11 ... 12

As 2011 draws to a close, I, like the rest of the world, find myself looking back on the year.

This year brought with it one of the hardest and most rewarding things I have ever done in my life.  I packed up my memories and my treasures, said a prayer over them, and entrusted them to international movers.  I got on a plane on a chilly New Orleans morning and woke up three days later in the heat of summer Melbourne.  With six suitcases and a package of kitchen essentials waiting, I rode home to my new life with my dearest.

After recovering from jet-lag, I began that life by buying a new bed.  Every night since, I have fallen asleep on that new bed.  It squeaks and creaks like my bed at home -- I can never not think of the seafoam green room of my childhood as home -- it has posts I can hold tight just like my bed at home; the quilt that was on my bed at home fits this new bed, and I can fall asleep under familiar warm cover.

Each morning when I wake up, the morning sun is streaming in my window and birds are chirping.  The sun is the same, the birds are different.  I am still getting used to the birds.  Kookaburras sound like howler monkeys, ibis sound like chickens, and cockatoos sound like car engines -- they are all a far cry from the pigeons, woodpeckers, and mocking birds I am used to.

One thing most people miss when they consider moving internationally is that it is not an extended vacation, it is actually real life.  There are frustrations, the same as there are in the US.  I deal with stupid people on the streets, only they are driving on the other side.  I still wonder why it takes dearest so very long to make a right turn.  I fight with grocery check-out clerks not to squish my produce by dropping a bag of sugar on it, only that produce has names like capsicums and paw-paw and the sugar is in kilogram bags.  I have to figure out to how to make dinner on a gas stove that has a Centigrade thermostat.  I have translate grams of butter to cups and tablespoons.  It's not a vacation.  And contrary to most people's thought, I am not just "this close" to all of Australia.  It's still a continent away to visit Perth, and half a continent to Sydney or Ayers Rock.  Travel is not easier or cheaper here.

But even with the struggle to make this foreign land my home, I would not trade the experience for anything.  And I would not give it up.  I love this new place, and I love my dearest.  I love driving past the inlet at Kilcunda, looking over to a view of the (controversial) desalitnation plant and the (view-spoiling) windmills, and knowing that I am almost home.  I love turning up the street and seeing my house peeking out at the top of the hill.

There are countless things I miss about New Orleans, and more that I always will miss, but I am happy in my new home.

Happy New Year World.

Best Wishes for a Peaceful and Prosperous 2012.

2011 Summer Book Challenge -- Complete!

Another Reading Challenge Done.  It took a while to finish the books, mainly because three weeks before the challenge was scheduled to finish, I began a full time job, which ended only 91 days after it began.  But in those 91 days, my reading time was seriously limited, and I was struggling to complete the last 4 books.  But with free time again, I was able to finish those last few books and I can put a check in the column of this challenge.  I am not sure I'll do another one, as I have had such trouble finishing the two I attempted.  I have enjoyed reading books I would not have done otherwise, but we shall see what new challenges have to offer.  

In case you were wondering, the best book of the bunch is a tie between The School of Essential Ingredients and A Prayer for Owen Meany, both were the kind of book that grab you and then stay with you long after you have returned them to the shelves.  Conversely, Fools Rush In and The United States of Arugula are books I never have to pick up again.  They are the kind of books that when you turn the last page, you wonder how on earth you can get back the time it took to read them.

Another season and another reading challenge.  This one is shorter, only five tasks per point category.  I am not sure I will finish this, but I will give it my best try. And if nothing else, I will had read books I might not have picked up otherwise.

Stay tuned for my progress.

July 1 - September 30, 2011

Points total: _275_/275

5 point tasks (_25_/25 points)

• read a mystery -- The Cat Who Could Read Backwards (7/17-7/22)
• read a book chosen based on its cover -- The School of Essential Ingredients (7/22-7/25)
• read a young adult book -- Anne of the Island (8/11-8/12)
• read a book with a cover that’s a hot color:  red, orange, yellow -- The Red Shoes (7/1-7/5)
• read a book you read about in a book blog -- The Woman in White (7/13-8/10)

10 point tasks (_50_/50 points)

• read a book with a number in its title -- Nine Lives to Murder (8/16-8/19)
• read an historical fiction novel -- The Romanov Bride (9/7-9/8)
• read a book from a summer reading list -- Through the Looking Glass (8/15-8/17)
• read a banned book (banned book week is September 24 - October 1) -- The Awakening and Selected Short Stories (8/10-8/14)
• read a book that is part of a series -- Fools Rush In (7/26-8/1)

15 point tasks (_75_/75 points)

• read the July, August, or September book club selection and participate in its discussion -- Revolution (7/5-7/7)
• read a non-fiction history book -- The Northern Lights (8/6-8/15)
• read a book by a Canadian author -- Anne of Avonlea# (7/5-7/10)
• read a book not originally published in English -- Special Assignments (9/8-10/14)
• read a book you’ve owned/had on your to be read list for over a year -- The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (9/7-12/12)

25 point tasks (_125_/125 points)

• read a non-fiction book from the New York Times Notable list from 2009, 2008, 2007, or 2006 -- The United States of Arugula (7/7-7/17)
• read a book from Rory Gilmore's Book Club -- The Picture of Dorian Gray (8/24-9/5)
• read a Harry Potter book or a book with a magic word in the title -- This Rough Magic (9/12-12/29)
• read a book that was a bestseller the year you were born -- The Hollow Hills (7/3-7/4)
• read a book chosen by your significant other/close friend -- A Prayer for Owen Meany (8/19-12/20)

Weekly Menu Plan

December 25 through December 31

Sunday:
Christmas Dinner at Streets

Monday:
Angel Hair Pasta with Creamy Parmesan Sauce
Green Salad
Parmesan Pita Crisps

Tuesday:
Apricot Glazed Chicken Breasts
Baked Sweet Potatoes

Wednesday:
Creole Rarebit over toasted English Muffins
Mixed Berry Knox Blox

Thursday:
Butter Baked Chicken
Cornbread Dressing
Steamed Vegetables

Friday:
Pancakes
Fresh Fruit Salad

Saturday:
Out for New Year's Eve

Happy Christmas

It's Christmas Day here in Australia.  Santa has come to my house.  There are presents wrapped under the tree and bulging stockings carefully placed on the table (they are too heavy now to be hung).  But I won't go peeking or shaking until later today, when we head over to my in-laws for Christmas dinner.

