From our house to yours...

...Merry Christmas Beetles!


"Bah," said Scrooge. "Humbug!"

-- Charles Dickens

YOP!

We are here, we are here!

Made it back relatively unscathed. An early morning flight plus twenty straight hours of on-demand movies and food, and arriving at your destination on the evening of the same calendar day you left equals no jet lag. The dogs made it into Fort Lauderdale two days after us and after visting Gabby (my mother-in-law, who is doing exceptionally well) we headed over to our house on the west coast. Still waiting for the miscellaneous furnishings and the Landcruiser to arrive, but if it all happens to fall off the ship and never gets here, really, I'm okay with that. Doing my best, which is admittedly not much more than hibernating, to get through Christmas.

We're all missing our friends down under. Facebook and Skype help.

Jorge, the girls, and I buzzed out to the island Sunday with the dogs and some friends who dropped by. It was a delightful couple of hours and I'm looking forward to spending many more days out there once the holiday obligations are over and done with.














In the depths of winter I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer.

-- Albert Camus

Ta.

I first saw this video when we stepped onboard a Qantas flight about nine years ago headed back to Florida after deciding Australia was where we wanted to live. It was playing in the background as we streamed into the cabin and settled into our seats. It made me all teary.

It still does.

I'll be wearing my sunglasses on the plane in the morning. Just in case.




I've been to cities that never close down,
From New York to Rome and old London town,
But no matter how far or how wide I roam,
I still call Australia home.

I'm always traveIing, I love being free,
And so I keep leaving the sun and the sea,
But my heart lies waiting over the foam,
I still call Australia home.

All the sons and daughters spinning 'round the world,
Away from their family and friends,
But as the world gets older and colder,
It's good to know where your journey ends.

Someday we'll all be together once more,
When all of the ships come back to the shore,
I’ll realise something I've always known,
I still call Australia home.

-- Peter Allen

Countdown

Yesterday was one of the worst birthdays ever. Besides being stress-filled with movers and cleaners vying for my attention and uncooperative, desperately sad children, we said goodbye to most of our friends. There was no cake. There was sobbing.

Tonight though, our vegetarian friend whose house we are staying at, cooked us a wonderful dinner and dessert, finally emptying his fridge of the detestable but delicious steak he had tucked in there, and took the edge off a long day fraught with numerous last-minute details.

Tomorrow, Cairns.


Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose.

-- Tennessee Williams

Soon

Not quite done packing, though with the movers coming tomorrow I'd better get on it, don't you think? I've only given myself about a month to pack, and every day of the month I accomplished some small packing-related task, but the truth is I work better with a real tight deadline. I've still got one whole day (minus the time to complete one hundred or so other errands), so no worries, she'll be right. Friday and Saturday night we are staying at a friend's house so I can get the place here cleaned up. Sunday the girls and I will take the dogs down to Cairns to prepare them for their trip and we will overnight in town. Our friend will be driving down sometime Sunday with the balance of our luggage. Then early Monday morning we're off.

Here are a few things, besides all the people you've seen in previous photos, that I will miss, in no particular order:

The best yoghurt we've ever tasted.

Angela and Fraser's Sugarworks, and especially Angela. The best mocha (pronounced by locals variously MOE ka, MOCK a, and even MOE cha) and friendliest service in the region. Check out the gallery for our buddy Grub.

The views from my kitchen...





...and bedroom/livingroom windows...





...the architecture...



...and letting the kids go wild. This was last Saturday when a bunch of them floated down Bushy Creek from Churchill...





...to Verri's...



...A three hour trip with no adult supervision.

And these guys, our friends and neighbors, the ones who pointed us in this lovely direction and found our first rental house for us, and their heavenly fresh squeezed juices at the Port Douglas Markets.



Ah well, back to packing, I suppose.


“Don't be dismayed at goodbyes, a farewell is necessary before you can meet again and meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.

-- Richard Bach

It's Official

"Are you here to be branded?" the Mayor asked one of the guests as we entered the shire boardroom. That particular man wasn't, but we were.



First though, the flag had to be located and then displayed. If you look behind Sarabelle you will see it draped over the white board and secured with brightly colored magnets.

After we spoke the affirmation and received our certificates and a specially minted commemorative coin, the national anthem was played on a small boom box. Unfortunately for the people in the room who were not standing within one meter of the equipment like we were, you couldn't hear it. But it was played. Then we were offered tea, coffee, and muffins...



... and headed home as brand new, freshly minted Aussies.




From this time forward,
I pledge my loyalty to Australia and its people,
Whose democratic beliefs I share,
Whose rights and liberties I respect,
And whose laws I will uphold and obey.

