Expat 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.

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.

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.

So I'm thinking instead of the 'Expat' label, perhaps 'Texpat' is more appropriate.

Always keep a little Texas in your heart

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.

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!

More Easter fun...

Where has the time gone? A month ago, I posted about what we did for Easter which was a month before that. So this post is officially two months late! Shame on me. I hope I can be forgiven considering my recent rigorous international travel schedule. Now that we are safely back at home and tucked inside for yet another Melbourne winter, I've had a chance to catch up.

As I was explaining in my last post about the subject, we have a very special Easter tradition in my family. Each year we get together at my Mom's house in Texas and make cascarones. There is a lot of work that goes into making these which you can read about in my previous post. Once they are made and Easter Sunday rolls around, a group of us head out to my Mom's back garden and hide the eggs for the children to hunt later in the day.

When it's time to hunt the eggs, the children line up at the back door, kind of like horses lining up at the beginning of a horse race. They wait, baskets in hand, for the door to be opened and then they run like the wind through the expansive back garden in search of eggs! The next fifteen or twenty minutes is consumed by little people running around, looking high and low in search of the rainbow coloured treasures.

Once all the eggs have been collected, the children pose for photos with one another. We usually have at least 10 kids, so getting a good group photo is nearly impossible, that's why you don't see one here! After the photos have been taken, the fun really begins. As the Handsome Australian says, "It's on for young and old!" The children and the adults (who have generally tucked a few eggs away in pockets or secret hiding places as a means of stockpiling their own personal arsenals) begin chasing one another and cracking these gorgeous confetti eggs on each other's heads. Madness ensues. Rivalries are borne out. Sitting still makes you a sitting duck. Mostly though, everyone has a great deal of fun and shares plenty of laughter. It really is a lovely tradition and one I'm glad we've been able to be a part of for the last three years. Easter just wouldn't seem the same otherwise.

I heart SWA

My love affair with Southwest Airlines has been long and for the most part--very rewarding. Growing up in Texas with our family spread all over the State, Southwest was our carrier of choice to get to and from the major cities. When I moved across the state to attend Uni, Southwest was my ticket home for Thanksgiving, Easter, Spring Break, etc. I've always appreciated their casual attitude and no-frills approach. Their fares are always reasonable and they've got heaps of specials all the time.

In all my years of flying SWA, I don't think I've ever come across a grumpy SWA employee--and I'm talking everyone from the ticket counter to the baggage handlers to the flight attendants. That's right, these people are nothing but smiles. I can't say that for other airlines I've traveled...Tiger? United? American? Are you listening?

Yes, there has always been something different about SWA. The friendly smile, the willingness to help you out and above all the fun atmosphere they exude. I fondly recall one rainy evening in Austin, Texas when it seemed like every flight was delayed. With a lounge full of impatient passengers, the SWA employees were playing TV trivia games over the loud speaker--and there were prizes too.

I've had so many funny flight attendants, I can't even recall all the stories. SWA flight attendants have a way of making the in flight safety instructions highly amusing. Considering most people fly with some regularity, this small bit of entertainment can make an unusually dull and repetitive speech much more enjoyable,

"While we never anticipate a change in cabin pressure, should one occur, oxygen masks will drop from overhead. Please place the mask over your nose and mouth and breathe normally. If you are traveling with a child, please secure your own mask first then help your child. If you are traveling with two or more small children...well, you've got some choices to make. If it was me, I'd start with the one that has the most potential. You know the one that's going to be the Doctor or NBA player that will support you in your old age. Put their mask on first and then make your way down the line."

That was the funniest line on our recent flight from Dallas to El Paso. The whole cabin was giggling and this guy had more. He had a whole arsenal of jokes. I like their approach and appreciate the way they use humour to put folks at ease and entertain them.

Something happened during our recent time in the USA that further secured my love for SWA. During the initial days of the swine flu mania in the USA, I cancelled a set of flights we were due to take and opted to drive the route instead. I forgot to cancel the flights until the day we were meant to take them and when I went online to cancel them, it was too late as the flight had already departed. This meant I had to ring a number and cancel them over the phone instead. I was annoyed with myself because it meant something that I could easily have done for myself online would now have to be completed over the phone with someone in a call centre. I wondered how long it would take before I got to speak to someone. I reluctantly got the phone and dialled the number. I was greeted immediately with a recording that indicated what the expected wait time would be. Then I was offered an option--leave us your number and we'll call you back. This won't affect your place in line. It just means you don't have to sit on the phone and wait for us. What???? They'll call me back?? Were they serious? This was too good to be true.