So right now I am contenting myself with tracking Santa at the NORAD Tracks Santa website.  Last year, I tracked Santa from New Orleans, towards the tail end of his journey.  This year, I was awake and available to track him from the beginning of his journey.

I was a little naughty this year, and stayed up to track Santa on his journey through Australia.  I was rewarded though, because Santa-Cam caught video of Santa in Melbourne, flying over the Bolte Bridge.  I had just been over the Bolte Bridge on my drive-about (more on that later) this week.  It was fun to see Santa in places I know.

Every time I click through to the NORAD Tracks Santa web-site, (after I play a game of Light-Up Christmas Tree) it amazes me that the government agency puts such time and effort into tracking Santa -- from answering old school phone calls, to processing and uploading Santa-Cam videos to YouTube, it's such a co-ordinated effort.  It really amazes me that so many people put so much effort into keeping the spirit of the season alive.  There is holiday magic out there and the NORAD Tracks Santa team is making it.

Merry Christmas to All.

Everything's Coming Up Roses

Early in fall, way back in March or April, dearest and I went for a drive to see what we could find.  We ended up passing through a little community, with an absolutely wonderful fresh produce market.  I found (and indulged in) the last of the season's heirloom tomatoes while we were there -- I felt obligated to buy something, as the nice lady kept the shop open for us to have a look around as we were very late in arriving.  We also took a wander through a General Store/restaurant -- and bought some assorted fudge cubes and some really good sweet onion chili marmalade.

On our way to work one day towards the end of October, we noticed a sign for a farmer's market in the same little community.  So we made plans to attend.  It was the first weekend in November, and we had a lovely Saturday mid-day adventure there.  The farmer's market was interesting -- I found some really nice vegetarian Worcestershire sauce made from apple cider, a bar of unscented goat's milk shampoo (anyone who knows me, knows I am all over artisan soaps and shampoo bars), and dearest found some seasonal beer.  We also tried some local wine -- it seems one of the benefits of living in southern Australia is that you are never more than a ten minute drive from a winery.  We tasted the local red wine.  It was much drier than I prefer, but I think dearest may have liked it.

After the wander through the stalls, we headed to the produce market, but found nothing that captured my produce fancy -- though we did see maroon carrots.  I had read about maroon carrots years ago when Texas A&M had developed them.  I thought it was a strange concept then, and seeing them live and in person did not change my mind one bit.  Think of a cross between beets and carrots and you'll have the image just about right.  I do not like beets and the maroon carrots look too much like beets for my comfort zone.  I am all for hybrids and I have nothing against genetic engineering, but maroon carrots seem to be something done because the researchers could, not because there was an actual need for them.

Freaked out by the carrots, we moved on to the General Store/restaurant, as we were getting peckish and in the mood for something nibble-able.  Nothing in the store appealed to our nibble tastes right then, though we did indulge in some herb and tomato flatbread and candy for later.

Exiting the store, we wandered towards the front of the building and found that someone somewhere had put in an order for roses, and Mother Nature delivered in a big way.  The front garden of the General Store/restaurant was a riot of colorful roses, of all varieties.  There were hybrid tea roses, classic old roses, single and double roses, big fat, full of petals Bourbon roses, and climbing roses.  I did not see green roses or Chestnut roses, but I did see tiny Picayune-style roses.

While dearest was having a grand time checking out features and apps on his brand new iPad, I wandered happily with my camera and snapped some pictures of the roses.  The only ones I failed to get decent shots of were the purple roses -- a deep rich mauve rose climbing up a white wall.  I am very sorry I could not get a good picture of those.

After dearest checked out a 360-degree photo app, we focused on finding some nibbles as we were both getting quite hungry.  We crossed the street to find another restaurant that was featuring fresh, house-made crumpets with house-made lemon butter.  That settled it.  We had found our nibbles.  We each ordered the fresh crumpets, I had mine with lemon butter, while dearest had just sweet cream butter and we indulged in some local sodas -- dearest had a simple cola while I had a pink grapefruit one.  We considered sitting in the tiny dining room and watching our crumpets being prepared, but it was such a lovely spring day that we decided to head out to the veranda and enjoy our treats outside in the fresh breeze.  Dearest let me pick the table, so I did.  There were four open tables, two in full sun which I discarded for that reason and two more in the shade.  The decision was made for me when I noticed the ladybug crawling around the sugar bowl.  That was the table for us.  I managed to snap a photo of the deciding ladybug before my memory card beeped "full" and my batteries died.

Our nibbles of fresh crumpets were just what we wanted, and we lingered a bit longer than necessary enjoying them.  After making sure we left no crumpet crumbs, finishing the last drops of the sodas, and, at least on my part, licking out the last possible bit of lemon butter, we wandered back to the car, stopping in a spa which seemed to have some handmade soaps and bath products.  There were some lovely things in the shop, but I knew I had a cupboard full of soaps, bubble baths, and lotions at home, as well as the shampoo bar I had bought earlier in the day, so I left without purchasing anything, but the knowledge that I would most certainly be back to check them out and be tempted again.

It was a very nice day out, a day I could do again and again -- but then any day that includes fresh crumpets and house-made lemon butter is certainly worth reliving.  I can still taste the crisp sweetness of the crumpets, and the rich, creamy tang of the lemon butter... mmmmmmmm.  It was a moment of culinary bliss...