-- Australian Citizenship Affirmation

Twos-day

Two dogs, two birthdays, two years old.

Two metabolisms: One gets the high fat puppy chow, the other gets the "lite and mature" diet.



Why I don't ever get to sleep in:




We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment.

-- George Eliot

Show Me Yours the Money

Wow, little old Mossman, our quaint, quiet country cane town gets some international attention.

This place is a stone's throw from the grocery store and the high school. I was always tempted to pop into the office and see who the proprietors were; see if I could recognize them in town with their clothes on. Now I won't have to. The funny thing is, we spent a couple days at this resort seven years ago with Jorge's mother during their clothing-mandatory off-season. We had no idea until much later that part of the year it operated as a nudist resort and got odd looks from locals when we mentioned our stay there.


True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.

-- John Milton

Last night was the high school's big Presentation Night when awards are bestowed upon the worthy; class leaders, house captains, and the dux are announced for next year; and the outgoing Year 12s say their official goodbyes. It's a sort of graduation without the pomp and circumstance.

Sarabelle played electric bass first with the orchestra band and later with the jazz band.



Somewhere in between those performances she was due to receive a merit award, but because Grice mentioned not hearing Sarabelle's name called during the practice (even though Grice is notoriously unobservant on occasion), Sarabelle incorrectly assumed maybe some error in her grades had been detected and the award rescinded, so she didn't get in line to go up and receive her certificate. Boy did I feel silly with a camera stuck to my face waiting for her to appear in my viewfinder.

Grice (on the far right below) received an even higher honor, a distinction award, for her efforts. Light was low and my shutter speed slow; I missed the shot of her stage walk and congratulatory handshake.



But I did get plenty of decent photos of other people's kids! These are from my favorite part of the evening, the cultural performances by the Kuku Yalanji doing their rainforest animal dances and then a Torres Straight Island dance. While they are recognized formally at such gatherings as the traditional custodians of the land, they are not always the traditionally dressed custodians.








Don't worry when you are not recognized, but strive to be worthy of recognition.

-- Abraham Lincoln

The Aussie Vote

Australians overwhelmingly back Obama as US president. Besides the general election numbers, see what respondents had to say about The Greatest Country on Earth and its inhabitants.


A man should never be ashamed to own that he has been in the wrong, which is but saying... that he is wiser today than yesterday.

-- Jonathan Swift

Big Day

I spent the day in Cairns, getting a couple of those female-type tests done, the regular annual check-up ones, the ones that would cost me if I had them done back in Florida. Seriously, people, what is wrong with socialized medicine?

I also had another appointment with the immigration officers. We have come so close in our quest for citizenship. We had only to apply and pay the fees, but our hasty departure threatened the success of this venture: Passports must be submitted with the package and application approvals may take up to three months. And we will be needing our passports very shortly. The phone representative I spoke with a couple weeks ago could not advise me on any expediting services and recommended a visit to the office.

My hope was that they could at least make copies of our voluminous documentation and begin the process. The officer wanted to know why it was so important to obtain citizenship when we could still come and go, attend university, and have healthcare with permanent residency status. I explained my biggest concern was that immigration rules might change in the time we are overseas, as they had done already since we undertook this endeavor. First of all, she informed us only the three of us still in Australia could apply. She let me know she could initiate the process but warned it could be hung up by the police check because my first name and surname are fairly common. If a match or partial match to my name appeared, a complete background search would be required at the federal level which could take up to three weeks. And even if I passed the police check and our application could be approved, I would still need to attend a formal citizenship ceremony on Australian soil, foreign embassies excluded, and most likely would not have time to then secure Australian passports for everyone, even with expedited service. Since Australian citizens are required to enter Australia on Australian passports this could be another dead end.

But.

Re-entry for citizens is allowable with only a certificate, though you are almost guaranteed to encounter greater delays, so says the department's online information.

I decided to go for it.

The police check was clear and our application was approved right then and there. The officer advised our next step was to contact our local shire and request a private ceremony at least two weeks out to insure timely delivery of the certificates.

The girl at our shire office questioned the need for a private ceremony. Couldn't I just wait until January 26th, Australia Day, when they are normally performed? After I explained our time frame she asked if we wouldn't mind having our ceremony combined with another group's already scheduled for November 21.

So November 21 it is.




We are one, but we are many,
And from all the lands on Earth we come;
We'll share a dream and sing with one voice:
I am, you are, we are Australian.

