Stumbling Blocks

I passed my citizenship test with flying colours (red, white, and blue, but in a different configuration) and like a Canadian/American dual citizen buddy of mine said about her test, it was surprisingly easy and I'm sure I know more now about the country than the average native.

Perfectionist that I am, I was disappointed to learn the one answer that stalled me slightly, and that I changed before hitting "SUBMIT," was incorrect. ("Submit" is really such a harsh word when you are petitioning a governmental entity for permission to reside in their country.) [Test taking hint: Don't second guess yourself, there's a good chance your first instinct was correct. Your welcome.] I mentioned to Danny, my friendly test moderator and document processor, that I knew which question it was I had wrong when he announced my results.

"When did the White Australia policy end?" I blurted out.

Danny, a black man with possibly some Asian ancestry, raised his eyebrows, cocked his head and gave me a look that indicated he may have heard the question as, "When did they start letting you people in?"

A minute or two after I said it and realized how it sounded, I decided to play dumb (instead of the real dumb I had inadvertently played), figuring anything I added to the conversation at that point would only make it worse.

I've begun filling out the application paperwork, but need Elle's passport to submit (there's that word again), so that will hold us up another month or so.


If knowledge can create problems, it is not through ignorance that we can solve them.

-- Isaac Asimov

Mental whiplash

Well. It took less than twelve hours from the time of my last post for plans to radically change. Even I am surprised at the high-speed 180, and laughing about it.

In an ironic way. But, still, laughing!

Otherwise indomitable Kiwi buddy called me sobbing early yesterday. Her partner, who is not moving to New Zealand with the rest of the family, decided at 3:00 AM, after waking her out of a fitful night's sleep, that even though he had previously arranged with the realtors to take the apartment in town, he simply could not afford to live anywhere but at their house. She spent the remainder of the night sleepless knowing she would not only have to break the very bad news to me, but also deal with the movers who were coming at 9:00 AM to pack her up, and try to locate her daughter's missing passport which hopefully had not been unwittingly tucked into one of the thirty-six boxes destined for the moving van.

No worries! as they say here. I raced over to lend some support. The passport was found, fridges were emptied and wiped out, shoes were scrubbed of all traces of soil, miscellaneous overlooked items pointed out and packed, pets rehoused (her partner will keep Asha until we are ready to return to the States), groceries bought, and even an orthodontic appointment remembered at the very last moment kept. Lots of coffee was consumed.

C'est la vie.


The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

-- Robert Burns

Oh, happy day

Alright, so I'm a prime example of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD.) The skies cleared and I felt much better. Our friends who operate a juice stand at the Sunday markets had fresh squeezed grapefruit juice and now I feel all better.

We will be moving down the street shortly, into our friends' house when they move to New Zealand. It's a nice three-bedroom with a lovely large verandah on twenty-five acres, a fish-stocked dam, orchard, chickens, and a roomy fenced dog run. We decided to take their Ridgeback, Lulu's sister and best friend, Asha. We will also inherit one of the cats to keep the mice at bay. It saves us $300 per month in rent and we don't have to pay any bond. Witness Friend has offered to let us borrow one of her dairy cows about to calve for fresh milk and has volunteered to teach me cheese-making. She will now be a next-door neighbor along with our retired nuclear physicist landlord who we must check on regularly.


Breakfast without orange juice is like a day without sunshine.

-- Anita Bryant for the Florida Citrus Commission

Home Sick Home

After the regular fever-chills-chest cold-oh-god-I'm-dying flu, I was hit by a stomach bug. But I'm coming around. This morning I cleaned out the fridge, which had leftovers from when Jorge was here, and finally got every single dish washed and put away. I even made my bed. And did a couple loads of laundry. And though the house looks a lot better, except for the coffee table (but we won't worry about that just now) and my health has improved, I'm still feeling down.

Maybe it's the weather. It's been rainy and foggy and gloomy ever since Jorge and Elle left. Maybe it's the fact that half my family is on the other side of the planet. Maybe it's because instead of our regular endless green view I'm now staring at a totally denuded, red clay hillside after neighbors cleared their property for grazing. Maybe it's because I'd been sick for over a week straight and when I finally felt strong enough to drive 24 km to the grocery store because I was craving grapefruit juice, there wasn't any. Not at any of the stores I stopped at. And maybe it's because I know that if I was back home I could be at Publix in about 30 seconds, choose from multiple brands of grapefruit juice including my favorite Orchid Island brand, and even have someone else carry it all out to the car for me. Maybe it's because my best buddy in the Southern Hemisphere has announced her intention to pack up and go home to New Zealand. Maybe it's the ever-present mildewy mold smell of this place. Maybe it's having the slim chance of selling our Florida houses reduced to zero when we had to remove them from the market in order to renew our homeowner's policy. Bastards. And of course the fact that now we can't even pretend to look at properties here. Maybe it's the looming deadline of our lease being up in December necessitating the renewed search for another rental...

Whatever it is, I just want to go home. Home is where the heart is, and it ain't here.


Well, I - I think that it - it wasn't enough to just want to see Uncle Henry and Auntie Em - and it's that - if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with! Is that right?

--Dorothy Gale

Down for the count

Jorge and Elle just called from Houston. They are almost home after some last minute juggling when Qantas caused them to be late for their Los Angeles to Fort Lauderdale connection. I'd been waiting to hear from them to be sure they didn't have any trouble with the new hastily arranged flights I'd scheduled in the meantime. And now I will go back to sleep.

I never understood how people died of the flu, like in the 1918 pandemic. I used to think, jeez, it's just a bad cold, how could it kill you? Those people must have been wimps. Now I know. And a couple days ago, before I discovered the bliss that is over-the-counter codeine-laced cold medicine, death was a welcome option.


To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;

-- William Shakespeare (Hamlet)