Thinking On My Feet, or, rather, Pacing the Floor

Our lease on this house is up today and I advised the owners of the other house on five acres that we would not be moving into it since Jorge is not coming back and until last night I was not sure where we would be come February 1. Needless to say, I have had a few sleepless nights. But yesterday afternoon the landlord’s agents finally gave me the green light to stay one more month, giving me time to liquidate and ship the balance of nearly all our belongings, and we also heard back from our old landlords at the flash, mountainside fully-furnished, easy-care cottage who are willing to have us back for a time. The only sticking point with the old landlords was the dog, not that we have one, we got Lulu while we were staying at their place initially, but whether or not she had been fixed yet -- don’t want to be attracting dingoes or the neighbor’s pig dogs -- and coincidentally we have Lulu scheduled at the vet's this morning to be spayed and get her travel requirements, rabies vaccination and microchipping, taken care of. Funny how things work out like that, eh?

So we will be completely mobile, no furniture, household items, extra clothes, tools, or tons of books to weigh us down; just what we can fit in our suitcases and trunks and jump on a plane with, back in much closer to town. With all that thinking on my feet over and done, I may begin to drag them a little now, especially as the time to make our application for citizenship is right around the corner...

In the meantime, Sarabelle and Grice are temporarily back to school (how else would they get to see all their friends and say goodbye?) Sarabelle is still adamantly for staying, Grice is still ambivalent but at least wanted the opportunity to ride the big luxury tour coach (subcontracted and passing for a school bus) down the mountain to get a small taste of high school. Elle looks forward to returning to Florida where there’s television, video games, and Disney World.

No period of history has ever been great or ever can be that does not act on some sort of high, idealistic motives, and idealism in our time has been shoved aside, and we are paying the penalty for it.
-- Alfred North Whitehead

Australia Day

Initially I wasn’t really sure what this day was all about. It comes at the end of the summer break just before the kids return to school, and though it always arrives on January 26, Monday is an official day off for everybody, banks and businesses closed, so it’s a bit like Labor Day except that they have their own Labour Day in May. There is some flag waving involved along the lines of the Fourth of July, though they already have their own independence day of sorts, Federation Day, January 1. The roots of the celebration commemorate the first landing (or the first invasion to the Aboriginal residents) so it’s a bit like Thanksgiving too, including the emphasis on sports with Maria Sharapova winning the Australian Open in the living room and a ball game on the radio outside, but without the turkey and fuss.

We spent the day with a mixed bag of friends, old ones, new ones, with the Aussies outnumbering the Kiwis, Yanks, and Brits by only one, celebrating our hosts’ son’s birthday as well as the birthday of Em, Bee’s mom, grilling chicken and fish kebabs and snags on the barbie, drinking champagne and homebrewed ginger beer, swatting flies (“...it wouldn’t be Australia without the flies,” according to one partygoer), laughing a lot, admiring our host’s Southern Cross tattoo, one I’m sure he sported prior to January 26, though we had never noticed, and wrapping things up with an impromptu game of cricket.

That’s Australia Day.


Every tradition grows more venerable -- the more remote its origin, the more confused that origin is. The reverence due to it increases from generation to generation. The tradition finally becomes holy and inspires awe.

-- Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

Stage Four

Five weeks flew by and now we are packing up to return to Australia. Nearly all books and most articles of clothing have been jettisoned as plans remain to fly back to Florida once we tidy up all those loose ends. We finally told the girls and it has been a very emotional 48 hours.

For those persons residing in the States, please, when you hear of our pending return do not reply with “Oh, Good!” or any variation of that thought. Though it’s tempered with sincere delight at seeing us once more, you may end up on our list of people to never speak to again. Just a friendly warning.

I have been trying to convince my head that this is the right decision (and that I ever had any real say in the outcome), but my heart tells me we are making a horrible mistake.
We are rapidly working through Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s five stages of grief, Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance, but seem to have stalled out at least one step before Acceptance. It will be a long time coming I’m afraid.

Despite all my rage
I am still just a rat in a cage.

-- Billy Corgan/Smashing Pumpkins