Wandering Lost

So, Monday morning I cheerfully headed off to work...there was stuff to be done and I was looking forward to doing it.  I had to mail my Christmas cards, and planned on doing that during one of my trips to the post office during the day.  And I was excited, because on our Christmas shopping adventure over the weekend, I had bought (on sale, with an additional 30% off!) a new mouse for my computer.  Much to the despair of anyone else who has to use my computer, I use my mouse left-handed -- not only is the mouse in my left hand, but I switch the main buttons so that I click with my left index finger, and "right click" with my left middle finger.  This makes much more sense to my strangely wired brain than using the mouse in my right hand does.  And since the office provided with me with a right-handed ergonomic mouse, I had been uncomfortable whenever I had to use the mouse.  But I had found a perfect mouse for me -- small and comfortable in my hand and wireless, meaning no pesky mouse-tail cord trailing behind my desk or getting caught and/or tugged as I positioned the mouse for optimum use.  I happily plugged in the USB receiver and went on about my Monday work.  

After handling a demanding client, I tripped off on my morning visit to the post office and the overnight delivery box, then to the grocery where I picked up a quart of milk for the office and was back to open and sort the mail.  After that, there was a stack of files to dive into -- eight or nine letters to be typed up and sent out, and the files organized and straightened up.  By the time I had the letters done, it was lunch time.  While I read a bit of A Prayer for Owen Meany, I had a simple lunch of ramen noodle soup, cruskits, and homemade oatmeal-raisin scones, washed down with a bottle of homemade iced tea.  (Aside:  For reasons beyond my understanding, the Australians, who drink more tea than anyone but the Irish, have not embraced iced tea as the perfect year-round beverage it is.  I have made it my task to introduce as many Aussies to the wonders of fresh-brewed iced tea as possible in the hopes of converting the nation -- or at least being able to get a glass of iced tea in a restaurant without paying $5.00 for the privilege!)  Lunch over, I got back to work, figuring out some accounts and finalizing the letters to be mailed out.  By that time, it was time to head off to the bank for the daily deposit and then, after answering a few phone calls and taking a few messages, it was time for the afternoon post office run.  In the weeks since I started, I had gotten to be friendly acquaintances with the people at the post office, and I enjoyed my work-day visits with them, especially since they had taken such a keen interest in some of my personal packages to be mailed out.  One clerk was very nervous when I mailed back my absentee ballot for the Louisiana gubernatorial election.  She was very relieved when I told her that the ballot made it just in time to be counted.  It was a friendly post office, and I am sure the inefficiency of the mail as not the fault of the employees of the office.  My walk back from the post office was to the last chapters of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (I discovered over the winter LibriVox and had been listening to the podcast recordings of classics as I walked around town).  Back at the office, I finished up my work for the day, preparing a few things for the next day and then got ready to go home.  It was Monday and dearest is always a bit late picking me up on Mondays, so I knew I had a bit of time to wait.

That was when my boss called me in his office.  I guess I should have guessed something was up the way that the other girls in the office left quickly and earlier than usual, but I was in my own little world, thinking about the stuff I needed to do the next day and the dinner I had planned for that night (Salisbury steaks with gravy over noodles and sunshine carrots with fresh from the garden baby carrots from dearest's uncle's garden).  I suspected nothing, so it came as quite a shock when my boss told me that he appreciated my work and told me he needed me to go out and finish up.  I thanked him for the opportunity and went back out to my desk, where I switched the mouse back to a right-handed mouse, shut down the computer and packed up the few personal items I had at the office, first and foremost my new mouse.  I left the key to the front door with a calculation of my final paycheck hours and headed out to a bench to wait for dearest.  There was no reason to stay in the office any longer than necessary.

When dearest arrived to pick me up about ten minutes later, I told him the news and we headed home.  At home, I prepared the meal I had been thinking about all day and enjoyed it.   Then I sat down to decide what to do next.  And that's where I got stuck, and where I have been stuck since Monday evening -- what to do next.  I am not sure what I will do, but as soon as I figure it out, I'll let you all know.  In the meantime, there is a backlog of posts that need to be made, so stay tuned for some fun stuff.

Ohh, and while I am thinking about it ...

Roll Tide!!!

Happy Holidays

The Christmas Season is upon us.  My Christmas Tree (first one in 20 years!!) is up and decorated; my jingle bell wreath is cheering my front window (it's a bit too noisy to hang on the front door, and I think all the bells may prove too tempting shelter for spiders); a season's worth of Christmas cookies are stashed in my pantry; my stockings are hung on the bookshelf with care; and seasonal cds are in the stereo (The Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Bing Crosby, Rockapella, and Mannheim Steamroller).  Yes, indeed, my house is ready for the festive season.

The stores and shops are decked to the absolute limits of their halls.  There is an overload of Santas.  Bells jingle jangle everywhere.   Balls of bright blue and green, glittery bows of pink and purple, silver bells and golden birds, sparkly ballerinas, chic shoes, and miles upon kilometers of tinsel in a variety of metallic colors are gaily festooned upon Christmas trees in a rainbow of colors.  It's a festival of secular holiday excitement.

Here in my new home, I am having the hardest time finding religious items for the season.  Save  the one on the altar at the Catholic Church, I have not seen one Advent Wreath.  People even look at me as though I'm crazy when I ask about them.  I have not found the traditional pink and purple taper candles on store shelves.  The one nativity scene I have found featured the characters in the form of koalas.  Call me crazy, but I am sure there is something disrespectful and sacrilegious about a koala nativity scene.  I have seen very few of the religious Christmas items I am used to seeing all over, even in public locations, at this time of year.

Stranger still, to my jaded holiday eyes, it's not only Christian religious holiday items that are missing.  I have not seen one single menorah, no dreidels, no bags of gelt.  The holiday season here seems to be truly secular.  I miss the multi-cultural aspects of the winter season.  My hometown has always been multi-cultural with equal opportunity holiday festivities -- from the Catholic traditions that run deep, to the Menorahs, St. Lucia Day processions, Greek and Russian Orthodox festivals, even Winter Solstice celebrations.  Even the traditional Southern community, deep in the heart of the protestant Bible belt, in which I went to college celebrated the festive season with a Holiday Concert titled Love Feast.  While it sounds like the end of a day of Hippie protests, it was actually a musical celebration of the season featuring music from Hanukkah celebrations to Epiphany, from Orthodox religious chants to secular winter music.