-- Bruce Woodley and Dobe Newton ("I Am Australian")

Gone Troppo Encore

Saturday we were in Port for a junior busking event. We enjoyed a wide variety of talent including the girls' friend and his partner who impressed us with their magic tricks.



And we were back in Port again Sunday when Sarabelle's high school jazz band opened the Footprints Music Fest's Sunset in the Park event. You cannot beat live music outside on a beautiful spring day. Even if your drummer doesn't show up and your guitarist has to fill in on drums and another friend, in a florescent-yellow-so-not-a-school-band-uniform shirt, fills in on guitar and the wind is blowing your hair and sheet music and you can't see anything except the lights from the equipment the stage guys are testing and you are very uncomfortable because you are inches from the blazing hot lights in the daytime wearing your multi-layered, polyester formal band uniform, the show must go on...



You cannot beat that backstage area either.



Grice and I spread out on a blanket along with the other band families, and waited four hours for the main event, not the headliners, but the headliners' opening act's opening act: The Kan'd Peaches.



After a pleasant afternoon of mostly mellow acoustic music, and lots of beer drinking, the sun finally set and the crowd was ready to crank it up.



With a five song set of Red Hot Chili Peppers, White Stripes, and Arctic Monkeys covers plus two originals, the boys totally rocked the place.








There is no such thing as a great talent without great will power.

-- Honore de Balzac

Gone Troppo

trop po |ˈtrɑpoʊ| |ˈtrɒpəʊ|
adjective Austral./NZ informal
mentally disturbed, supposedly as a result of spending too much time in a tropical climate : have you gone troppo ?
ORIGIN 1940s: from TROPIC + -O.

Port Douglas kicked off its first ever Go Troppo Arts Festival this week. Sarabelle was there Friday evening performing with her high school strings ensemble to open the ten-day celebration at the Low Isles Exhibition out on the old Sugar Wharf. It was a beautiful night on the water, the sun setting behind the mountains, classical music and art inside, and a trio performing acoustic sea chanties outside.

Last night we hit the Central Hotel with a couple friends for the Port Shorts Film Festival. Entries were under three minutes and contained a preselected item, this year's being, "BEAM." Sarabelle was requested to be there by her friend, actor and producer of last year's winner, Pig Boy. While his entry last night was not selected for Best Movie, a collaboration with his partners from Pig Boy won the top prize with a very funny short about an alcoholic loser, Joe Beam, and his overworked liver, starring the friend in the role of the much abused organ.

Next up, the busking competition next Saturday, where another friend of the girls, producer of this stop action short, is performing.

We'll close out the festival Sunday with Art In The Park followed by the Footprints Sunset Concert, where Sarabelle will be playing with her school's jazz band, and their friends' band, Kan'd Peaches, winners of the 2008 Mossman Show Battle of the Bands and 2008 Cairns Battle of the Bands, will also be performing.


The barriers are not erected which can say to aspiring talents and industry, 'Thus far and no farther'.

-- Ludwig van Beethoven

Creepy Crawly

1) With Halloween right around the corner and no celebration in sight -- why, oh, why isn't it a big deal down here, I wonder -- I read Stephen King's latest, Duma Key. Duma Key, in case you're wondering (and even if you're not), is a fictional island just off the southwest coast of Florida, and is connected to our own island, Little Gasparilla by way of Don Pedro, on its scary south side by an equally fictional footbridge. While it was fun to spot familiar places, Dan's Fan City, the Nokomis 7-11, and Casey Key, and frequent mentions of The Bone, "Tampa Bay's Classic Rock Station," there were a couple nights spent wishing I didn't have to get out bed and walk all the way down the hall, about ten whole steps, to the pitch black bathroom.

2) Grice went to a sleepover not too long ago and now we're all enjoying a rerun of The Itchy and Scratchy Show. One of the only things I will not miss about this place. As a potential card-carrying member of the National Pediculosis Association, please join me in celebrating "September Is Head Lice Prevention Month". Oh, damn. It's October.

3) The post office clerk commented when I sent off my absentee ballot the other day (return receipt requested, thank you) that she had seen quite a few of these come through lately. People who hadn't voted in years were making it a point to have theirs counted in this very important election. She predicts a landslide. When questioned about the potential winner, she winked and said she believed it would be "something new!" for America. A woman VP? Nah, we've already done "stupid," so I'm thinking she meant a black guy. Or Ralph Nader. And later that day, turning in Grice's donations for her 40-Hour Famine fundraiser, her teacher, an honest-to-goodness bleeding-heart liberal if ever there was one, tossed out a few favorite bits from Bowling For Columbine and expressed his fervent hopes for a non-McCain/Palin win. (I'd quote him, but many times in conversations with Aussies I'm left feeling as if I need subtitles. Move your lips, people!) I was feeling quite optimistic until I got home and read an article on the Bradley effect.


