tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10354879100300954332024-02-07T20:23:52.986+11:00G'day Y'allThe life and times of an Expat Texan living in Australia with her Lebanese-Australian husband and family.suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.comBlogger148125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-73531843053520993062010-10-17T21:25:00.005+11:002010-10-18T21:35:19.165+11:00The Making of an ExpatIt would have been impossible for me to know on that <a href="http://gday-yall.blogspot.com/2010/07/one-night-in-buenos-airesmy-date-with.html">fateful night</a> 12 years ago when I first met the Handsome Australian, that one day I would not only be his wife, but would make my home in a strange land far away from all that, up to that point, was comfortable and familiar. The future ramifications of our love affair never really played on my twenty-something mind. I was swept up in the excitement and open to the adventure. Come to think of it, I've never really been much of a planner. I've never had a 5 year or 10 year plan. I'm not a goal setter. I'm a "let's ride this wave and see where it takes us" kind of girl. And that's precisely how I approached my relationship with the Handsome Australian.<br /><br />When we first met in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Buenos</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Aires</span>, I had no expectations for our blossoming relationship. He was a great guy and we had fun together. The reality was that he was Australian and I was American and we were both in Argentina for a finite amount of time. At the end of which, we both had intentions of returning to our home countries which may have well been opposite sides of the earth--oh wait, they are. It seemed perfectly reasonable to treat the whole thing as a holiday romance and just enjoy the fun while it lasted. So this is exactly what we did. We never talked about the relationship or about a future or about anything particularly serious. We just had a really, really great time.<div><br /></div><div>At the end of the Handsome Australian's time in Argentina, he booked a trip to the Southern region of the country to visit <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Lago</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Argentino</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Glaciar</span> National Park. Saddened by the thought of him traveling alone during his final week in the country and finding myself a bit more attached to him that I wanted to admit, I spontaneously contacted his travel agent and booked myself a seat next to his. I wasn't sure how the Handsome Australian would take the news, but it was very well received. He was glad to have a travel companion and happy to spend one last week with me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our time in the remote town of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Calafate</span> on the periphery of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Lago</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Argentino</span> was magical. Our days were filled with sight seeing tours and our nights were spent sampling the local cuisine. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">glaciars</span> were mind boggling and beautiful. Each night the food we ate was amazing. Everything was perfect. I remember wishing it never had to end. It occurred to me during this *final* week of our holiday romance, that I might just be on to a good thing. I might have just found something worth holding on to. Only problem was that this something, or someone rather, was about to get on a flight to the other side of the earth and I was meant to head back to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Buenos</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Aires</span> solo. What was a girl to do?</div><div><br /></div><div>With about 4 hours left before my flight was set to depart the Rio Gallegos airport and I was due to say goodbye to the Handsome Australian, we sat together having lunch at a hodgepodge Asian buffet--in the heart of Patagonia. The food was an unexpected and bizarre mix of Argentine standards and Chinese favourites. The concept of the restaurant was almost as crazy as the ideas that were running through my head. So with this mixed up meal as my preface, I floated the idea of me possibly coming to Australia after my time in Argentina was finished. And then I waited.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Handsome Australian began to sweat profusely. His normally calm and relaxed face took on an anxious and confused look. Perhaps he was even frightened. Then came the questions. How? When? Why? I did my best to answer his queries, but I was shy on details because well, I'm not a planner. This was just something I knew I needed to pursue and the how and the when would have to come later. The 'why' was obvious. I'd come to the realisation that this was more than a holiday romance and that if I didn't follow my heart, and take this chance then I'd always be left wondering 'what if'...</div><div><br /></div><div>The clock ticked on and it was time to catch a cab to the airport. It was during this cab ride, that the Handsome Australian slowly returned to his former self. He had started to consider what neither of us had considered up until 2 hours before...a future together. The more we discussed the possibility, the more relaxed he became. Still, he proceeded with caution and warned me that life in Australia would not be like the life we'd known together in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Buenos</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Aires</span>. I told him I understood, but I still wanted to ride this wave and see where it took me.</div><div><br /></div><div>By the time we reached the airport, the shock had worn off and he'd agreed to think about the proposition and was speaking more and more positively about the idea. Our time had finally run out. We said our goodbyes and I walked out on to the tarmac and up the stairs of my waiting plane, not wanting to look back I marched up the stairs, but then suddenly turned around to see the Handsome Australian standing inside the glass with a smile on his face. I gave him one last wave and moved into the plane.</div><div><br /></div><div>For the next three hours, I sat in a window seat looking down on the vast and sparsely populated Patagonian landscape below and I felt, for the first time in my life, completely and utterly at peace. I'd said what I'd needed to say. I'd put it all out there. I'd ridden the wave. No regrets. What happened next wasn't for me to decide. The ball was in destiny's court and I'd just have to wait to see what came my way.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-1925159608042276982010-08-23T10:33:00.000+10:002010-08-23T18:26:20.181+10:00LuckyIn one of those remarkable cosmic moments, <a href="http://gday-yall.blogspot.com/2010/07/bit-of-luck.html">I found an American penny on the streets of suburban Melbourne a few months ago</a>. I was most excited by this unusual find and henceforth deemed the penny "my lucky penny". I brought it home and put it in a very safe place...the top of my chest of drawers. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with it, but I knew that I needed to hang on to it.<br /><br />Several weeks later, the Handsome Australian and I were out in the City for dinner. He'd booked us a table at 2010's Pizzeria of the Year, <a href="http://plus39.com.au/">+39</a>. The Handsome Australian had dined there before and promised me charming Italian waiters, fine wine and simple but tasty pizza. The occasion? We were marking 12 years since <a href="http://gday-yall.blogspot.com/2010/07/one-night-in-buenos-airesmy-date-with.html">the day we met back at the Embassy in Buenos Aires</a>.<a href="http://plus39.com.au/"><br /></a><br />When we arrived at +39, our table wasn't ready so the host sent us to the casual bar across the road. We had a few drinks and then headed back across the street to claim our table. We were seated in the very back of the cozy little restaurant...somewhere between the pizza oven and the toilets. True to his description, the waiter arrived and began to explain the menu in the most beautiful broken English with a very heavy Italian accent. The Handsome Australian became "Bello" and I became "Bella". We ordered some wine and an antipasto platter to start and some pizzas to come later. "Perfetto," ordained the waiter as he disappeared to organise our wine.<br /><br />The Handsome Australian then slowly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little box which he placed in front of me on the table. Taken by surprise, I looked searchingly at the little blue box with the white ribbon and wondered what could possibly be inside. After all, this was really more of an informal anniversary. It wasn't our wedding anniversary, just the day that we'd met all those years ago.<br /><br />The waiter returned with our wines, saw the little blue box sitting in front of me and his eyes grew very wide. He placed the glasses down very quickly and rushed off waving his hands apologetically and repeating, "Scusi, scusi, scusi." Poor guy. I think he thought he'd interrupted a wedding proposal.<br /><br />Keen to find out what was inside the box, I untied the ribbon and opened the lid. Inside I found this:<br /><br /></p><p><a><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 401px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 271px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491327924241779650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxdgFt3lUBV5u8eglZQ3IqCeuDLKxo7haevoX9tH80cyMHsPG7o6wABCijFkYnXwQr6cn847Guzoj4DgCqXVqRD9nzvgv9PeYZIJckaGEc77dWEHTRvIUdY4elRQnIHKexuVuaNlZ8daHG/s400/IMG_0401.JPG" /> </p><p></a>It was a beautiful sterling silver locket in the shape of a heart. The Handsome Australian indicated I should open it up to see what was inside. Intrigued, I did just that.<br /><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvdd7YmXZw8VXWLtbRWJbdK8XpkP1aJMAzgRTQEeodf3evrfZMLgmpgs6HFILtW2w6m4uRS7vHQeKSZUERJspyDV2iGm5ArdFtztkFbuTedarZlszYcdlrWS9w0PBdN3mVoOLzwGY3qh5B/s1600/IMG_0404.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491329547769457682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvdd7YmXZw8VXWLtbRWJbdK8XpkP1aJMAzgRTQEeodf3evrfZMLgmpgs6HFILtW2w6m4uRS7vHQeKSZUERJspyDV2iGm5ArdFtztkFbuTedarZlszYcdlrWS9w0PBdN3mVoOLzwGY3qh5B/s400/IMG_0404.JPG" /> </a></p><p>Inside the locket, I found a photograph of the two of us that had been taken in Hawaii earlier this year. While we were there, we'd celebrated our 10th year of marriage with a vow renewal ceremony. The photo was one of the two of us during the ceremony. It was such a lovely sentiment, but then the Handsome Australian told me to lift the photo out of the locket.</p><p>Why? I wondered. What else could possibly be in this locket? So as not to disappoint my dear husband and to cure my increasing curiosity, I did just as he instructed and lifted the photo gently out of the locket...<br /><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGCnldhl20bVdsct5lEg33NtvBxMoFYzWU-Pq2FnKBsBr_Up-pOFJ-PBhksqPrAftlbCWCvW4sU0bfgKWKtXqz8E94ofOW1gxbyYv1p8Dc51RsIUhaCFnBUrkf09ZI85ceq2Ao6Iku9iVv/s1600/IMG_0405.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491332463220556994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGCnldhl20bVdsct5lEg33NtvBxMoFYzWU-Pq2FnKBsBr_Up-pOFJ-PBhksqPrAftlbCWCvW4sU0bfgKWKtXqz8E94ofOW1gxbyYv1p8Dc51RsIUhaCFnBUrkf09ZI85ceq2Ao6Iku9iVv/s400/IMG_0405.JPG" /></a> and there, sitting secretly behind our photo was my lucky penny. The Handsome Australian had realised how significant the finding of this penny had been for me and said he wanted me to have a safe place to keep it (hmm...I guess the top of the chest of drawers just wasn't cutting it). This way, according to him, I'll always have my lucky penny (and the USA) close to my heart. </p><p>The antipasto arrived. It was lackluster. Then there was pizza of some description and several glasses of wine followed by some sort of nuttella dessert pizza. All, truthfully, not that memorable. Or perhaps just eclipsed by the Handsome Australian himself.</p><p>Handsome and thoughtful. What a combination. I'm a lucky girl...in more ways than one.</p><p>suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-22091075391356322722010-07-08T10:57:00.010+10:002010-10-19T16:27:02.890+11:00One night in Buenos Aires...my date with destiny.On a winter's evening in the leafy Buenos Aires suburb of Belgrano, music could be heard bubbling over the fence of a well manicured garden belonging to one of the many stately mansions that lined this particular Calle. Amongst the music, a bevy of accents and languages mingled with the sounds of clinking glassware. A garden party? In the middle of winter? Why yes, nothing's impossible in Buenos Aires. Peeking through the gate you'd expect to see fancy cocktail dresses and fine suits, but that wasn't the case. Just inside the fence, on the lush abundant lawns, were dozens of people, young and old, in all make and manner of fashion. A first impression from the footpath may have been misleading. This was not a fancy soiree. No, in fact, it seemed more like a casual barbecue amongst friends. Yes, there was a waft of sausages a sizzle about the night air. A glance at a very official sign posted just on the wall near the gate and it was obvious who was hosting this delightful gathering...a very serious looking Kangaroo and his partner, an Emu with a wry smile. This was the Australian Consulate after all, who else did you think might host such an unusual party?<br /><br />It was July of 1998 and I found my twenty something self wandering through the gates and into the middle of this eclectic little cocktail party searching for a familiar face. Very much as Alice tumbled down into the strange and stunning world of Wonderland, I reluctantly traipsed through the sea of faces and into the beginning of my fairy tale. It wasn't long before an acquaintance caught my eye. An Economist of sorts and a fellow countryman, he struck up a conversation the details of which I can no longer recall. I'm sure we exchanged pleasantries and remarked about the lovely setting in which we found ourselves, but all the while I was scanning the lawns looking for someone else. Finally, I spotted her, the girl I'd come to meet. I politely excused myself and made my way over to the bar where she stood.