More and more I realize how blessed I was growing up in such a multi-cultural area.  I miss sharing in not only my own cultural traditions, but those of other cultures as well.  To me, nothing embodies the spirit of the holiday season -- peace on earth and goodwill toward men -- as much as welcoming and participating in all culture's holiday traditions.  I miss that opportunity.

The Cup (Day) Runneth Over

Today was Melbourne Cup Day in my new home.  It's kind of a cross between Kentucky Derby Day and Mardi Gras, in that it's a holiday for a horse race, and on a Tuesday.  I had the day off from work -- the first paid holiday since I started my new job nearly two months ago.  Do you ever have that feeling when you have a weekday off that you really should be at work and that you have the days mixed up and everyone else will be laughing at you...?  It was that kind of morning for me.

Having gotten over the panic of mixed-up days, I settled into a day off.  I did some organizational housework I had been putting off -- balancing my checkbook, working out the budget for the current month, planning the menu for Thanksgiving dinner, and cataloguing my new book purchases (since arriving here in January, I have bought a shelf's worth of books, but more on that later).  Those tasks kept me busy until dearest woke up and we changed the sheets and remade the bed.  After that, dearest made breakfast for us and we worked out a plan for the rest of our day.

We headed out to my in-laws house to get their picks for the race, before heading over to the OTB to place the bets.  Funny story of the day:  I carefully studied the field report in the Sunday paper and picked my choices.  I was going to put a win and a place bet on three horses:  (1) Americain, (8) Fox Hunt, and (21) The Verminator.  I wrote my picks down on a piece of paper and took them with me to the OTB, where I filled in the bet card based on the numbers I had written down.

We made a stop on the way home from the OTB to get some groceries I needed for dinner, when I got together and in my crock pot as soon as we got back.  Dearest wanted to make some beer bread to go with the Spicy Cheese Chili I had planned, and he did that while watching Parliament Question Time, before switching over to the race.  I finished organizing my newly catalogued book purchases, looking up and paying attention only when the call of "riders up" was heard on the coverage.  I saw them putting the horses into the starting gates and then watched the race, with rapt attention.

It was an average race, with all the horses in a big clump until about 400m from the finish.  The racetrack is not the oval with which I am familiar, it's actually more of an avocado shape, with one fat rounded end and a narrow one.  I am used to watching Triple Crown coverage and expected that kind of event.  I was a bit disappointed in that regard.  The end was especially exciting -- a photo finish for the first and second horses and another photo finish for the third and fourth horses.  Of those four horses, I was really only concerned with (1) Americain as that was the only horse I had money on.  When it appeared that my pick as out of the money, I was gathering up the ticket slips when I noticed mine had a (3) on it, not the (8) I intended to place the bet on.  I found the paper I had written my picks on and sure enough, I had written (3) Fox Hunt, rather than (8) Fox Hunt.  As the bets are placed using the horses' numbers not names, I went with the (3) I had written and had not questioned it.  I looked over the tickets and made sure I was not crazy and told Dearest what had happened.  He called "Foul" on my winning bet, but laughed about it with me.  When we told my in-laws about my bet, my mother-in-law congratulated me on my ineptitude.

Racing Form for (1) Americain

Racing Form for (8) Fox Hunt

 Racing Form for (21) The Verminator

Racing Form for (3) Dunaden

Handwritten list of picks to take to OTB

Winning Ticket

After the race, I checked on dinner and began to prepare the shortcakes for dessert.  Those baked, I futzed around on the internet until it was time for Jeopardy! (which only recently started to be broadcast here) and then it was dinner.

After doing the dishes, it was time for a shower and relaxing and tonight, that meant a few episodes of Hogan's Heroes.  Dearest has his silly and I have mine, and there is almost nothing better for a quick dose of silly than Hogan's Heroes.

Two days later, we made it back to the OTB to collect my winnings.  I spent $6.00 on all of my bets -- $1 on a win bet and $1 on a place bet for each of three horses.  I won $11.30.  That works out to be 188.33% return on my investment.  I didn't complain a bit.

Nit(tany Lion)-Picking

Fair Warning:  I will be delving into controversy in this post, and my position is more than likely not yours.  I'm not asking that you, as the reader, agree with my position, only that you respect it.

I have been following the Penn State/Joe Paterno situation since it broke last week.

I have read the Grand Jury's Findings of Fact with regard to Victim #2.  I have read articles and I have read tweets and I have reactions by the general public.  I have read people who insist that Joe Paterno could have done more.  I am in no way sanctioning or condoning child abuse of any kind.  What I do not understand is the public's eagerness to declare Joe Paterno guilty of condoning child abuse.

The facts, as reported by the Grand Jury, are that the graduate student saw what he considered a disturbing sexual act between former defensive coordiantor Jerry Sandusky and a child.  He immediately left the area and called his father, who told his son to report the incident to Joe Paterno.  The graduate student did so, by going to Paterno's house the next day.  Paterno listened to the graduate student's report and, in turn, passed on the suspicions to University officials.  This is the story as reported in the Grand Jury's Findings of Fact.  No one is disputing the facts as they are laid out.

Joe Paterno has not been indicted (to date) and is under no investigation.  He did what he could do at the time.  It's lovely to say, now, with the privilege of hindsight, that he should have done more, that he should have followed up with the University officials, or even gone to the police himself.  Of course, at the time, he had the report of an upset, but not upset enough to call the police, graduate student.  It is impossible to use knowledge held today to shape decisions made nine years ago.  If we all had nine year's future knowledge when we made decisions, what a better world it would be.  Under the law, Joe Paterno has done nothing wrong.  He was not in a position of mandatory reporting and he turned the matter over to the proper officials at the time.  The fact that the officials took it no further is not Joe Paterno's fault.

Think about it:  
Say you saw a former co-worker driving erratically down the highway, enough to disturb you, but not enough to cause you to call the police yourself.  Instead, you tell you boss the next day, after which your boss told the building security and building management.  They take the report of erratic driving to no higher authorities, and do nothing other than ban the driver from the building parking lot.  Now, nine years later, because that former co-worker has a history of driving erratically and has caused 8 accidents, someone complains that your boss should have done more.  Your boss should have manoeuvred his car to prevent the erratic driver from going further, even though he was never on the road with him.  They say your boss should have called the police for them to stop the erratic driving.  What more could your boss have done with the knowledge he had nine years ago?