People are not disturbed by things, but by the view they take of them.

-- Epictetus

On The Move. Again.

For those of you who haven't heard yet, we are packing our bags and heading back to the other Sunshine State, Florida, in the good ol' U.S. of A.

Besides the downward economic spiral and the dead real estate market and the difficulty of being a family divided that you've seen me blather on about for the past couple years, my mother-in-law is dealing with a serious illness and we want to be there for her. But don't tell her that, okay? She would adamantly insist we not sacrifice or alter our plans in any way because of her troubles. She is very cool like that. And stubborn. But, daring to compare myself to her, I too am determined, so that's that. Only we won't let her know about it. We're just coming back for the school holidays if she asks.

Elle will stay with Jorge in Florida until Sarabelle, Grice, the dogs, and I fly back, possibly around the beginning of December.

Hey, did you notice I said "dogs" plural? Our family got a little bigger last week. Em couldn't take Lulu's sister, Asha, to New Zealand with them, and she's such a sweet dog and Lulu's best friend that I couldn't not take her. I can't wait to turn them loose on the beach at the island and just let them run 'til they drop.


Who travels for love finds a thousand miles not longer than one.

-- Japanese Proverb

Crystal Balls

Interesting to read The Australian's take on the election.


Prophecy: The art and practice of selling one's credibility for future delivery.

-- Ambrose Bierce

10 Reasons Why I Hate Americans

Humor is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue.

-- Virginia Woolf

Reality? Check.

Some of you already know that I have a vivid imagination. And sometimes, late at night especially, I hear things. Sometimes they're false alarms and sometimes there's actually something to them.

Like last week. I heard a bang and a squeal of tires and announced to the girls that I thought I'd just heard an accident on the highway, maybe right at the top of our street. Sound travels very well up the side of our mountain. "Yeah, right," was the general consensus. I was vindicated 15 minutes later when we heard a siren. We knew it was pretty serious when we heard the helicopter about 20 minutes after that. Our neighbors' horse escaped his paddock and was hit by a van with eight passengers. The horse split the van in half and came to rest inside the vehicle behind the driver's seat. The van rolled over, but everybody, except the horse, survived with minor injuries.

And then, the night before last, I awoke to a loud ssshhhhhhh-ing sound. I bolted out of a deep sleep and after finally getting my gummy eyes to focus, noticed the room being lit by a rhythmic pulsing glow which caused further disorientation until I realized the power had gone off and then back on resetting the clocks on the microwave and stove and restarting the ceiling fan. Phew. Then I heard the noise again. A few possibilities shot through my mind: The wind? The water heater cycling on? The water heater springing a leak and shooting high-pressure water all over the place? And then I realized it was coming from directly overhead. Up in the attic, whose floor creates the ceiling of the small nook where I sleep. I held my breath. My fingertips were buzzing with adreneline. It sounded like a sandbag being dragged around. A very heavy sandbag. A very, long, heavy sandbag that could be dragging around on both the left and right side of the alcove ceiling simultaneously. It was a snake. A big one. Lulu, our faithful guardian and protector, looked up at the ceiling and whimpered. Little bits of plaster fell inside the wall behind my head as it shifted around and that's when I remembered a) the news story of the local man who had a snake so large in his attic it collapsed his ceiling; and b) the attic access door in the girls' bedroom. It was headed that way. Luckily the door only swings inward, so unless a big gust of wind chanced to blow it open, as it has done on occasion, I figured that was fairly secure. I wanted to wedge a fishing pole through the door handle but I needed a ladder and I was not going outside in the pitch black to drag it in. Except, really, what did I have to fear, the worst thing out there was already inside my house. Then I set to worrying about the hole in the wall, a snake-sized gap cut to allow the knob on the door between our rooms to swing fully open and not dent the drywall. I propped the door open with a large trunk, doorknob filling the hole, and hoped for the best. I listened hard thinking that if the basilisk started whispering to me I would lose it. After an hour, the noise became almost inaudible and concentrated near the outside wall, where it presumably slipped back outside through the eaves.

I'm guessing (hoping) it was a python and it was just wandering around looking for some tasty vermin and that when it didn't find any (and since we didn't hear anything last night) it decided to keep wandering outside. I'm sure this one wasn't a figment of my imagination, and I'm sure not going up there to find out.


Fantasy, abandoned by reason, produces impossible monsters; united with it, she is the mother of the arts and the origin of marvels.

-- Francisco Goya

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