<br /><br />She had an unmistakable laugh that made you happy just to hear it. On this evening amidst all of these strange new faces, I was thrilled to hear her laughter. It was after all, the laughter of a friend. As I approached, I noticed she was holding court with a very odd couple. One was a very short and mildly handsome man with a friendly smile who spoke both English and Spanish with a very heavy Italian accent. As it turned out, he also spoke Italian with a very heavy Italian accent. The other half of this odd couple towered over both my friend and the Italian. With his dark eyes and charming good looks, he could have been a citizen of a dozen different countries, but when he spoke, his accent exposed him. Unlike his Italian mate, he didn't struggle with English, but instead spoke it confidently and softly albeit with a subtle but charming Australian accent. I wanted to hear more...<br /><br />Introductions were made immediately and this mysterious Australian and I began to exchange tales of what had brought each of us here to this enchanted city, to these generous gardens, to this very moment. His was a tale of a capitalist well on his way up the corporate ladder. His firm had brought him to Argentina to work on a important project. He spoke little or no Spanish upon his arrival, but now three months in, he could get by. He'd come along this particular evening because his fellow compatriots had made a tradition out of attending these gatherings on a monthly basis. Who was he to argue? Besides, as he explained, where there are drinks, Australians will never be far away. Curious and curiouser indeed. Mine was the tale of a young student on a scholarship with a love of languages and a greater love of travel. My wanderlust had brought me to Argentina where I'd already spent 6 months absorbing the language, the culture, the food. I'd met other Expats along the way and many had become good friends, including my American roommate who had first told me about this party on this night. It was because of her and my lovely laughing British friend who'd been chatting to this Handsome Australian when I arrived that I found myself at this party. In this moment. Talking to him.<br /><br />The evening slipped slowly away as we discussed a great many things. From the corner of my eye, I noticed my British friend had finally escaped the well meaning Italian and moved on to a more lively group of Germans. Yes, there were some truly fascinating people at this party, but none so fascinating to me as this Handsome Australian. There was something about him and his gentle manner that made me happy to spend my evening in conversation with him, and him alone.<br /><br />In the wee hours of the morning, the drinks had stopped flowing and friends and acquaintances alike were bidding one another farewell. It was time to say goodbye to this Handsome Australian. We'd chatted effortlessly through the evening, but when it came to goodbye, we didn't quite know what to say. With an assist from an inebriated Englishman who had interrupted the final moments of our conversation, the Handsome Australian found the courage to ask for my number.<br /><br />It was in that moment, that my life's trajectory was irrevocably changed. Although it was impossible to appreciate at the time, my path had been completely reset.<br /><br />And that my friends, is how *this* <em>Alice</em> came to live in the <em>Wonderland</em> of Australia.suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-58914477462276981682010-07-06T13:28:00.005+10:002010-07-06T14:10:04.602+10:00A bit of luck...A few weeks ago, our children spent the day with their grandparents and the Handsome Australian and I managed to duck out for a lovely lunch together. We hadn't planned on going to lunch necessarily, but when we realised our day's errands would take us past Carrington Road, Box Hill we couldn't resist. We both love a bit of Vietnamese food and Box Hill is one of a few Melbourne hot spots for Vietnamese cuisine. Carrington Road is home to quite a few tasty Vietnamese restaurants. Our favourite amongst the bunch is <a href="http://www.indochinerestaurant.com.au/">Indochine</a>, but on this particular day, we thought we'd try something new. So we took at table upstairs at <a href="http://www.tiendat.com.au/">Tien Dat</a>.<br /><br />We spent the next little while in the sunlit dining room amongst families of all different sizes and cultures enjoying a lovely Sunday lunch. There were mixed spring rolls to start. A warm pot of tea to take off the chill of a winter's day. Then we stuffed ourselves with a lovely Chicken salad and Bun with Lemongrass Beef. With our tummies contented, we made our way downstairs to pay the bill and continue on our merry way.<br /><br />As I stepped outside the doors of Tien Dat and began to make my way down the footpath along Carrington Rd, I looked down and saw this:<br /><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO11OW79nb2SzNs1LgAbRtPz1G_9cQ05JBtobOYPgQzQ4MvAZN96TOBPl32mnYjvR7I-pPVXcv7HDbahXPhkGDA1n511tqmh3Vxu-u-I8P_gjxjaaQGBU6803Hn840QkdEXnAtR6b1xGoB/s1600/IMG_0407.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490631716153325586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO11OW79nb2SzNs1LgAbRtPz1G_9cQ05JBtobOYPgQzQ4MvAZN96TOBPl32mnYjvR7I-pPVXcv7HDbahXPhkGDA1n511tqmh3Vxu-u-I8P_gjxjaaQGBU6803Hn840QkdEXnAtR6b1xGoB/s400/IMG_0407.JPG" /></a><br />A coin lying on the footpath. I didn't think too much about it, but then I looked again.</p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CepUa-MjaRD0_cjGozdhWrE8_mK40l2J5lbV1-2wcCrsQ2G-gH1szg0h36HPAj4akrA9JT4TjtVyWRhsp8t1Kj7YX8mEgwrYIHxl6-ADQXPAlNsNoI6V6jqTaGKHkXACNlUTdzQP5HpD/s1600/IMG_0409.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490635711468892434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CepUa-MjaRD0_cjGozdhWrE8_mK40l2J5lbV1-2wcCrsQ2G-gH1szg0h36HPAj4akrA9JT4TjtVyWRhsp8t1Kj7YX8mEgwrYIHxl6-ADQXPAlNsNoI6V6jqTaGKHkXACNlUTdzQP5HpD/s400/IMG_0409.JPG" /></a> <p></p><p>To my surprise, on the ground in front of me lay not just any coin, but an American penny (1 cent piece). Immediately, my mind was transported back to my childhood and this little rhyme began playing in my head, "See a penny, pick it up. Then all day you'll have good luck." So I reached down and picked up this little penny and gleefully showed it to the Handsome Australian. "Look! Look what I've found here. It's an American penny! A real American penny! That's amazing! What is an American penny doing lying on the footpath in the middle of Box Hill?" Then I proceeded to sing the rhyme to the Handsome Australian. After which, I deemed this penny my "lucky penny". I read the date on the penny--1988. "Was 1988 a good year?" I asked the Handsome Australian. He seemed to think '88 was a decent year. Honestly, I thought to myself, what are the chances of me, an American, walking along this particular footpath at this particular time and finding this particular coin? It definitely seemed like destiny to me. </p><p>I tucked the penny in my pocket and when we picked our children up later in the day, I told them all about Mommy's new lucky penny. They were very impressed and wanted lucky pennies of their own. I told them sagely, "One day, your lucky penny will find you somewhere when you least expect it." After all, that's exactly what happened to me.</p>suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-41325224166181811842010-07-04T22:33:00.005+10:002010-07-04T22:53:10.071+10:00Happy 4th of JulyThere were no fireworks in Melbourne for the 4th of July today. There was no parade or barbecue, or watermelon or children running around waving bright sparklers in the setting sun. In fact, it was hard to tell it was 4th of July at all. So the little people and I decided to whip up a little something patriotic to mark the day in our own quiet way...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSwDGWJlo0jkUA839XF49HMNBD34ltYdMDJSwG_FQb1VcqHZZWMBi8lEZdnmU2q19nfhVUkVuEz3r4tMuD7jfVTNBKkR6hFH-JDFnlLbT42UoxYbQXcvxBxKxdk97REvWM-9awqQH2gZSg/s1600/IMG_0387.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490030195353761618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSwDGWJlo0jkUA839XF49HMNBD34ltYdMDJSwG_FQb1VcqHZZWMBi8lEZdnmU2q19nfhVUkVuEz3r4tMuD7jfVTNBKkR6hFH-JDFnlLbT42UoxYbQXcvxBxKxdk97REvWM-9awqQH2gZSg/s400/IMG_0387.JPG" /></a> Happy 4th of July to all the Americans out there...wherever you may be.<br /><br />*BTW, you're looking at AUD$9.00 worth of blueberries there. This is what happens when you celebrate a Summer holiday in the middle of Winter. Yikes!suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-42358180205669124522010-06-24T22:18:00.002+10:002010-06-24T23:25:46.452+10:00The Expat issues a: Please ExplainWow what a day in Australian history. Last night we went to bed wondering if Australia would be in or out of the World Cup and whether Kevin Rudd would be in or out of Australia's top job. Turns out both scenarios ended disappointingly for the players in question. The Socceroos fought the good fight and came away with a hard earned win, but alas it wasn't enough to keep them in the tournament. The end of Kevin Rudd's term as Australia's Prime Minister became fait acompli in the wee small hours of the morning and he gracefully stepped aside in the caucus room later in the day, handing the reigns to his deputy, Julia Gillard.<br /><br />In a sporting mad country like Australia, you would have expected such a valiant effort by the national soccer team to have been all over the media. It would have been if it weren't for the political upheaval that was happening simultaneously. So needless to say, soccer took the back seat to politics and all day the media ran around telling us about Australia's first female Prime Minister. An exciting story, certainly, but curiously, the biggest thing I took from today's proceedings was this: there is some stigma attached to being a Redhead in Australia. As an expat, my understanding of Aussie culture is constantly evolving and even after 10 years of living in the thick of it, quirky little things like this pop us and make me question if I even know go from whoa.<br /><br />So to the Aussies out there, can someone please explain to me why terms such as "Ranga" (short for orangutan as I understand it), "Ginga Ninja", and "Bloodnut" are being tossed around to describe the newly minted Aussie PM. Why is it such a crime to be a redhead in Australia? Isn't it just a hair colour?suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-71530470852424371872010-06-19T13:29:00.003+10:002010-06-20T23:37:24.824+10:00The Big USA Pilgrimage: Traveling with PreschoolersI recently wrote a <a href="http://gday-yall.blogspot.com/2010/05/big-usa-pilgrimage-traveling-with.html">post </a>about traveling between the USA and Australia with an infant in tow. As I said then and will repeat now, making these transpacific journeys with children adds a whole other dimension and as children age, their requirements change. So in this post, I'd like to talk a little bit about making the journey with preschool aged children.<br /><br />The good news is, I think as my children have aged, the journey has gotten a bit easier. Firstly, the hard work I've put in in the past has started to pay off. The journeys I made with them as babies gave them an introduction to the trip itself and to the goodness that waits for them on the other side: grandparents, cousins, Chick-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">fil</span>-a...you get the idea. My kids never complain about the length of the journey to the USA as they've been enough times to understand that the pain is worth the gain in the long run. Of course they get bored and sometimes frustrated during the trip, but the fact that they've been so many times now means that they well and truly have an understanding of how long it will take and as such have reasonable expectations as to what will happen and when. This understanding of the journey itself is priceless. So put that in the column of reasons to take them and take them often.<br /><br />Once my kids were beyond the baby stage, I had to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">transition</span> my thinking from how will I keep them fed, changed and well rested on the flight to how will I keep them entertained (and fed, and well rested and worst case scenario...changed)? So I began researching ideas on how to entertain young children on such a long journey. I spoke to other Expats about it, I read articles online and I tried to take away ideas that I thought would work the best for my kids.<br /><br />The first thing I did was decide that the children were going to have to share the load a little bit. My children were still young enough to require some nappies and a few changes of clothes, add to that snacks, travel documents, cameras, wipes, medicines, and on and on and on and my carry on luggage was well and truly full. So I got each of them their own little backpacks. They both have a special blanket and a small stuffed animal they sleep with. I packed their blankets and stuffed animals in their bags so they would have those special comforts on the plane.