What more does the public want Joe Paterno to have done?  Not what he could have done today, knowing what we know as a result of the Grand Jury's Findings of Fact, but what he could have done nine years ago, knowing what he knew then; remembering that by the time he found out about the alleged abuse, it was two days later.

Joe Paterno has done nothing wrong.

I have no connection to Penn State.  I neither cheer nor despise the Nittany Lions.  No one in my family is a graduate of Penn State.  I know no one who has ever attended the university.  The only times I have been anywhere near State College, Pennsylvania, I was on a layover flying through Pittsburgh.

My issue with this situation is that an innocent man is being tried in the Court of Public Opinion, not with facts, but with half-truths and outright lies.  It is an emotional situation, but at the same time, people are letting their emotions cloud the issue.  I am as guilty as anyone of getting emotional and incensed by the situation.  But the facts are that Joe Paterno has done nothing wrong.

Let's stop giving into the hysteria and step back a minute to determine the facts.  Child molestation is wrong.  We can all agree on that.  Joe Paterno is not accused of child molestation.  He is not accused of anything!  Working with a person who turns out, nine years after his working relationship with you ends, to be a child molester is not a crime.  Neither is not knowing he was a child molester at the time he worked with you.

Missing the Heart Ache

It's been a hard week for me this week.  I've been very homesick -- not so much missing my family or things, but missing the rich traditions that have become parts of everyday life in my hometown.

This week was a particularly special week at home -- the city was mourning the long-time archbishop.  It was the city's tribute to a man who changed the way the city thinks about things.  He was a powerful force and Catholics and non-Catholics alike mourned his passing.

I often tell my dearest that in New Orleans, you are Catholic by default, as the celebrations of Holy Days, Feast Days, and church seasons have woven themselves into the secular life of the city.  As a Catholic, you never have to worry about finding non-meat dishes during Lent in New Orleans -- every restaurant in the city, from fast food to posh gourmet, runs special "Lenten Menus."  All Saints Day is a public holiday, and even non-Catholics can be seen at the cemeteries white-washing the graves.  St. Patrick's and St. Joseph's feast days are celebrations not only for the Irish and Italian Catholics, but for the entire city.

It may be that New Orleanians are always up for a party, and any reason to celebrate is a good one, but I think it's more than that.  It's that cultural traditions are woven into everyday life in New Orleans.  Non-Catholics participate in what are, at their core, church festivals, even without conscious knowledge.  Mardi Gras is, of course the largest of the church festivals that has made its way into the city's secular life, but there are others.  It may be a case a simply knowing the market, and responding to the market conditions, but in New Orleans it feels like so much more than that.

This week, I have been seriously missing that rich tradition.  Not that there are not traditions here in my new home, but they are new and unknown to me and not understood.  And as far as I can tell, the celebrations are much more individual than community-wide.  I have been here for 9 months and I really have not seen community-wide celebrations the way there are in New Orleans.  I miss the community-wide traditions, the rituals that have bled into daily life.

I missed being a part of the funeral, even if my part would have been just watching the events as they were covered on tv.  I missed having people who understood why I watched it, people who knew of Archbishop Hannan, and people who knew why the city essentially stopped for two afternoons this week for the funeral procession and the funeral mass.  I missed people knowing why, without explanation, that of course the Dominican girls would have been at the Seminary for the procession, and why the whole of Jesuit would have turned out on Carrollton Avenue.  I missed being with people who knew immediately what it means to have the Marching 100 lead the procession.

Everyday life continued as normal here in my new home, without even a mention of Archbishop Hannan, without coverage of the thousands upon thousands of mourners who filed past, paying respects to the man many considered to be the true leader of New Orleans' Catholics, even 23 years after his forced retirement from the position.  I missed having someone close who understood what I meant, without needing explanations, or looking at me like I had just lost all my marbles.

I short, I missed people who know what it means to miss New Orleans.

Falling Forward

This weekend we changed times -- we "sprung" forward.  That's hard for my head to get around.  After 8 months here in Australia, I am still very much stuck in a North American frame of mind.

The end of September brings autumn, not spring.  It is the beginning of football season, not the end.  The days should be getting colder, not hotter.  Leaves should be falling from the trees in a blaze of autumnal glory, not popping out in new spring green-ness.  It's very head-trippy for me.

In many ways I am actively protesting losing my American-ness.   I will always call the element/material aluminum.  The last letter of the alphabet is, and always will be, zee to me.  When I come to a street corner, I think I will always look to the left first for on-coming traffic -- to look to the right is un-natural, even though I know that traffic comes from the other direction.  I have all my weather widgets and cooking thermometers set to Fahrenheit rather than Celsius, and still have to convert the weather reports to figure out what the temperature will actually be.

It's not that I think America is better than Australia, or that I am better than the people I have met, just that, well, I will always be a bit different here.  As one caller to my office said upon meeting me in person:  "Ohh, you're the new voice I hear.  I knew you weren't an Australian."  The funny thing is, for all my desire to keep my American-ness, people here think I am Canadian.  I asked one clerk at the supermarket about it, when she was the third person in a day to ask if I was Canadian.  She replied that, in her experience, Canadians get offended if you guess they are Americans, while Americans generally take it as a compliment if you ask if they are Canadian.  I laughed the explanation off at the time, but the more I considered it, the more I realized she is right.  But then maybe that's just me.  I was accused of being a Canadian, even when I lived in the US (by people who had seen copies of my passport and birth certificate!).  Back to my point though, I will always be different here.  I will always be the one with the accent and the one with the funny, American ways.  I have made a decision to embrace those differences.  And besides, being a bit different fits my personality.  I have never really be a follow-the-crowd kind of person.  I have always danced to the beat of my own drummer (usually an off-key and out-of-time drummer), so I haven't really changed anything but the setting.

