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