realized we had exactly one week left to check out "The Obliteration Room".

"The obliteration room invites visitors to obliterate the completely white surfaces of a life sized Australian living room, re-created within the Gallery, with coloured adhesive dots. For 40 years, Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama has made paintings, sculptures and photographs using dots to cover surfaces and fill rooms. Kusama calls this process 'obliteration', which means the complete destruction of every trace of something." (like what Brisbane has done to bagels. Sorry to digress, but I can't understand how the fastest growing city (and 3rd largest) in Australia, with a population of 1.5 million has no bagels.)

There was a large picture of the artist outside the The Obliteration Room in which her hair is bright orange. Next to this picture museum staff hand out stickers. Rosie and Nola stared at the picture of Kusama with squinting eyes, furrowed brows and gaping mouths, then demanded orange stickers and were off and running. We had to Obliterate again after lunch. 

The other children's exhibit currently on was something called "We Miss You Magic Land", by two Australian artists, Pip & Pop, (who are from Perth, where Mike saw a pink limo hummer, which makes sense if you saw the exhibit).

"Drawing on children's fairy tales from all over the world, creation myths, Buddhist cosmologies and video games, Pip & Pop create magical lands coloured with a bright, often fluorescent palette. The finished result is a series of delightful magical worlds where make-believe becomes a part of reality." 

You can check out my pictures of this and imagine going through with two little girls. There were several instances when I feared their enthusiasm might be life threatening.

So we go, "good 'on ya!" here in Brisbane. Waiting patiently for our container to arrive. Staying alternately covered in sunblock or an umbrella, but open to all friendly overtures.

There's pictures here:  https://picasaweb.google.com/103336932121670450817/TrailingSpouse?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCPrwvqfov5vEjgE&feat=directlink