Anyway, it's autumn -- or so says my brain.  We should be falling back, wrapping up for chilly afternoon/evening football games, preparing warm, comforting soups, meals of red beans and rice, considering Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, curling up with mugs of hot cocoa and good books.  Instead I am looking at stores full of bikinis and surf gear, shorts, tank tops, and beach buckets in weekly sale fliers, watermelons and summer berries on the shelves in the groceries.  It's wrong.  My head tells me it's autumn -- time for shortening days, cool evenings and football; falling back.  My brain sees instead -- longer days, warm evenings, and cricket; springing forward.

It's even worse when I think that I am finally springing forward in the right time of year.  Days are naturally longer in the summer, there is no need to "save" daylight that is naturally available until 8:00 or 8:30 p.m.  We need to "save" daylight in the winter when the sun sets around 4:30 or 5:00 p.m.  So my head is finally thinking that we have it right -- we'll "save" the daylight in the season when we really need it.  But then I look around me and think "ohh. no. we're not."

Altogether, it's just more evidence that I am the different one here.  One more reason I will always be a North American.

Feets of Fashion

My new job requires a fair bit of walking around town -- to and from the post office twice everyday, with a stop at a private delivery service box, hand deliveries, to and from the bank daily; not to mention trips to the grocery and newsagent for any other sundry items the office needs, as well as occasionally getting take-away lunches for the boss or afternoon runs for milkshakes.

I am not complaining about the walking around town, in fact, I enjoy being out of the office.  But it does make for different clothing requirements than my previous job.  Especially when it comes to footwear.  I have never really worn high-heels, or heels of any height to be perfectly honest, so my shoes tend toward the sensible, if quirky, end of the spectrum.  No, my shoes are a problem with this job -- preventing blisters is.  Toward that end, I have decided that socks are my best defense.  And despite a nagging little voice telling me that socks are not professional-dress footwear, I have decided to indulge my tendencies toward quirky socks.

Work-Day Worlds

I started a new job last week.  Without revealing too much about my job (as I would prefer to keep it), I will say that I have learned that attorneys are the same the world over.  If you have ever worked for attorneys then you know what I mean.  But if your only experience of attorneys comes from television shows/movies, I do not wish to disillusion you, so I will say nothing more.

I work in a small, seaside resort town, which I understand will get busy in about three days and stay pretty much packed through January.  If that is truly the case, I am glad I started when it was relatively quiet.

But already, in the two weeks I have been on the job, I have noticed some distinct differences from my job in New Orleans, none of which have to do with the different areas of law in which I now find myself working.

• Working in a street-level office makes for much more traffic walking by, and many more people dropping in.
• Working next door to a busy veterinarian's practice makes for more puppy dog traffic.  I have lost count of the number of times each day the trash cans on the sidewalk are "marked."
• The US Post Office may be being forced into bankruptcy, but they not only deliver the mail, but they pick it up as well!  And the prices for mailing various items are easily determined on the website and are consistent -- a letter weighing over an ounce will cost the same amount to mail today as it did yesterday and will tomorrow; it is not at the whim of the person accepting the item for mailing.
• Banking is easier in the US.  I am not sure I will ever understand the Australian banking system or checks.
• The entire world should give it up and adopt letter-size paper -- I am certain there is no way to fold a A4 sheet so that it will fit in a standard #10 envelope well.
• There are actually fairly decent file/document management software programs out there - they are just not widely used in the US.
• CodaClips have to be the best invention ever for filing systems!
• Australians, as a people, need to enunciate better.  I feel terrible, but the truth is, half the time I cannot tell the difference between Terry and Jerry when people say their names on the phone.
• And as a related point, cell phones have to be one of the single worst inventions.  I have really come to despise them.  If you are on a cell phone and drop the call more than three times in 2 minutes, please wait until you have better reception to try to make the call again.  Unless someone is bleeding out on your lap, nothing is so important that it cannot wait five minutes.
• Australians seem to be more likely than Americans to take their dogs with them on walks (Australians seem to be more likely than Americans to take walks), but I wish they would consider the dog and not bring them along when visiting places the dogs cannot enter.  It hurts my heart to walk past lonely, forgotten dogs outside the cafes, bakeries, banks, groceries, post offices, or professional offices I pass daily.
• Iced Tea is an amazing beverage.  I do not understand why it has not caught on with the Australians, who drink only marginally less tea than the Irish.  Along those same lines, $3.50 for a 6-ounce cup of hot tea is highway robbery.  It cannot cost anywhere near $3.50 for a bag of Lipton and 6 ounces of near boiling water.  Also, for a country that is as snobbish about their coffee as Australia is, it amazes me that when I order tea, I do not get a choice of gourmet teas, but am automatically brought one bag of plain, run-of-the-mill Lipton.  And while I am here, what is the deal with providing only 1 teaspoon packet of sugar with each pot of tea?  And why no lemons????  Milk in tea is an abomination.
• The US has a bigger variety of candy -- not just chocolate bars and gummi lollies.  I miss things like Bit-O-Honey, Mike & Ike, Sweetarts, and salt water taffy.  Australia has some great candies -- honeycomb among them, but the variety is much less than offered in the US.

Those are just some of my initial observations from my first two weeks at work.  I am sure there will be more as the weeks go on.  The girls at the office talk about how busy it will be getting when the "season" begins, but I am pretty sure I can handle it.  After all, I worked in Downtown New Orleans during Mardi Gras, Super Bowl, Sugar Bowl, NCAA Final Four, Saints Fever, Southern Decadence, and Essence Fest.  I know how to deal with crowds, and drunk crowds at that.  I am anxious to see if the local police should take crowd control lessons from the NOPD, and whether decency standards are the same.  Which reminds me, I wonder if I could make a fortune introducing "go cups."  Come to think of it, 72-ounce frozen daiquiris in insulated Styrofoam cups would be a huge seller!!!