<br /><br />Then for about a month or so before the flight, I scoured the $2 shops for things to entertain them on the plane. Something I read online said you should take a mix of old and new things for the kids. A few old and loved toys that you know they will enjoy having along, but then something new to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">surprise</span> them and distract them once their old favourites have lost their luster (<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">ie</span> the remaining 13.5 hours of the flight). Here's a few ideas of the sorts of things I've included in their backpacks over the last several trips (I've got a girl and a boy, so hopefully the list covers ideas for both genders):<br /><br />*Small notebooks or drawing paper<br />*Coloured pencils/pens/crayons/<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">textas</span> (or markers)<br />*Stickers (pages of stickers)<br />*Colouring/Activity books<br />*Crayola <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Recoloritz</span> (reusable themed pages that can be wiped clean and coloured in again and again)<br />*Stencils<br />*Story books (paperback is the way to go, even though board books are sturdier--they are heavy)<br />*Paper dolls<br />*Play <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">doh</span> w/a few small cookie cutter shapes<br />*Polly Pocket dolls & accessories or similar (small, light weight, but easily lost so beware)<br />*Hot wheels cars (or in my son's case the cars from the Disney <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Pixar</span> Cars movie)<br />*Fold up <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">play mat</span> for the cars<br />*Small plastic animals<br />*Barbie dolls with a few accessories (again, accessories can go missing so beware)<br /><a href="http://www.mudpuppy.com/">*Magnetic Dress Up Dolls/Robots/Pirates</a><br />*<a href="http://www.urbanbaby.com.au/epages/ecomm5000.sf/en_AU/?ObjectPath=/Shops/UrbanBaby/Products/TTMPB-P">Magnetic Playbooks by Tiger Tribe</a><br />*Playing cards<br />*Flash cards<br />*Figurines (choose your poison: Batman, Superman, the Wiggles, Ben 10, etc, etc)<br /><br />There you go. A few ideas of the kinds of things we've packed during our past several trips. It sounds like a lot of items to fit into small backpacks, but we don't take very many of any one thing and we don't necessarily take everything on the list. For instance, this year my son was very heavily into the cars from the <em>Cars</em> movie. He has a small collection here at home so I got him to choose 5 that he wanted to take with him and we put them into a zippered pencil case to keep them together in his backpack. (A <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Ziploc</span> would do the same trick, but a pencil case is sturdy and will last the whole trip.) Then before we departed, I got him 2 new cars for his collection which I put in his backpack. So when we are on the plane, he opens it to find the cars he packed and loves plus a surprise two new ones. He's happy. I'm happy. We're all happy and these cars keep him busy for ages. With my daughter, she was very keen on her Barbies. So I got her to choose two Barbies and a few changes of clothes that she wanted to take along. She stored her things in a pencil case inside her backpack as well. Then I found some <a href="http://shop.mattel.com/product/index.jsp?productId=4002481&cp=3768131.4027156">mini-Barbie figures </a>that were tiny and could be used as siblings or babies of the bigger Barbies and I put them in her backpack. On the plane she opens her pack to find her old Barbies plus a couple of new mini ones. She's happy. I'm happy. We're all happy.<br /><br />At some stage, I began to question the number of things I was purchasing to put in their backpacks for these trips. Between the few new toys and the crayons, colouring books, etc. I was spending anywhere between $30-$60. Then in the middle of one of our trips, I realised something. These items in their backpacks weren't just for the plane. They were for the car rides once we got there. They were for the days at people's homes who don't have children or toys. They were for the fun of sharing with their cousins and the knowledge that even though my children were away from their homes, they still had a few things with them that were truly theirs. These items weren't just for 14 hours of entertainment, they were for 6-8 weeks of entertainment. When I thought of it that way, it seemed like money well spent.<br /><br />What we don't take is a portable DVD player or DVDs of any kind. I often see people lugging these on the flights and I'm not sure why. Qantas has on demand movies and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">TV</span> shows on individual screens in each seat. My kids can watch their choice of shows and I don't have to carry the DVD player. When we get to the USA, there is so much to do and so many people to visit that we don't usually have time to watch DVDs. So what would be the point of having it? Others might find it necessary or useful, but we've survived without it.<br /><br />Hopefully this post is useful to those of you making this long haul journey with your preschool aged children. Do you have any useful tips of your own? Please feel free to add them in the comments section as we can all learn from one another.suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-9938921653821975582010-06-16T23:41:00.003+10:002010-06-17T00:08:18.999+10:00An Accidental AccentWhen my children were very young, they spoke with the Aussiest of accents. The fact that they had an American mother who was their primary care giver never seemed to rub off on them. Their accents were so Aussie that their American grandparents had difficulty understanding them over the telephone (It was heartbreaking, but predictable. Americans aren't known for their ability to understand other English dialects). I never put much thought into how they pronounced their words or what vocabulary they used when they spoke. To me, they were just my children and their voices were their voices.<br /><br />When my daughter was 4, we traveled to the USA for our annual holiday to visit my family. During our time there I noticed a difference in the way she was speaking and the things she was saying. She was slowly but surely picking up the the American accent. Not just a subtle accent though, a very obvious American accent. When we came back to Australia after being in the USA for 8 weeks, EVERYONE commented on how her accent had changed. That she was speaking like an "American" now. At one stage, she asked me, "Mom how long will I speak American for?" Hmmm, I thought, "Well, really as long as you like." She liked to speak like an American, so this accent continued for quite awhile. Slowly though, it began to fade and the Australian accent came back.<br /><br />My son, who is younger, had a similar experience when we returned to visit the USA this year. He picked up lots of American words and came home speaking with a slight American accent. It was nowhere near as profound as the one my daughter came home with last year, but it was certainly noticable.<br /><br />Several weeks after our return home, we had a birthday party at a local Gymnastics school for our daughter. My son, the flirt, had one of the gymnastics instructors eating out of the palm of his hand. The girl spent so much time with him during the party. He loved the attention and she seemed very taken by him. At the end of the party he told me, "Mom, the Gymnastics teacher at the party asked me if I had an American 'accident'." To which I replied, "Oh, you mean, 'accent' right?" But he insisted, "No, I don't mean 'accent' I mean 'accident'. She asked me if I had an American 'accident' and I said 'No' because Mom I don't speak American."<br /><br />So it seems while my daughter's American accent was intentional, I have a charming yet stubborn 3 year old with an <em>accidental accent</em>.suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-87473306963187889132010-06-11T12:28:00.004+10:002010-06-11T12:52:22.520+10:00A slide by any other name...Would be called, "a slippery dip". If you lived in Australia that is. I've lived in Australia for 10 years and this is news to me. See what you can learn on ABC Kids?<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivAm5lihvVcShsrwklsrUgcfvEkB8dncB5U7hRLYfcAB4P57h1oFYd0pwTMy65O9wP21VUSRr3XYUniiHSwKWQH-exshptj-ylCx848FiwRSUkoEDdFE_WIH4MK87v9v8Qkzfu_v8m_qdB/s1600/IMG_0252.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481339143646456642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivAm5lihvVcShsrwklsrUgcfvEkB8dncB5U7hRLYfcAB4P57h1oFYd0pwTMy65O9wP21VUSRr3XYUniiHSwKWQH-exshptj-ylCx848FiwRSUkoEDdFE_WIH4MK87v9v8Qkzfu_v8m_qdB/s400/IMG_0252.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div>The view from the top is still very much the same as it was when I knew it as "a slide", but the potential for fun seems to have increased exponentially.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481340324049046898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEC19eenMx7VPksrFxbuDStcgGUbAK-185z0kBzvP5c1T72HKOUEIEGisOjiJguv7_Tc7CojhESIoG6R3Fg2RGZs4rYkU9zQr11HZm-ElaOutLc-XH-R-LuYSh5PsYwwxvEPAGxDNAoBO2/s400/IMG_0251.JPG" /><br /><br />That's the key to the Aussie spirit...same stuff, funnier names.suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-46236120708290743522010-05-02T19:34:00.002+10:002010-05-02T20:06:58.583+10:00The Big USA Pilgrimage: Traveling with an InfantInternational travel is always an undertaking, but never more so than when you have kids in tow. The flights between Australia and the USA are so long that one must come prepared. I was extremely anxious before we took our first transpacific flight with my first born. She was 7 months old at the time and I know I lost sleep for many nights before we departed wondering if she'd scream her guts out for 14hrs and how exactly I'd deal with the ensuing mutiny if that really did occur. Fortunately, my nightmares never saw the light of day and my daughter was relatively well behaved. Of course, half of that is credit to her personality and the other half is credit to good planning on my part.<br /><br />When traveling with an infant on a transpacific flight, I always tried to contain my hand luggage to just the nappy (diaper) bag. The reason being, I'd need to have my hands free to carry the baby. Inside of the nappy bag I'd pack:<br /><br />*nappies (enough for the flight plus extra in case we missed a connection or had a delay)<br />*Plastic bags<br />*tissues<br />*wipes<br />*changing mat<br />*bottles (w/formula if you require or to be used for milk)<br />*baby food or snacks<br />*bibs<br />*baby's blanket<br />*PJs<br />*Couple of changes of clothes for baby and a clean shirt for me<br />*Medicines: panadol, dimetap, bonjela, etc<br />*Wallet<br />*Travel Documents<br />*My personal toiletries (toothbrush, toothpaste, etc)<br />*Toys: 6 or 7 small items, some old favourites mixed with something totally new but NOTHING with noise (your baby might like the sounds, but your fellow passengers don't...trust me!)<br /><br />(This is not an exhaustive list, but just a general idea)<br /><br />I always pack these items in sealed plastic bags (ziplocs or space bags). I did it on a whim the very first time I flew the distance with my new baby and have stuck to this method ever since. It's much easier to pack and repack ziploc bags holding groups of items rather than each item individually. Also, something always spills or leaks, so if every item is zipped up in plastic then you won't have any big consequences with these unfortunate spills.<br /><br />My children always traveled as lap children when they were under 2 years old. This meant we only paid 10% of the full fare for them and they aren't allocated a seat. When they are small enough, they can sleep in a built in bassinet while on board the plane. The bassinets fold down from the bulk head at the front of each section of the plane (on Qantas anyway). Many parents find this a useful place for baby to sleep during the flight. My kids have always hated them and never settled to sleep in them . So in my personal experience, they were of little value, unfortunately. Don't be deterred though. Give them a go and see if they work for your child. If it means having your lap free for 7 out of 14 hours, then it's all worth it. The downside to these bulk head seats is the arm rests house your tray tables so they do not lift up. So if you do have an empty seat next to you, you can't really stretch out because the arm rest is in the way. So bottom line is, if you aren't going to use the bassinets, try to request seats elsewhere so you can spread out more easily if you have the chance.<br /><br />Another item I found really useful during my travels with my infant children was my Baby Bjorn. This came in super handy when baby number 2 arrived and I needed to have my hands free to hold child number 1's hand or push child number 1 in a stroller (pram). You do have to completely remove baby from the pouch and put the whole thing through the x-ray machine at the security check point, but it was nice to have my hands free for checking in, paying for food, carrying hand luggage, etc. (It might be important to note here that a great many of my USA trips with my children have been done solo due to my husband's work commitments. So having my hands free was very important because I was doing everything myself),<br /><br />I always take a small collapsible stroller that I can gate check. I found it useful to have the kids buckled into a stroller in a busy airport so 1) they don't get lost and 2) we can move quickly if necessary. Also, I've found the stroller a great help in transporting my hand luggage as I'd generally hook that bag on the handles. A basic stroller that can fully recline with some sort of small storage space underneath is what I've always used. The stroller has always been really helpful in the LAX airport waiting for our return flight to Melbourne as that flight doesn't depart until 11pm LA time. By this point, my kids are beyond tired. So I just wheel them around in the stroller till they fall asleep and then wrap them up and carry them on board the plane when it's time to depart, turning the stroller over to the airline staff at the jet way entrance.<br /><br />As for car seats, we've never taken them along. Partly because we've got so much other luggage and partly because we are always able to borrow seats from kind family and friends upon arrival in the USA. Now that our kids are older and only require the basic booster seats, we've actually purchased their own inexpensive ones in the USA and leave them with family members there from year to year. This works well if you always visit the same place.<br /><br />I'm sure this does seem like a lot of things to consider, but when it's all packed up, it' isn't really that bad. I'd love to hear from others about what things you take along and what's worked for you. Please share what you know in the comments section! Thanks.suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-26865625006707108022010-04-29T09:00:00.001+10:002010-04-29T09:00:03.920+10:00The Big USA Pilgrimage: Airline Choices or Why I heart QantasI get plenty of comments on this blog (when I actually find the time to post) from Americans who have recently moved to Australia for work purposes as well as other young American women, like me, who have fallen head over heals for their own Handsome Australians and have decided to settle in Australia. In either case, we all need/want to travel back to the USA at some stage. Some of us will do it often, some of us will do it rarely, but it will be done. In this post, I thought I'd outline my thoughts on the airline choice we make for the Australia-USA journey. I'd love for this to be a conversation where everyone shares their opinions and thoughts regarding the various airlines in the comments section. We can all learn something from one another right?<br /><br />Here it is: We ALWAYS fly Qantas. This isn't meant to be an advert for Qantas, but over time they've proven to be the airline that best meets our requirements. Having lived in Australia for 10 years, Qantas, United, and Air New Zealand were originally the only choices we had to choose from regarding our travel to the USA. From Melbourne, United stops in Sydney before heading to LAX or SFO. Air New Zealand takes you from Melbourne to Auckland before continuing to LAX. Qantas takes you directly from Melbourne to LAX non-stop. Need I say more?<br /><br />Before I had children, I didn't mind stopping in NZ or Sydney, but since I've had kids I've learned that the most direct and quickest route is the best choice. The fewer times you have to get on and off a plane, the fewer times you have to shift luggage, the fewer times you have to resettle a restless child--frankly, the better. Qantas isn't always the cheapest choice, they may be a few hundred dollars more than the competition at times, but during these long trips I'd pay far more than that for the sanity I gain through only having the one direct flight. (Obviously from other parts of Australia your choices will be different and in many cases, better).<br /><br />In the past few years, the route between Australia and the USA has been deregulated allowing for more competition. New airlines have come into the market that weren't flying these routes 10 years ago. Delta, V Australia, and Jet Star are among the airlines that now offer services to different parts of the USA. As we only travel to the USA once a year and are heavily invested in the Qantas frequent flyer program, we have yet to try any of the other airlines. Some of you may have traveled with the other airlines and have valuable insights about them. Feel free to chime in with your experiences in the comments section. =)<br /><br />So, the obvious reason why we fly Qantas is the ability to fly direct, but there are other things I like about the experiences we've had. Qantas offers an excellent on board entertainment system that makes traveling with children a lot more enjoyable. Each seat in Economy class (because that's where we fly!) comes equipped with a TV screen in the seat back in front of you. Your arm rest holds the remote control and at your finger tips are hours of "on demand" TV shows, movies and games. There is a plethora of child friendly content and the kids can pick and choose what they want to watch or play. (This has recently become even easier on the new A380s as the entire system is operated by a touch screen--so easy even my 3 year old can do it on his own). I love it! I don't have to carry a portable DVD player or lug a laptop. The kids don't have to argue over who gets to watch what--we all decide our own destinies! It's fantastic.<br /><br />Qantas still offers a meal service and a 'kid's meal' option. I always book the children a 'kid's meal' and generally ring Qantas to confirm ahead of time because we've been caught out a few times. Their kid's meals are very kid friendly and offer a selection of items on the tray both hot and cold, sweet and savoury. This is something you take for granted and then one day you fly Jet Star and you realise how good you had it on Qantas...more about that another day.<br /><br />Generally, there is a kid's activity pack that gets passed out at the start of the journey and my kids always seem to get at least 45 minutes of joy out of these. These packs are ideal for bridging the gap between take off and when the entertainment system is up and running (on the 747s anyway, the new A380s let you start watching videos before you even take off--hooray!). If you don't get handed one, be sure to ask for it. Once the initial excitement wears off, we tuck them away and revisit them later in our journey.<br /><br />Qantas staff have been, in our experience, polite and helpful. I find the Melbourne ground staff to be really, really friendly. The flight attendants on board are generally nice and good with our kids and have given us extra help when we require it. The happiness and good will seems to end in LA though as the staff that work the counters and gates in LA seem to be missing the laid back and friendly Aussie spirit, and are more in keeping with the sometimes rough and unpredictable city in which they work. I have found that even the sternest of encounters can be softened by a smile from my son, so I keep him nearby to charm these tough LA gatekeepers. Hey, whatever works right?<br /><br />The benefits of sticking with Qantas has meant that we've been able to take advantage of their frequent flyer program. Since we know we'll be making a USA trip each year, we've set ourselves up with credit cards that earn Qantas points and we take advantage of other opportunities like Woolworth's Everyday Rewards program, that allow us to collect more frequent flyer points. We are all members of the Qantas frequent flyer program--including the kids. We enrolled them when they were 2 years old and we had to start paying for their seats. This means we all earn points each time we fly with Qantas and their program allows you to transfer points between family members. So, all of these things add up and we get a couple of free tickets every second year or so. When you are looking at airfares for 4, every little bit helps!<br /><br />There you have it, the many reasons why we choose Qantas for our USA trips. Again, I am not trying to intentionally promote the airline, bur rather outline the reasons why it's proven to be a sensible choice for our family. Would love to hear what everyone else thinks! Let the comments begin!suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-52824482818958992862010-04-28T10:26:00.004+10:002010-04-28T10:40:29.448+10:00The Big USA PilgrimageThe time rolls around each year when the Handsome Australian and I prepare ourselves and the little people for our pilgrimage to the USA. Since I've been living in Australia (for the better part of 10 years) I've averaged about 1 trip to the USA each year. In the beginning, our trips generally lasted for 2 to 3 weeks. The Handsome Australian and I both had busy work schedules and this was pretty much the maximum amount of time we could afford to take off in one hit. Packing for those trips was easy as we typically traveled over the Christmas period and we confidently loaded our bags with jeans and jumpers and off we went.<br /><br />Now that we've had two children, our trips to the USA have become a completely different endeavour, as you might imagine. Firstly, we've changed the time of year that we travel. While being with my family during Christmas would be lovely, we've found that airfares to the USA are nearly double during the Christmas period. Airports are crowded and the weather can be uncooperative. Who wants to be stuck in an airport with over-tired toddlers after a 14 hr flight waiting for 6 hours because your connection has been delayed or canceled? Certainly not I. We've found some of the best fares to be had are generally during the North American Spring and Fall. Typically February, March and April are good travel months as well as October and early November.<br /><br />We've chosen to travel during March/April for the past four years. This has meant we've spent Easter with my family each time. Since we are unable to be in the USA for Christmas, it's been lovely to share another significant holiday and its traditions with my family. Our children look forward to the colouring of eggs, the big Easter egg hunt and all the play time they get with their many American cousins. It's a tradition and while I'd love my kids to have the opportunity to spend Christmas with their cousins as well, I appreciate that life as an expat has its limitations. Many times this lifestyle requires compromise and thinking outside the box. So instead of being homesick and sad about missing Christmas, we've endeavoured to create a new set of customs that fit our schedule and don't bust our budget.<br /><br />How long do we normally visit for now? What do we pack? Stay tuned for a new series of posts where I will endeavour to share what I've learned over the years about making this big journey. Thanks for stopping by!suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-81530624263876737962010-02-21T16:35:00.011+11:002010-02-21T22:21:49.776+11:00Jock's Ice Cream<div align="left">Australia isn't known for it's ice cream, and with good reason. Quality ice cream is a hard thing to find in the land down under. The variety of ice cream outlets and even grocery store options are something I took for granted during my time in the USA. I never realised that the rest of the world lived without <em><a href="http://www.benjerry.com/">Ben & Jerry's</a></em>. OMG! I didn't appreciate the <em><a href="http://www.bluebell.com/">Blue Bell </a>Homemade Peach</em> (the Texans among you know what I'm talking about) until it was too late. Honestly, I'm not even a true ice cream connoisseur. Deep down, I'm a <em>Slurpee</em> girl at heart. So when I first moved to Australia, I didn't even take notice of the lack of good ice cream. <a href="http://gday-yall.blogspot.com/2008/10/deal-breakers.html">I just wanted to make sure there was a ready supply of <em>Slurpees</em>.</a><br /><br />As it turns out, I married an ice cream fanatic who, unfortunately unbeknown to him, happened to live in a country with paltry ice cream offerings. The Handsome Australian loves nothing more than a cold bowl of ice cream at the end of the night. Until we lived in the USA together for a stint early in our marriage, he was quite happy with the ice cream he'd grown up eating in Australia. Then I introduced him to <em>Ben & Jerry's</em> and the like, and thus began his dissatisfaction with the Australian ice cream industry. He couldn't believe the myriad of flavours on offer in the USA, nor the quality. Just as we wondered how Americans survived without <em>Tim Tams</em>, we also wondered how Australians survived with out <em>Ben & Jerry's</em>.<br /><br />After living in the USA, the Handsome Australian became a true ice cream snob. It was the only part of his food snob persona that had yet to be cultivated, so it was no surprise really. He was all ready a coffee snob and a restaurant snob; to become an ice cream snob as well was really the logical next step.<br /><br />As you can imagine, once you become an ice cream snob, not just any ice cream will do. You want to eat really good ice cream all the time. How do you do that when you live in a place where really good ice cream is hard to find? Well, you pack the wife and kids in the car and you drive across town to visit <em>Jock's</em>.<br /></div><br /><p align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440567872704758258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcWq1hSJsxhOtczQk1-TGswyYBswlk1n2_G-kJs5QOMuTsIzCmS7pX1RsBAZR40s3rLbRY3i4Z1Vsy9uUVL-H3b9vPaUdezO5F9OaFXbrICKlUIYYa136bJxb1P1hV9HgTSWmXuGf8u8I/s400/Jan+iPhone+013.JPG" /><em>83 Victoria Ave, Albert Park<br /></em><em></em></p><br /><p align="left"><em>Jock's Ice Cream</em> <em>& Sorbet</em> is both a well kept secret and an institution. Tucked appropriately between a Pizzeria and a Video shop on Albert Park's Victoria Avenue, <em>Jock's</em> always has a steady stream of customers<em>.</em> The place seems to do a roaring trade with the locals who all arrive on foot, bicycle, skateboard or scooter. Some come just for one scoop, while others arrive with cooler bags and grab a couple of litres to take home. How lucky are these folks to have Jock in their neighbourhood? </p><br /><div align="left">Then there are the diehards like us. The people who have driven over half an hour to marvel at <em>Jock's</em> wall of awards (yes, there is a wall full of framed awards in case you were in doubt about the quality of the ice cream) and drool over the offerings in the freezer case. There is a definite quirkiness about <em>Jock's</em> and a true originality when it comes to flavour offerings. On our most recent visit, the Handsome Australian chose "Baked Apple" to top his cone. Imagine a baked apple pie, but as an ice cream flavour. Honestly, it was so smooth and subtle yet extraordinarily delicious.<br /><br />I was enticed by the "Obamarama", which was peanut butter and jelly ice cream. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><p align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440567127793927730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmuXmfMUjCSU1JjgJkZ2EfKwgvEXvyBiaDG8KEExKc4lRaUWJEvax78gfqJq6FuTwBsrPqvp1yZAteI3D91KJY8dhC6MgcNOOhgzot__zDyMUtj1PNI0L3XV0w9EhJd3cCYVAjmxvbPL7/s400/iPhone+21-2-10+016.JPG" /> <em>Obamarama</em></p><br /><p>Seriously. I wouldn't normally go for that kind of a flavour, but after tasting the Baked Apple, I knew that Obamarama, while unusual, would not disappoint. It certainly didn't.<br /><br />Our little fellow loves lemon. If there is a lemon sorbet on offer, that's what he wants. Inevitably, we always have to eat half of his cone because it starts to melt before he can finish...or that's how we explain it to him anyway. This means I've tasted a lot of lemon sorbet over the years and <em>Jock's</em> version of the lemon sorbet is definitely the best I've ever had.