Stopping the World

Ten years ago today, I was at work, on an otherwise normal Tuesday morning when the world stopped.  I heard a bit of a news story about a plane flying into the World Trade Center in New York.  After turning first to CNN's website, and finding it (and other news sites) overwhelmed with traffic, I called my mother, who was at home, to ask her to turn on the news and tell me what was going on.  She confirmed that yes, at least one plane had been flown into the World Trade Center and more news was coming in.

It was not the first time I had woken my mother with world stopping news.  I had done the same in 1986, when my younger brother and I watched the Space Shuttle Challenger explode moments after liftoff.  I woke her up with similar news one Saturday morning in 2003 when the Space Shuttle Columbia was lost upon re-entry.  It has become a family legend that you should not answer the phone when I call in the mornings.

Having shaken my mother's world, I turned back to mine.  I had work to get done and work that would keep me from checking the Internet for updates, and could thankfully, keep me away from television and the live, never-ceasing coverage of the attacks.

I also had a voice-mail that kept my world grounded.  I nearly wore out the replay button on my voicemail listening over and over to my dearest thanking me for a silly birthday present I had sent him from London.  I had returned to the US on September 7, after a trip to Ireland and London.  While I was there, I found a silly little teddy bear at Harrods and mailed it to him as his gift.  I still have a sound file of that voicemail.

I have been lucky enough to have been able to avoid the now-iconic footage of the planes flying into the World Trade Center, and the subsequent collapse.  I have seen still photos, but never the video footage.  I do not want to.  Once you see that footage, you can never un-see it.  And I do not need to see it to know what happened.

As the ten-year remembrance (I hesitate to call it an anniversary) of the attacks on the US have come, every network has retrospectives -- one of them offers a minute-by-minute oral history from those that were there.  The problem is, WE WERE ALL THERE!  Anyone over 20 years old today was there.  We do not need retrospectives.  We do not need help remembering what happened, or even where we were when the world stopped.  Some of us do not want to remember.  Some of us were scarred enough that and the following days.  The legacy of the event is being lived out daily -- from building IDs and security checks at banks to the need to strip nearly naked at airports.  It has touched every facet of our daily lives.  We cannot forget it if we wanted.  The world is now measured in terms of before 9/11 and after 9/11.  The legacy is everywhere and ever-present.  We cannot forget it.

My acknowledgement of the day will not be at television networks' dictate.  I did not spend that day ten years ago glued to the television nor will I spend my Sunday there.  I will not be watching any of the retrospectives.  I do not need to hear minute-by-minute reports.  I have lived ten years without seeing the video footage, I do not intend to change that.  That is not to say that I will not pause for a moment of prayerful silence today.  I will pause to remember not only those lost at the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, but also those lost in a field in Pennsylvania.  I will also pause for a moment in thankful memory of those in the Canadian cities who opened their homes and arms to the passengers on the US-bound diverted flights when the airspace was closed, the first responders and clean-up crews who had to sort through the wreckage of all three locations, those men and women of the military who have sacrificed their lives in the fight against terrorism, and everyone the world over who has had to make sense of and muddle through the world since then.

May the Lord Have Mercy on Us All.

Tempus Fugit

I start a new job on Monday morning.  I have not been at work since December 17, 2010.  That's almost nine months I have been on what is essentially an unpaid vacation.  Admittedly, I have moved to the other side of the world in those nine months, so it was not all a relaxing vacation.

I am very excited to start a new job.  Nine months of having nowhere to be weekday mornings at 9:00 am have had me at a loss for what to do with myself and time.  It has truly been since I was 3 or 4, that I have not had somewhere to be at 9:00 am on most weekday mornings.  I have enjoyed being able to sleep late and stay in my pajamas until after noon if I wanted.  But now I am ready to be doing something useful with my time.  I don't know about everyone else, but I found with no demands on my time, I actually ended up doing less with my days than I did when I was at work and had only the time in the evenings in which to get things done.  I started out with grand plans to read books, keep the house neat and tidy, do yoga or exercise everyday, organize my books and other stuff, put boxes of photos in albums, and finish some craft projects...you know all those things you never have time to get done when you are working everyday.  And yet, I have done none of that.  The more time I had, the less I did.

It's time to get back to work every weekday so that I can get things done!  There are projects piling up.  Things need to get done.  I need to have less time to do them all in.  There are 84 hours until I punch that first time clock and I can't wait.

Birthday Weekend

My birthday was this past Saturday.  I really didn't have anything planned, and really wanted just a low-key celebration -- maybe dinner with my dearest and my in-laws, definitely cake (more precisely frosting; as I firmly believe that cake is merely a frosting delivery device), but I wasn't thinking about an indulgent weekend.

Then we got an invitation to attend one of my dearest's friends fiddle recital.  It was being held on Saturday evening in Melbourne.  Checking with the in-laws to see if we could delay the planned birthday dinner, we headed off to the City for the weekend

The drive up was very pleasant.  We left mid-morning and had a lovely drive, listening to George Harrison and David Gray as we drove along.  My dearest may disagree, but I think David Gray is perfect driving music.  Interstate highway systems look the same the world over, but there is some beauty to be found.

We were passed by this interesting looking car, so dearest asked if I could get a photo of it, and its personalized license plate.  I thought it was a good sign for the weekend.

After negotiating the interstate, a number of roundabouts, and some dicey right turns on busy streets, we made it safely to our hotel, where we were escorted to the room by the cheerful front desk clerk who checked us in.  After dropping our gear and confirming parking arrangements, we were off.  We needed to drop some recording equipment with dearest's friend and then we had an appointment.  Well, I say we, but it was really for me, though all I knew about it was that it was at 1:30 on the corner of Bridge Road and Lennox Street.  Beyond that, dearest was unwilling to discuss it.  Arriving at the corner, I was still a bit confused, until we happened upon the day spa.  I was still in the dark as to what was happening, until dearest checked in and told me it was "the one I liked."  Whoo-Hoo!!!  Pedicure.  Unknown to dearest, I had just been thinking about how it was over a year since my last pedicure (on my last cruise, while sailing into Newport harbour).  When dearest returned a little over an hour later my pampered toes sparkled in their coat of Port Macquarie polish (Aside:  what is it with nail polish companies and the ridiculous, meaningless names for the colors?  My signature color is Essie's "Can't Film Fest."  I am sure I do not have to tell you that is a sparkly magenta.  All the colors at this spa were named for cities in Australia.  Who knew Port Macquarie was a sparkly strawberry pink?)