<br /></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440568836102611234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9U9py9d7pYsvDQLCJAe_jBbUhn0iKezhQxtMEwjXgfpJZl7KQBTR5HhOr0xRdapLxTMscuMfp_YkrA8xOdtF-GL1u_E4V2rMJicOyJE8p4B2alLJeFQaWSWcblPqvq_K1VpEcuR6-2fpH/s400/Jan+iPhone+009.JPG" /><br /><p align="center"><em>Loves a little Lemon</em></p><br /><div align="left">As for the little lady, she loves anything involving a mixture of chocolate and vanilla. Jock's answer for her was a flavour called, "Chocolate Ripple". This is another popular Aussie dessert, Chocolate Ripple Cake, as an ice cream flavour. Nothing but smiles from her, confirming yet another winning flavour combination.</div><br /><div align="left"><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440568152121794242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfsqoPjd6h4d06YXlGjA_4QB0XxTK3LAm5B38xP9KBV50QJ0IIhCGvFyiXu28atTVZe_V_1FH0gqmE0ML4SRstmV_JS6cHR9P9Eb4QBSeZXvAUh2s9uF4vt-nQdqPIeucIY-eyuyog8G3/s400/Jan+iPhone+010.JPG" /><br /><p align="center"><em>Her smile has a ripple effect</em></p><br /><p align="left">After the hard work of choosing your flavour is over, you can relax on large communal benches outside or take your ice cream for a stroll along the beach which is a short three blocks away. Fantastic ice cream in a lovely neighbourhood right next to the beach. Who could ask for more?</p><br /><p align="left"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440566906784858258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSjXPXXJAxzqcBaCSgZaxSp3DGrvJ5UpokB7PRkYKP2LbqXdJmTkwKcitcvVsXgvaOD8r9MslZbW-uNOlUQIvYwZpob7xo3zREj1uKHgXgTm7q5l_LrDCoSlWOeCwg6VYjXH2bhNToh1ud/s400/iPhone+21-2-10+022.JPG" />Not this guy, he's in heaven! </p><br /><p align="left">If the ice cream is this good, how could it still be a well kept secret? This is the one thing I don't understand about <em>Jock's. </em>When I mention the place to people in our area, no one has heard of it. Yet the newspaper clippings and magazine articles singing the praises of <em>Jock's </em>line another wall inside his store. Some things just can't be explained, but I'll tell you this--run, don't walk, to <em>Jock's </em>today for your own little scoop of ice cream heaven. </p>suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-19798888607646024332010-02-14T21:06:00.002+11:002010-02-14T22:16:30.523+11:00Starting all over again...again.Two short weeks ago, I started over. My oldest child began her first year of primary school here in Australia and although I've been living here for 10 years, this experience has been a whole new ball game. I felt once again, like I'd just arrived. I know lots of parents have to adjust to the difference between <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">pre</span>school and primary school, but I can't help but think that as an expat, there is another dimension. I feel like, in many ways, I've got far more things to consider than my Australian counterparts going through the same transition.<br /><br />Australians have a basic working knowledge of the school system here because they were educated in the very system in question. I, on the other hand, was educated in the American public school system. I can't help but constantly feel like I'm on the back foot and everyone else is two steps ahead of me. The school schedule, the daily routine, the curriculum, all seems to be second nature to most of the other parents, but I'm taking in the information as quickly as it's coming and I still feel a bit like a deer in the headlights. The Handsome Australian is a good reference for me because he was schooled here in Australia, but his memory is vague. Really, really vague. (Is there a man out there that remembers details? Anyone?) So I soldier on, trying to work it all out.<br /><br />The basics are all there, but the approach is vastly different to what I remember of school in the USA. During a Parent Information Evening last week, our daughter's teacher was explaining the "No Worries" approach that the school takes with the children. If they make a mistake, they are told, "No worries, we all make mistakes. " That seemed fair enough. Then she said, "If they forget something at home like their hat or their jacket or their show and tell item, please don't rush home and get it for them even if they are crying. We just say, 'No worries'. It's okay, you forgot." I appreciate that these kids are very young and teaching them to not sweat the little things is probably good for their resilience, but <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">gee</span> it seems really laid back to an American like me. I'm not saying it's wrong, I'm just saying it's different. It's many subtle differences like this that mean I have to constantly rethink my expectations, readjust my understanding and review the process.<br /><br />Then there is the whole social side of things. Just like my daughter in her new class, I've got to make new friends with the other Mums. I've always said Melbourne social circles can be a hard nut to crack. My prior experience here has taught me that most <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Melbournians</span> have well established friendship circles full of life long friends and family which leave very little room for expats like myself. I'm not saying <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Melbournians</span> are unfriendly, I'm just saying the lack of transience in their culture means the ties that bind are that much stronger than a more transient society like the USA. Which means as an Expat, you have to work that much harder to create a network for yourself--especially when you spend 2 months out of the year back in the USA, which has been the case for our family for the past 4 or 5 years.<br /><br />Yes, just as the school year is settling in, and we've started to learn the names of the other children and parents, we pick up and go back to the USA for 6-8 weeks. When our daughter started preschool, I thought nothing of our trip to the USA and its social implications for either of us. When we returned from our trip I realised the friendship groups in the class and among the parents had formed and we were on the outside looking in, once again. This isn't a problem that doesn't solve itself over time, but it's just the constant feeling of starting over, starting over, starting over. Of course as soon as we settle in to the group, the year is finished and the following year is a different class or even a different preschool...and repeat.<br /><br />Now that my daughter is at primary school, I know we'll be in one place for quite awhile so the friendships we make now will hopefully be lasting ones. Still, with a trip to the USA pending 6 short weeks after the beginning of the school year, I am doing everything I can to meet and befriend as many of the families as we can to try and avoid that starting over feeling again once we return from our trip. Who knew there would be so much to consider?<br /><br />I thought I'd gotten the hang of this country, but here I am starting all over...again.suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-42711036959293273202010-02-03T18:37:00.006+11:002010-02-03T19:18:41.256+11:00A peanut butter injustice!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ixfwwKpY88Nf_eudbxfbYtPLJFjodGbuyv9HJtorNnq9YvFfkVYvaxOHwjJIBR4KZ4l8iZ1nyuHzlqn8Dl9zGY1ZvlDyMl8M7NaS61QDmPlpDQA7mZXLGnnuyJ4sToO8OT1vMp5yt8E0/s1600-h/Jan+iPhone+036.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433926067272707522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ixfwwKpY88Nf_eudbxfbYtPLJFjodGbuyv9HJtorNnq9YvFfkVYvaxOHwjJIBR4KZ4l8iZ1nyuHzlqn8Dl9zGY1ZvlDyMl8M7NaS61QDmPlpDQA7mZXLGnnuyJ4sToO8OT1vMp5yt8E0/s400/Jan+iPhone+036.JPG" /></a><br /><div>The Handsome Australian and I had the opportunity to take our little people to lunch at the local cafe today. We don't exactly live in a suburb that is overrun with first rate eateries. In fact, I can't think of a single one in a 2-3km radius. Most of the places near us are typical suburban cafes. Nothing fancy, prices are reasonable and the coffee is generally 'good enough'. As the Handsome Australian is a self professed "food snob", it takes a bit of convincing to get him to eat locally. He much prefers the inspired menus, award winning barristas and slick fit outs of the inner city eateries. Unfortunately, for the Handsome Australian, you can't be cool 100% of the time--especially when you have kids. </div><br /><div></div><div>Our cafe of choice today is one frequented by the children and I on a regular basis. We pop in to have coffee, milk shakes and smartie cookies at least once or twice a week. It has a real neighbourhood vibe. We always know at least one or two other customers when we arrive. The kids love the place because there is a bucket of toys in a corner in the back and they spend the entire time playing with their mates while I catch up with the other Mums. It's not flashy, but it serves a purpose. It's a good neighbourhood meeting place for the desperate housewives of our little slice of suburban Melbourne.</div><br /><div></div><div>So when we went today for lunch with the Handsome Australian, I tried to prepare him for what he'd find upon arrival. I told him the coffee wasn't going to compare to the ones he gets from the award winning barrista across the road from his City office. I told him the menu was limited and to be honest, I don't actually eat there, we usually just grab drinks and cookies. I wanted to lower the expectations as much as possible because when the Handsome Australian goes for a meal, he doesn't like to be disappointed. I thought I'd done a pretty good job of lowering the bar...</div><br /><div></div><div>When we arrived, we found they had a kid's menu which was very reasonably priced (they aren't paying City rents are they?) with many options that our children would find appealing. After a brief discussion, our oldest decided she'd have a Vegemite sandwich and our youngest chose to have peanut butter and jam (or jelly for the Americans out there). The Handsome Australian and I chose a couple of foccacias and then we waited.</div><br /><div></div><div>The waitress brought out the kids' sandwiches first. They are served on plastic kid friendly platters with cute pictures. They are cut up into bit size squares that kids can easily handle. So far so good. Then I looked over at the little man's peanut butter and jam and my jaw hit the floor. There were piles of margarine oozing out the sides of his sandwich. (Don't believe me? Have a look at the photo above? Large quantities of margarine clearly visible!!) This was a real, WTF? kind of moment. Who puts margarine on a peanut butter and jam sandwich? Isn't the butter in peanut butter implied? Do you need to add butter or margarine? Never in my 30ish years have I ever seen such a disservice done to the humble peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Who knew you could tamper with something so pure and simple? Wow. </div><br /><div></div><div>Poor little man didn't eat it. I wonder why? <a href="http://gday-yall.blogspot.com/2008/06/would-you-like-marg-reen-on-that.html">I've never understood the Australians' need to put margarine on the bread of every sandwich they make.</a> Surely common sense should prevail in a case like this. From now on I'll be ordering the peanut butter and jam sandwiches WITHOUT the butter!!! </div><br /><div></div><div>Yes, this is a crazy, crazy place. Or perhaps this particular well meaning suburban cafe is a crazy, crazy place. One thing is for certain, after seeing this crime against peanut butter and jam, the Handsome Australian will never set foot in this cafe again. I guess I just didn't lower the bar enough...how could I have known?</div>suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-41198835528862633082010-02-02T22:43:00.002+11:002010-02-02T23:07:06.225+11:00Expat or Texpat?I was shopping recently and came across a sales woman with a familiar sounding accent. She was clearly American, and once she heard me speaking to my son, she realised I must be as well. She asked, "Are you from North America?" (Which is the polite way to ask someone if they are American by the way, because if you ask a Canadian if they are American, well, you'll never hear the end of it. The accents can sound very similar sometimes especially with a little Aussie lingo in the mix that you can never be sure. So to be on the safe side, go for the whole continent and then work your way down). I said, "Yes, I am." So then she asked me even more politely, "What part of North America? Canada or the US?" To which I replied, "Oh me, I'm from Texas." Then we had the standard conversation about how she couldn't believe I was from Texas (always a hard sell) because I don't sound anything like a Texan (insert stereotypical accent here). We talked about places she'd been in Texas and the fact that she actually lived there for five years once herself. Turns out this particular saleswoman was from Chicago originally, married an Aussie and is now settled here in Melbourne with her very own Handsome Australian and a couple of kids.<br /><br />When we finished with our pleasantries I wished her a good afternoon and continued my shopping. As I walked along, I replayed the conversation in my mind and started to think about my response to her question about where I'm from. When she said, 'Canada or the US?' I didn't even blink and shot out 'Texas'. Why? Maybe I was just trying to skip the next question: whereabouts in the US are you from? I don't think that was the case though. I think it was a case of Texas pride, because we Texans are, amongst other things, a proud people. Yes, the more I think about it, I wanted to make it very clear that I was not just from the US, but from Texas.<br /><br />You know, there is a saying that goes: Texas. It's like a whole other country. The longer I live in Australia, the more I feel that way about Texas. When we make our annual trips to the USA to visit, we visit Texas almost exclusively. I've got family spread out all over the state and it takes us the entire 6 weeks just to fit them all in. So we really aren't visiting the US, we are visiting Texas and it is like a whole other country to us.<br /><br />So I'm thinking instead of the 'Expat' label, perhaps 'Texpat' is more appropriate.suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-12572254438142280912010-01-12T08:54:00.004+11:002010-01-12T09:26:05.877+11:0043Yesterday it was 43 degrees here in Melbourne. That's in Celsius by the way. In Fahrenheit, that little number becomes the great big number of 109.4 . I don't care where you are from, that's hot. An American friend asked me if that was common here this time of year. I wouldn't say 43 is a common occurrence in Melbourne, but it's not completely unheard of. We had a few days of 40+ degrees last summer--some of you might remember what happened then...the <a href="http://gday-yall.blogspot.com/2009/02/mother-natures-fury.html">Black Saturday </a>bush fires. When the mercury climbs this high and the winds start to blow, I get a sinking feeling now. I start to think about the possibility of another bushfire--and we live in the city, not even in the bush where the threat is very real. I can only imagine the terror in the hearts of the people actually living in the heart of the bush. Yesterday as my children and I sat nestled inside of our air conditioned home, I watched the laundry whipping in the wind on the line in the back garden and I hoped that there would be no stories of raging fires on the evening news. I hoped that our neighbours in the bush would be spared this year. The day came and went with little or no incidence--fire wise that is. Hundreds of trains were cancelled due to the heat and the Handsome Australian was forced to find another way home. We normally shut the air conditioner off overnight, but as we made our way to bed around midnight, the mercury was still sitting at 32 degrees (89.6 F) and when I awoke this morning it was 31 degrees (87.1 F)--so needless to say, we kept the air conditioner humming. Last night was apparently one of Melbourne's hottest nights on record. Today's forecast is for a high of 40 degrees (104 F) so we'll be staying close to home, trying to stay cool and hoping the best. I'll also be folding all of that laundry as I wait for the cool change to come through...suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-25714500870407649602009-12-27T11:40:00.002+11:002009-12-27T11:40:00.064+11:00Another Christmas in Australia....So it appears I had quite the Grand Final hangover since I haven't posted anything since <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Geelong</span> secured their berth in this year's big match. They went on to win the whole thing by the way...in case you were living in a cave for the last few months, or outside of Australia where very few know what Aussie Rules Footy is all about. Sorry about my lack of posts, I'll try and be better in 2010!<br /><br />Christmas has now officially come and gone at our house and we've survived. Every year, the festive season in Australia seems to get more and more festive. Our calendars begin to fill with holiday gatherings from mid-November until well in to January. It's incredible the amount of things we need to celebrate and the number of people we need to do this celebrating with. That's a lot of champagne folks, and we still haven't reached the finish line. Cheers!<br /><br />Boxing Day (as the 26<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">th</span> of December is known here in Australia) provided a much needed day of rest from the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">madness</span> that came before and is due to follow. So yesterday while I was sitting around doing absolutely nothing for the first time since I can't remember when, I started to think about Christmas here and Christmas in the USA (because on Boxing Day in Australia, it is still Christmas in the USA). I realised the following things:<br /><br />1. Where is the Christmas music in Australia? Seriously. There are Carols by Candlelight across parks, churches and community centers throughout December so I know they like caroling, but there is no Christmas music on the radio. Where is the Christmas music on the radio? Aren't there stations in the USA that play Christmas music solidly for about a week in the lead up to the big event? Am I making this up? Is this revisionist history? This is what I remember. Can someone please set me straight? Also can someone from my Aussie audience (that is if there is still an audience out there somewhere) please explain why there is no Christmas music on the radio because it's just not Christmas until I hear a bit of Wham...<em>Last Christmas I gave you my heart...</em><br /><br />2. Andes mints--they were in our Christmas stockings every year when I was a kid. Nothing said Christmas like those little foil wrapped slices of heaven. There are no Andes mints here. I have to say that normally this is not a problem for me, but yesterday, I really missed the Andes mints.<br /><br />3. As I watched weather reports from all around the world roll in and I saw people stuck at <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">airports</span> and planes sliding off runways and blizzards all over the Northern Hemisphere, I was glad to be having Christmas in the summer. It's taken me nearly 10 years to become used to this custom, but it just makes things so much easier logistically speaking. Travel is easier, catering for large numbers of people is easier because you can entertain outdoors. Summer food is easier--no need to worry about getting all the food into the oven and hot at the same time--we're having salads!! No cooking required. In this respect, I was really pleased to be spending Christmas in Australia this year.<br /><br />4. Speaking of cooking, we hosted Christmas at our place this year. The Handsome Australian has a rather large family and we did our best to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">accommodate</span> them in our humble home. Our kind neighbours loaned us a spit to roast meat on in the back garden. This was genius. That meant no cooking in the oven and it also meant the boys were in charge of lunch! The one down side to this was the smoke from said spit wafted into our house for about 12 hours. It's now several days later and our house still smells like a barbecue pit. Ugh, but did I mention we had 30 people over and I, personally, cooked nothing!! So I guess you have to take the good with the bad eh?<br /><br />5. Christmas gifts aren't as big of a deal amongst my Australian family. It seems each year, we are giving and receiving fewer and fewer gifts--which I have to say, isn't really a bad thing. It seems like the gifts we do give and receive are to and from <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">acquaintances</span> (like the children's teachers and the boy that cuts our lawn) more than friends and family. The best gift I received this year for Christmas, besides the health of my family, was a chocolate croissant from <a href="http://www.theage.com.au/news/entertainment/epicure/restaurant-review/noisette-boulangerie-patisserie/2009/04/06/1238869893659.html"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Noisette</span></a>. Run, don't walk to Port Melbourne and get yourself one, unless you happen to be in France in which case you can probably find something similar at your local patisserie.<br /><br />6. My children don't love the Boxing Day Test Match (that's Cricket at the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">MCG</span> y'all) on the TV as much as the Handsome Australian does. There were plenty of tears yesterday as the Handsome one monopolised the television for his love of the game. He hasn't brain washed them on the Cricket yet like he has with the Aussie Rules. Perhaps that should be one of his resolutions for 2010?<br /><br />Hope you and yours have enjoyed a lovely holiday season right around the world!suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-84250324608274055932009-09-20T07:21:00.010+10:002009-09-20T19:14:20.169+10:00Go the Cats!!!!!!!!!!!!!!It's these hands that are responsible for the Geelong Football Club (I'm talking Aussie Rules y'all) love affair that plays itself out in our house each year.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGx8QAZwlYWyE4soP6tTGGlzlIZ5Y9s2ktDfal2fU4MIWu44YHdWmHxtWQEjvwE9F2rkAaC_OCaocgu6mkpNeDmkKSi9CoIEJvihhsRN0i5QnJxZtWJFEk9OHF_oOwikCQYRLHVwq4UsJ/s1600-h/IMG_5950.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383299037961242850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGx8QAZwlYWyE4soP6tTGGlzlIZ5Y9s2ktDfal2fU4MIWu44YHdWmHxtWQEjvwE9F2rkAaC_OCaocgu6mkpNeDmkKSi9CoIEJvihhsRN0i5QnJxZtWJFEk9OHF_oOwikCQYRLHVwq4UsJ/s400/IMG_5950.JPG" border="0" /></a> As he tells it, the Handsome Australian has been a Geelong supporter since he was knee high to a grasshopper. His love of Geelong was borne out of the brain washing of a fanatical Geelong loving Uncle...and so the dynasty began. Our daughter, who is now five, has loved Geelong since she could string together the words, "Go the Cats". She adores going to the football and watching the matches on television with her Dad. This year, as our son entered the age of enlightenment (he's two) his father continued the indoctrination program that had been so successful on our oldest and, as if by magic, another Geelong supporter was born.<br /><div></div><br /><div>Our boy LOVES the CATS! Last night Geelong played in the Preliminary Final against Collingwood (for those of you who don't follow Aussie Rules, that is the last play off game before the Grand Final. The Grand Final being the equivalent of the NFL's Super Bowl). The suspense had been building all week and the little people were charged up and ready to watch the game. Would Geelong make it to their 3rd Grand Final in as many years? </div><br /><div></div><div>Last night, the answer was a convincing YES! As Geelong schooled Collingwood on how to play Finals footy beating them 120 to 47. Unfortunately, the littlest Geelong fan in our house couldn't keep his eyes open for the game. In fact he fell asleep on the couch before the pre-game show came on. He was one tired little fella.</div><br /><div></div><div>So we shared the good news with him this morning when he woke up, wearing the Geelong shirt that he's had on for the last three days.</div><div> <br /></div><div></div><div><em>Hey, hey you! Over there. Guess what happened last night?</em></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383305227214526482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejwD7NFwSBEOqJkncSOJmr_tUvxfObbk4uUvBEcwHlIBBExOvGT-iAO2dhpD5O3213_bhpJeJY3lBcGtmlCJiunUveSG-V8AJ7sEj82HD6k36NzOsBAv_5Ed38FPSceLpUUj5y1oXQovp/s400/IMG_6243.JPG" border="0" /><em>Geelong beat Collingwood! They won!<br /></em><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383292933500638098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdZ8NWYJD4IwdRr42oH_Ynwju-UV316wxdHUiXzh3VeZkBndINlPU-HLSRzbeN2jcfA3VLe_EiNIpgDVxxaQpWiHEVnvjMO2cteIdxakhIJ8gC4YpJlqDwYlCT8nL30rDuJ2QC_bdmIPzS/s400/IMG_6245.JPG" border="0" />He was speechless, but I think the squeaky noises he was making loosely translated to the following: "Oh my God!! They won!!!"<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383293812452511938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4KA50DDeIV7CvZrtBvNouZlfyEUjuV5UxmpLXlpEMS64iXIWHZGe5PhauR6kxqWgReL_Xzv9fWIsLsbHJX5a0hz-ZQvU8SAXwfZFzau6i9o1t3b6XyeNwXvuTpW7A_aBeQ4SuzZm795kY/s400/IMG_6241.JPG" border="0" />"This is too much! I can't take it. Wow. I'm overwhelmed."<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383294742584534338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2rmk8aN6cHbiud2VH8POrT9_l1xD9LTvPCx_1npon3vZr593iu2nB-TOZokeaODDgc6lm7SbU9UJmrSlG7ZFc506Qbyn6s75fBbQp3t3vmA7qmK6vLQFZYSkclCdWVOUdegJKweCFrM7F/s400/IMG_6237.JPG" border="0" />"Gee, I, I just don't know what to say. I'm so proud of the boys. I just can't believe it."<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383296117554985986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7lQYCrIc2ISrEhvqp73_Ld1CgQRC15J_bCmiVPShNRCdRqHu66KK_-8ND7_vOLP7L37alL1aDzB7KGoj_hc6n_cQpNHeaqvL_GTehm2iegvW1MmRBERhXFQUitmc5TisVaD_-ZD7DyoCF/s400/IMG_6254.JPG" border="0" /> "I'm so excited, I could eat my own football!! GO the CATS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"<br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkVZSAgfYaaICjuDnFFDVjqEpbbMrpO4-ZTSe6Cn_grNWiJQINmi5iKQOnqw2fAJmByeVIR4s1Ezpr0V83rfYMfZ3_kTzT-ZpWTJqCWGYLsac_4fK-RRgKpJK-1qV9U6KuaBT8KrDhbvA9/s1600-h/IMG_6249.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383296892513301330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkVZSAgfYaaICjuDnFFDVjqEpbbMrpO4-ZTSe6Cn_grNWiJQINmi5iKQOnqw2fAJmByeVIR4s1Ezpr0V83rfYMfZ3_kTzT-ZpWTJqCWGYLsac_4fK-RRgKpJK-1qV9U6KuaBT8KrDhbvA9/s400/IMG_6249.JPG" border="0" /></a> "Watch out St. Kilda! We've got game and we're bringing it to the MCG next week. GO THE CATS!"</div>suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-29243322279819243332009-09-09T12:33:00.006+10:002009-09-09T12:54:00.735+10:00Always keep a little Texas in your heart<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqKfwPG1jjJamtXxEhjHFtNTrzOYA2y8Pfafk9r7vPOACZ9ZeFxXQhLmDeJH4XT-t9iKbjuk_JSbHQplv5MNSIWSUkoDnfrrIJOuSnk4vLfX6JZmGXoBXvhY0E5YiK6jEFElEXGv0Kt-1/s1600-h/IMG_6206.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379292601548520578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqKfwPG1jjJamtXxEhjHFtNTrzOYA2y8Pfafk9r7vPOACZ9ZeFxXQhLmDeJH4XT-t9iKbjuk_JSbHQplv5MNSIWSUkoDnfrrIJOuSnk4vLfX6JZmGXoBXvhY0E5YiK6jEFElEXGv0Kt-1/s400/IMG_6206.JPG" border="0" /></a> I bought these boots for my little fellow when we visited Texas earlier this year. He wanted a pair of boots really badly and refused to take these off after trying them on at the store in Texas. The man had to cut the price tags off and he wore them home. He's been living in them ever since.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHEMrEpEwfIZRgQmV5G3LDH_fgOzQTRXkNiyoWbu4Zptj5NlKmJh03Y3n-WY2G2h2DiaITXncZJi3gXJpVRK19QDah-ayDxxvn9VAjyBtqTqj2xmwwENimWMRDAqCeK0-j281CWxUztip/s1600-h/IMG_6204.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379291110895816514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHEMrEpEwfIZRgQmV5G3LDH_fgOzQTRXkNiyoWbu4Zptj5NlKmJh03Y3n-WY2G2h2DiaITXncZJi3gXJpVRK19QDah-ayDxxvn9VAjyBtqTqj2xmwwENimWMRDAqCeK0-j281CWxUztip/s400/IMG_6204.JPG" border="0" /></a> He gets lots of comments on these boots here in Melbourne. It's not that common for two year old boys to run around in such handsome cowboy boots here in the big city. He adores them and so do I. They are a daily reminder of Texas and of my maternal Grandfather who wore boots very similar to these most of his life. Just trying to keep a little Texas in our hearts...and on our feet!