(I had to take advantage of the spa's disposable thongs as dearest had not told me what was up and I prepared for a day of walking and sightseeing in tennis shoes and padded socks.)

After the luxurious pedicure, dearest had another surprise for me.  He had scouted out the area while I was being pampered and had found a high-end grocery for me to wander through.  I did more than wander through it, I indulged in such luxuries as Hershey's Chocolate Syrup, Celestial Seasonings Blueberry Tea and Lorina Sparkling Lemonade, and celebratory macarons (lemon, caramel and cocoa varieties).  Dearest indulged in sweet potato chips, blue corn tortilla chips, and a couple of varieties of loose tea.  I will definitely have to go back.  They have Dr. Pepper and Jones Sodas.  Sometimes a little bit of home is just what you need.

After a bit more wandering, we found just the perfect place for birthday lunch -- Salsa's.  I indulged in Nacho Fries, which will be better known to my US audience as deluxe chili-cheese fries:  seasoned french fries with taco meat, beans, cheese sauce, fresh tomatoes, onions, cilantro, pico de gallo, and sour cream.  They rate as the best chili-cheese fries I have had yet.

After stuffing ourselves (dearest went semi-healthy on me and had a wholemeal cheese quesadilla), we headed back to the hotel to have a little rest and to prepare for the recital.  Dressed and ready, we headed to the lobby to wait for our cab, and the front desk clerk could not have been more helpful.  She carefully monitored the situation, even coming over to us to explain the delay -- the dispatched cab had been hailed by another fare, so she had to reorder ours, not once, but twice.  We made it to the venue in plenty of time, and saw dearest's friend before the recital started and again at intermission.  She met up with us again towards the end of the second part of the performance and we made arrangements to go for a late dinner.

Dinnertime came, and we settled on a Thai place next door to the pub where dearest was meeting another friend.  After a nice dinner of Pad Thai and spring rolls shared over discussions of all kinds of things, we said goodnight to dearest's friend and went into the pub.  There was a special live performance -- a David Bowie tribute -- and dearest was keen to go.  It would never have been on my radar, I would have gone back to the hotel for a shower and a cozy night with my book, but I am glad we went.  If only because it was my birthday.  The last birthday I had spent in a bar was my 21st, and that one was in the Officer's Club at the Air Force Base in the same town as my college.  The nights had many things in common -- I was just waiting for the Spin Doctor's Two Princes to be cued up by the DJ after the gig finished and it would have been almost exactly the same as the celebration 17 years earlier.  After a drink, we all decided it would be better to continue our getting to know each other session in a more conducive environment, so we left the bar in search of one.  Dearest and his friends had their backs to the bar, so they missed the entertaining goings-on I saw -- namely one guy being the loser in fights with the other 4 people he was with, including one which involved all four victors buying shots and pouring them in the loser's eyes.  I was happy everyone had decided it was time to go.  We ended up finding a 24-hour McDonald's.  Not quite the Waffle House of my 21st, but still interesting in its own way.  And I enjoyed the frozen coke more than the waffles and coffee.  We got back to the hotel at 2:30 and I was in bed setting my alarm 8 minutes later.

Sunday morning we had no plans, other than catching up with dearest's friend to pick up the recording device, so we slept in as long as possible before check out, and then went for a wander in search of brunch.  We found it at a combination used bookstore/cafe, where dearest indulged me further with two new-to-me books:  Maeve Binchy's Whitethorn Woods and Alys Clare's Girl in a Red Tunic.  I was thrilled by the combination of pre-loved books, food, and tables for lingering and enjoying, and even more so by the iced tea as a featured beverage.  I have missed big (free refill) glasses of iced tea at restaurants, and leapt at the chance to experience something so familiar.  Admittedly, $3.50 is a lot to be paying for iced tea, but it was worth it for me.  I would have been happier had it been served with free refills, but I think that will have to be a one step at a time thing.

After brunch we went for a bit of a wander, before meeting up with dearest's friend and, abandoning the plan to download the recordings, we headed out with them for a Sunday afternoon in the Botanic Gardens.  I had never been to the Botanic Gardens in Melbourne, despite plans to see them on all my visits.  We didn't wander too far into them, only as far as the Tea Room, where we stopped for a refresher after the long-ish walk, and then past one of the pools, where I met what was long thought to be an impossibility -- a black swan.  I also checked out some eels, though none had the personality of a certain "Dutch Moray-Eel" who makes his home at the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas in New Orleans.

(Foiled by a vowel.)

(Our hotel.)

 

(St. Kevin???  I giggle every time I see it.)

 (They're everywhere.)

(I loved the way the tower looked from this angle.)

 (This reminded me of a house in New Orleans that has been in a state of constant renovation for at least 25 years.)

 (I loved the details on the windows of the church.)

 ("The clock on the silo says 11 degrees.")

A walk back to the hotel to pick up the car and we were on our way home.  We had been invited to a birthday dinner at my in-laws, so we needed to get back.  Frosting was calling me and I am not one to deny the call of frosting!  So we had a quick stop at JB HiFi for dearest to check out speaker systems, and were home in plenty of time for dinner.  And a very good dinner it was -- chicken schnitzel, mashed potatoes with gravy, and roast winter vegetable mix.  And cake! A homemade mocha cake with excellent frosting, and plenty of it.  There was also a surprise for me.  My in-laws had a present for me -- a book, Michael Dobbs' The Edge of Madness and another surprise, a dozen napkins.  My hunt for and use of cloth napkins has become something of a family joke, so when my mother-in-law saw the dozen, she could not resist them.  And I cannot wait to use them.  They look very similar to an Irish linen set I found at my great-aunt's house.

It was a very successful birthday weekend.  Now though, I must go find a copy of Two Princes, it was the only thing missing from the weekend...