</div><div></div>suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-36362126544207900292009-08-23T09:55:00.003+10:002009-08-23T11:23:40.257+10:00Trivia Night--Fundraising Aussie Style ContinuedIf you've come late to the party, you can read the first half of our Trivia Night adventure <a href="http://gday-yall.blogspot.com/2009/08/trivia-night-fundraising-aussie-style.html">here</a>.<br /><br />Once we arrived inside the Church Hall, we were greeted by the excited committee of Mums who'd organised the evening. There was a door prize drawing that needed entering and a seating plan posted on the wall indicating where our table could be located. We'd been assigned table 12. Lucky table 12!! Right? Well, we were feeling lucky anyway so I decided it would be referred to as lucky table 12 for the remainder of the evening.<br /><br />We made our way to our table, carefully dodging the various eskies scattered about the aisles. Judging by the size of the eskies, this was going to be a BIG night...at the Hall...of the Church. Pushing my puritanical American sensibilities to the side, the Handsome Australian and I began to unpack our drinks and nibbles and set them out on the table as our friends arrived to join us. A quick glance around the room and it was clear that if nothing else, our table took catering very seriously. While other tables were breaking out Tupperware filled with carrot sticks and pretzels, the Handsome Australian and I were putting together Antipasto platters, arrays of homemade dips and freshly toasted Turkish bread. It can't be helped, it's the Lebanese in us.<br /><br />We were pretty proud of our offerings and appreciated the oohs and ahhs from our friends as they indulged in the nibbles. We took quiet satisfaction in the fact that no other table would be outdoing us with their food. That's when one of my friends pointed to the next table and said, "Have a look at that woman. She's brought some beautiful cupcakes and even has them displayed on a cupcake stand." What??? Cupcakes on a cupcake stand?? I'd thought about making cupcakes (they are one of my trademark baked goods) but I'd run out of time. Our friends wanted to know where our cupcakes were. I had to explain that I'd only brought brownies. Brownies that had cooked a bit longer than they should have because I was busy. Busy making heaps of tasty homemade dips. Sorry, I apologised. I needed to lift my game I was told.<br /><br />The fact that we had heaps of dips and some overcooked brownies but no cupcakes was an early indicator that we had not come fully prepared for this Trivia Night. At our table of 8, we had a talented list of people. There were 2 Engineers, 1 Accountant, 1 Chef, 1 Photographer, 1 IT Professional, 1 Secondary School Teacher, and 1 Ultrasound Technician. The nationality breakdown was this: 1 American, 6 Aussies (five of which are first Generation Aussies hailing from Lebanon, China, Italy and Malta) and 1 Czech. Sounds like a pretty versatile and formidable team. We certainly thought so. Then the questions began...<br /><br />Each table is given an answer sheet that they use to record their answers. There is a host with a microphone that asks the questions, you discuss them amongst your table and record the answers on your sheet. At the end of each round, you swap your sheet with a nearby table and correct each other's answers as they are read out by the host. Once you tally up the correct answers, you pass the answer sheets up the front where they are tallied by one of the administrators of the evening.<br /><br />There were about 6 rounds with 13 questions in each round. Each round had a theme. The first theme was, "Bit of this, bit of that". It was predominantly pop culture questions with a heavy emphasis on Australian music. Umm, yeah, count me out on that. Lucky I'd brought along my brain trust of Aussie mates. We thought we'd done reasonably well until we swapped our sheet with the table next to us. They'd absolutely rocked the round and gotten a near perfect score. They were pretty nice about it though and didn't gloat too much to us. I guess table 12 wasn't that lucky afterall!<br /><br />The night went on and the rounds continued with themes like "Australiana" (which had a heavy emphasis on Aussie music), "Famous Faces", "Music across the decades" (which had a heavy emphasis on Aussie music through the decades). Our answer sheets got worse and worse and our scores for each round got lower and lower, and the table next to us got better and better. So good that they began to make fun of our answers really obnoxiously (don't forget those eskies weren't filled with lemonade!) during the correction period at the end of each round. We ignored them, but were getting slightly annoyed with the questions. It was obvious that no one at our table had a strength in obscure Aussie music and if you didn't, there was no way you were going to win this game.<br /><br />Our performance didn't disappoint only us, it garnered sympathy from the host who was roaming the room with his microphone while asking the questions. When he'd walk past our table, he'd look over my shoulder and read our answers. Then he'd turn the microphone off and whisper a couple of answers to me. I watched him carefully through the night and didn't notice him helping any other tables. We really were pathetic!! I felt bad taking his answers, but we needed all the help we could get.<br /><br />During one of the last rounds, one of our friends spotted something at the table next to us. The table that had been performing so well and making fun of all of our answers. She spotted not one, but two iPhones. They were looking up the answers on their phones!!!! So perhaps that's why the Host had been sharing answers with us. Were we the only table that wasn't using our mobile phone to google the answers?? What is the world coming to? First the alcohol and now wide spread cheating at the Trivia Night, for the religiously affiliated Kindergarten, in the Hall next to the CHURCH!<br /><br />When the final scores were tallied and the winners announced, we had to hang our heads in shame. The average score was about 140 points. Our team had managed a measly 115 points. The only positive thing about the final scores was that the obnoxious table next to us came in 2nd place.<br /><br />Yes, this event was certainly like no other I've attended. The competitive spirit inside me was disappointed that we'd performed so poorly. The American in me was confused by the alcohol (at a school event) and scandalised by the cheating. The Aussie in me was happy to be amongst my friends enjoying some good food, a few drinks and plenty of laughs. The Mum in me was proud that at the end of the night, our shenanigans had contributed to a successful event which raised nearly $8,000 for the Kinder.<br /><br />Next year, I'll have cupcakes and perhaps a professional DJ at our table.suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-23332254820004520842009-08-18T08:27:00.005+10:002009-08-23T09:28:24.987+10:00Trivia Night--Fundraising Aussie StyleEven though I've lived here in Australia for about 10 years, there are <em>still</em> events that I attend that make me feel as if I've just arrived. The Trivia Night at our daughter's Kindergarten (<em>preschool in the USA)</em> was one such event. This is how it went...<br /><br />Several weeks ago, we got a flyer from the Kindergarten announcing the Trivia Night would be held as the major fundraising event of the year. Since most Kindergartens here in Australia are community operated or at the very least, underfunded by the Government, they must do a significant amount of fundraising to stay operational. The Kindergarten our daughter attends, while exceptional, has been under poor financial management for the past few years and is really struggling. This Trivia Night was to be the main source of supplemental income for the school during this calendar year. As such, the Handsome Australian and I wanted to do as much as we could to help make the event a success.<br /><br />Tickets to the event were available on a pre-sale basis only and you were asked to book a table of 8-10 people. So I sent out an e-mail pleading our case to some of our closest and most intelligent friends--because we planned to win!! I was pleased to see there was a bit of enthusiasm amongst our peeps and we organised what looked like a very promising brain trust. I booked our table and then started to think about the catering.<br /><br />The instructions for the night were that the event was BYO drinks and nibbles. As an incentive to our friends to come along on the night, I promised I'd provide all the drinks and nibbles. As this was an event taking place in Australia, I assumed by <em>drinks</em> they meant of the alcoholic variety and I was pretty sure this is what my friends would be expecting. Then the American in me crept in and pointed out that this was a fundraiser for a preschool--a religiously affiliated preschool at that--and perhaps it wasn't appropriate to bring alcohol along to the event. I was a bit perplexed. So I asked the Handsome Australian what he thought and he was pretty certain that alcoholic drinks were indeed acceptable beverages for the evening. No worries then, we'd stock up on beer and bubbles and I'd put together some chips and dips and maybe a brownie or two.<br /><br />On the evening of the event, it occurred to us that in order to provide drinks for our entire table, we were going to need a large esky (that's an ice chest or cooler for those of you in the USA) to transport and cool the drinks through the evening. So again I asked the Handsome Australian about the protocol of lugging an entire esky of alcoholic drinks into the Hall at the Church that is affiliated with our daughter's Kinder. Would that be too over the top? Was it wrong? I had so many doubts that the Handsome Australian began to doubt the process himself. Perhaps an esky full of alcohol was a bit too much--it wasn't a frat party or a cricket match after all, it was a fundraiser for our daughter's Kindy.<br /><br />So we hatched a plan, we decided that we'd take the esky full of drinks and leave it in the car. Once inside the venue we'd assess the situation and see what other people were doing and if it was appropriate, we'd rescue the esky from the car and if it wasn't we'd leave it there and every one would be none the wiser.<br /><br />As we pulled into the parking lot of the Church, we saw blokes carrying eskies. It wasn't just one bloke carrying one esky, it was two blokes per esky. In other words, the eskies were so laden with beverages that they were too heavy for one man to carry. It was on for young and old folks, on for young and old. The Handsome Australian was pleased to see he wouldn't be making multiple trips to the car, and was disappointed that he'd doubted himself.<br /><br />"What was I thinking?" he muttered. "This is Australia, of course there will be eskies full of beer."<br /><br />And with that, he and his handsome brother pulled the esky out of our boot and lugged it inside where the evening got off to a promising start...suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-90202566204817243912009-08-10T11:41:00.005+10:002009-08-10T13:14:36.772+10:00Sweet, sweet lullabyIt was the summer of 2003-2004 (here in Australia) and I was heavily pregnant. The Handsome Australian and I lived in a small rented flat that had no air conditioning. It wasn't a particularly hot summer by Australian standards, but when you are in that stage of a pregnancy, even a mild day can be unbearable. The temperature of our apartment and the size of my growing belly made sleeping at night extremely difficult. I was up and down, up and down all night long. I had ice packs, cold drinks, fans and still I couldn't manage to knock out a good night's sleep.<br /><br />As luck would have it, I didn't have anywhere to be during the days as I'd finished up work several weeks beforehand. This meant that each day was mine to fill as I'd choose. I would generally have a leisurely breakfast before heading out to a shopping centre, cinema, cafe or anywhere that had air conditioning. I'd spend a few hours in the cool air and then I'd return to our flat for a late lunch and a bit of time on the couch. When I'd sit down and put my swollen feet up, I'd put the television on hoping to catch a bit of mindless entertainment--an episode of Oprah perhaps or maybe a really trashy soap opera. Anything really to take my mind off the discomfort and the heat.<br /><br />Unfortunately, summertime television offerings in Australia are generally sports related and more specifically Cricket related. Each day I'd put the television on and find there was nothing except Cricket, Cricket, Cricket. Nearly five years had passed since <a href="http://gday-yall.blogspot.com/2009/08/about-cricket.html">my initial introduction to the game</a>, and I'd learned a lot more about the rules, the rivalries and the players (not willingly mind you). I still wasn't a huge fan of the game, but at least I could make heads or tails of what was going on...kind of. So there I'd sit, on our couch in the heat, and watch a bit of the Cricket. Ten or twenty minutes later, I would be fast asleep. I slept for hours at a time with the Cricket in the background. The commentators quietly discussing the play and forever replaying vision of the one and only wicket that had been taken in the last four hours.<br /><br />The days went on and on in the same fashion. No sleep at night, outings in the morning and Cricket in the afternoon. The Handsome Australian would return home from work and find me fast asleep in front of the Cricket. He was always keen to see how Australia was faring in the Test and would watch more of the match while we ate our dinner. I'd bring him up to speed on the day's play as I'd subconsciously heard it replayed dozens and dozens of times during my nap. He couldn't believe how much I knew. I was naming players, talking about batting averages and throwing in an LBW or two. This lead him to doubt the results of an ultrasound that indicated we were having a girl and he began to predict I was indeed carrying a boy--a son that would play Cricket.<br /><br />I knew the truth, though. I needed the Cricket. It was the only way I could sleep. I needed to hear the quiet commentary and the sudden bursts of enthusiasm from the crowd. This little cocktail was my key to a few hours of rest. The more I watched, or slept through, the Cricket, the more involved I became in the game itself.<br /><br />This was an important time for Australia as they were about to bid goodbye to one of their most successful Test Captains in history, Steve Waugh. I'd watched him all summer. He was an excellent batsman and had a very calm and cool demeanour on the field. He had a rugged handsomeness to him and a penchant for sentimentality--wearing the same baggy green cap for his entire career. He was a very likable character. I was very hormonal. I got sucked in. <div> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368167745911339330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 303px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMTyj9scXDKCgCKSyjYRZursz2sfkcMsLv-j0BUIIXrzLbE6_9s_m32knZohG5fPxTzTLd7laFiiCeIIfP4FRonf2_BcPj7qUuOtlBHqcqXA8rFko3FBPld_72bbxa3WIWBL_DtTo6RC8D/s400/SRWaugh.png" border="0" /> <div>So there I found myself on the edge of my seat as Steve Waugh took to the pitch of the SCG on the 6th of January 2004 as the Aussies faced a formidable Indian side. I hung on every ball bowled. Each time he had a crack with his bat, I cheered along. When he was caught out by Sachin Tendulkar for 80 runs, I cried. This was the end of an era in Australian Test Cricket history. The Australians ended up losing the Test to India, but it didn't matter because this was Steve's day. His teammates carried him on their shoulders for a lap of honour around the field and I cried some more. I never realised it was going to be so hard to say goodbye to Steve.<br /><br />Never before and never since have I watched the Cricket as intently as I did that summer. My love affair with Cricket was a brief one, but the knowledge I gained has served me well ever since. Not to mention the respect from the Handsome Australian who was very jealous I got to see Waugh's last innings live and is still amazed to this day when he's got the Cricket on and I come along and remark, "Gee, that Billy Bowden. What a funny little umpire he is. Glad to see they put Stuart Clark back in the side. He might be just the answer we need to retain the Ashes." Then I cuddle up beside him on the couch and fall into a deep, deep sleep.</div>suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-12471362656251795382009-08-07T14:40:00.006+10:002009-08-07T15:38:32.657+10:00About the Cricket...Australians are a sport loving people. True to his nationality, the Handsome Australian loves sports. He really loves any sport that's going, but among his favourites are Aussie Rules Football and Cricket. I'd say these are the two sports he follows the closest and the ones that the children and I are subjected to watching most frequently.<br /><br />In another life (before he married an American girl) the Handsome Australian was actually a talented Cricket player. He played with the same club throughout his youth and, if you believe the braggings of a proud father, was asked at some stage to play for Victoria. Turns out the Handsome Australian wasn't involved in Cricket for the fame and fortune--he just liked playing the game and wasn't interested in taking it any further than his local club. So play on he did, filling his summer weekends with bats, balls and beers.<br /><br />When I first turned up in Australia, the Handsome Australian was still very much involved in his Cricket club. His weekends were consumed with matches and I was left to entertain myself. At some stage, I decided I should take an interest in his Cricket playing and attend some of his matches in a show of support. So I organised to have one of the Handsome Australian's Handsome brothers deliver me to the Cricket pitch one Saturday morning to see my man play. To his credit, the Handsome Australian's brother tried to warn me.<br /><br />Handsome Australian's Brother: "Are you sure you really want to go and watch a match? Grass growing is often more interesting than Cricket ya know."<br /><br />Me: "It can't be that bad, it's probably a bit like baseball. I'm sure it will be interesting. Besides, it will be nice to see him play."<br /><br />HAB: "Okay, look I'll drop you off, but I'm coming back in an hour or so just in case you change your mind. That way you won't be stuck here all day."<br /><br />Me: "If you insist, but I'm sure I'll be fine to watch the whole match."<br /><br />HAB: "You do realise the match won't be finished until TOMORROW afternoon right?"<br /><br />Me: "Um, yeah, tomorrow, yeah. Look just drop me off, I'll be fine."<br /><br />I got out of the car wondering what the heck I'd signed myself up for. As I made my way over to the Cricket pitch I noticed something straight away. There were NO SPECTATORS!!! Absolutely no one was watching this game besides the players from each team that weren't currently on the field. I imagined a small crowd of people would be gathered and I'd be able to meet and chat to a few of them. No such luck. Not only that, I was probably the only female in a 10km radius. I felt totally out of place.<br /><br />As I approached the club house, some of the boys took notice of my presence and asked if they could help me with anything. Our conversation went something like this:<br /><br />Cricket Dude: "Hi there. Can I help ya find something?"<br /><br />Me: "Oh I'm just here to watch HA play."<br /><br />CD: "Oh, righto. You must be that American bird he was telling us about."<br /><br />Me: <em>American bird? Huh? What had he told them? </em>"Yes, I guess that's me."<br /><br />CD: "Well there he is. He's out there bowling at the moment. He just took a wicket before, but you missed that."<br /><br />Me: <em>Not recognising the foreign language being spoken to me </em>"I see. Is that a good thing?"<br /><br /><em>The entire group of boys laughs.</em><br /><em></em><br />CD: "They don't play a lot of Cricket in America do they?"<br /><br />Me: "No, no they don't"<br /><br />CD: "That's not obvious at all."<br /><br /><em>More laughter from the boys</em><br /><br />Me: <em>Laughing nervously. If you can't beat them join them I thought.</em> "Yes, I clearly have a lot to learn. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll just go and sit in the shade of that tree and see what I can glean."<br /><br />Oh my God I thought, what kind of boy's club was this? I sat under the tree watching balls being bowled back and forth, back and forth and the Handsome Australian took another wicket or two. Although I had no appreciation for what that meant at the time. Then, after awhile, I heard the toot of a car horn from the car park and looked up to see the Handsome Australian's brother waving to me. I got up and literally ran to his car. I'd had enough of this rubbish to last a lifetime.<br /><br />HAB: "So what'da think?"<br /><br />ME: "What a colossal waste of time! And those guys--they are a bit rude really."<br /><br />HAB: "I tried to warn you."<br /><br />ME: "I know, I'll take your advice much more seriously the next time."<br /><br />HAB: "What'da wanna do now?"<br /><br />ME: "I think I need a stiff drink."<br /><br />HAB: "Now, that, that is a good idea."<br /><br />Off we went to the pub to try and erase the memories of my one hour foray into the world of Cricket. It wasn't until much, much later that I actually began to appreciate the game...<br /><br />(<em>Did I just say 'appreciate the game'? Uh oh, this can't be good)</em>suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035487910030095433.post-33680783339455836872009-08-04T09:31:00.004+10:002009-08-04T16:56:31.424+10:00It's the guilt really...When I first settled in Australia with my husband 8 years ago, we lived in a small flat close to the City. We had no laundry facilities inside our flat itself. Instead, there were communal laundry facilities on each floor of the three floor building. There were top loading washing machines and large clothes dryers just like the ones I was accustomed to back home in the USA. For the first couple of years in that flat, the use of these machines was free. Well, I'm sure it was somehow calculated in our rent, but we didn't have to put coins in the machines or anything. We could just walk into the laundry room and put a load on. So the Handsome Australian and I washed and dried all of our clothes in these machines. We didn't really have much of a choice. We did have a balcony, but there were strict rules about hanging clothes out to dry--this was a bit of an old school chic area and the neighbours--mostly very wealthy widows with lots of time on their hands--weren't afraid to point out the rules to anyone who dare break them.<br /><br />I was pretty happy with this laundry arrangement. It was a bit inconvenient, not having the machines in our own flat because we'd have to babysit the laundry for fear that it might disappear or some 'helpful' neighbour might chuck all of our fine washables in the dryer (which wasn't always our preference) in a bid to make room for their clothes in the washing machine. For the most part though, it was pretty satisfying. We could do multiple loads at a time (as there were multiple machines) and we could dry most things quickly in the dryers. In a couple of hours, we could knock out all of our laundry for the week.<br /><br />A few years later, we had a baby. We needed more space. So we bought a little house in the suburbs and moved. Owning our own home was a very exciting prospect--especially the part about having our very own laundry facilities! We would be able to put some wash on and actually leave the house without worrying what would become of it. Yes, these were exciting times!<br /><br />My mother-in-law and I went shopping for the washer and dryer to fit out my brand new laundry. I was dead set on getting a top loading machine. That's what I'd always known. They were big and easy to use. My mother-in-law had been using a top loader for years and she agreed with me--we both liked their capacity. So off we went to the shops.<br /><br />We were greeted by a friendly salesman who did nothing but sing the praises of the front loaders. They washed clothes better he told us. They were gentler on your clothes. They were more water and energy efficient. The top loaders seemed clunky dinosaurs in comparison. We were sold. We selected a very pricey front loading machine and then moved on to choosing a dryer.<br /><br />This is when things got interesting. We had selected a 7 kg capacity washing machine and the salesman suggested I should get a 5kg capacity dryer. Why would I want a dryer that held less than my washing machine I wondered. So I asked. He said I really wouldn't be using the machine that much as I'd put most things on the line so it would only be for smaller items or on a rainy day. Oh really? I'd be putting things on the line would I? Yes, my mother-in-law agreed. That's how she used her dryer--rarely and generally for small items like socks. Well, maybe that's okay for you I thought, but I'm American and I do things differently. I'm going to dry my clothes in the dryer.<br /><br />Of course, never one for confrontation, I accepted the advice of the salesman and my mother-in-law (hey, can you think of a more powerful combination?) and bought the 5 kg capacity dryer and resolved that what I did in my own home was none of their business and they'd never know if I used the dryer every day or not.<br /><br />The machines were delivered and I washed and dried to my heart's content. My mother-in-law asked me how the laundry was coming along and I said, "Very well thank you." Then she started to ask me about using my clothesline and telling me how lucky I was to have such a large clothesline already installed in my back garden. Um, yeah, really lucky I thought. That thing was just an eyesore as far as I was concerned.<br /><br />Then one day she came over and offered to help me with my laundry--I was a lactating new mother and needed all the help I could get. When she took the clean clothes out of the machine she asked me where my clothes pins were for the line. Oh sh*t! The clothes pins. I didn't have any. So I had to come clean. I confessed that I put everything in the dryer. Not a problem, she'd just pick up some clothes pins for me and bring them with her when she visited next. And she did.<br /><br />I let my mother-in-law hang our laundry on the line when she'd come to help out, but I still used the dryer quite religiously. It wasn't until our little girl began to sit and crawl and loved being outside that I started to consider the clothesline. We were outside all the time and while it was fun playing with my little one, I did feel a bit unproductive. So I started hanging clothes on the line while we were 'hanging out' together outside. Each time I put a load up, I felt a sense of accomplishment. Not to mention all those little baby clothes looked so cute blowing gently in the wind. My little one loved watching the patterns on the fabric and delighted in sitting in my laundry basket. So very cute.<br /><br />Slowly but surely, I converted to the clothesline and used the dryer less and less and less--except when it was raining and then I dried everything in the dryer. Then the ideas of global warming and climate change started gaining importance and it became clear to me that hanging clothes on the line was really a very practical way to save energy. That's what my grandparents did after all--before everyone owned a clothes dryer. If it was good enough for my grandparents I thought, it should be good enough for me.<br /><br />If all of these reasons weren't enough to keep me in my clothesline habit, then the State Government started running these ads:<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6Eg_SEAnE-M&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6Eg_SEAnE-M&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />And now every time I think of using the dryer, all I can think of is these black balloons. So I trudge up to my clothesline and hang another load. I do like the idea of the clothesline now, but honestly, it's the guilt from the black balloons that keeps the laziest part of me wearing down the path between the line and the laundry, the laundry and the line.suzinozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07189618130193139818noreply@blogger.com17