So I took them up on their offer and left my phone number. An automated message confirmed my number and told me I'd be called back in approximately 12-17 minutes. I certainly hoped so. I hung up and went about preparing lunches for the children, etc. It was no more than 10 minutes later when the phone rang. The Caller ID showed Southwest Airlines on it. Wow! This rocked. I answered the phone and confirmed I was the person they were looking for and then I was transferred directly to an operator who cancelled my flights and credited my account in about 2 minutes flat. Now, that's service. I LOVE IT!!! Did you hear me folks, THEY CALLED ME BACK!!! Fanbloodytastic!!!

If you've never flown SWA, then you are really missing out on one of the best value for money airlines on the planet. I'm constantly amazed at their innovative ideas--it's as if they actually listen to their customers and give a damn about service. If only such a quality low fare airline existed here in Australia...a girl can dream can't she?

SWA, I love you!

Deep in the Heart of Texas 2-Collin Street Bakery

Our side trip to Corsicana, Texas continues...

In addition to a real love for their home, my Grandparents also began to take great pride in their newly adopted hometown. They supported the local Theatre and the historic preservation of the town. Each time we'd visit they'd drive us to the see the local sights. Sometimes it would be a new factory being built in town or perhaps an old building downtown that was being revitalised. For ages we had to drive out to witness the construction of the new overpass. I admit, as a kid, some of these outings weren't particularly interesting, but I can now appreciate the great love they had developed for their little town. Over the years, they slowly introduced us to the town's hidden treasures.

One of those "hidden treasures" and perhaps the reason Corsicana, Texas rates on any one's radar is the Collin Street Bakery at 401 W. 7th Street. This family owned bakery founded in 1896 is probably most famous for its DeLuxe Fruitcake which it sells directly from its Corsicana headquarters to about 196 countries worldwide via mail order and more recently, online. Chances are if you've eaten a fruitcake at Christmas, it might just have been one from this little bakery in Texas. Who knew? According to Wikipedia, they make approximately 3 million pounds of fruitcake each year which translates into about 1.5 million individual cakes. Apparently the fruitcakes account for 98% of their sales. That's a lot of fruitcake folks!

On this particular afternoon in May, it wasn't fruitcake that I had in mind though. First and foremost, we were in need of a ladies room. Our Sonic cherry limeades were making themselves known to us. Emergencies of the bladder aside, I thought it would be delightful to stop in at the bakery that my Grandmother used to rave about and share the tradition with my children.

I have very few memories of actually going to Collin Street Bakery. I can recall maybe two occasions when I physically entered their shop, but I do remember my Grandmother having baked goods from there at her house with some regularity. If it was summertime, she'd have an Angel Food Cake for my brother's birthday. If it was Christmas, she'd have a fruitcake. During other times of the year we might have cookies from the bakery. She was very proud of the fact that the little bakery from her newly adopted hometown was world famous.

Not exactly a fruitcake fan, I thought the kids and I might grab some cookies for the road. We pulled into the Bakery parking lot and made our way inside. My attention was peaked by the sign out the front that promised gourmet sandwiches as well as coffee. I don't remember those items being on offer when I was a kid. It seemed as if some things had changed at Collin Street Bakery since I was last there.

As we walked through the glass doors into the bakery, I noticed a nicely arranged cafe style seating area on the right with a self serve coffee bar and to the left were baked goods of all shapes and sizes. The children were excited at the sight of all the different cookie varieties on display. I saw a basket with pre-made gourmet sandwiches which looked delicious. Hmm...this place looked like it had some taste bud pleasing potential.

We waited patiently while a mix of locals and tourists were served by the friendly bakery staff. Things seemed to move quite slowly inside the bakery, but we didn't mind, these cookies looked like they were worth the wait. Finally, it was our turn and we each selected a cookie--the little fellow chose one with M&Ms in it, my daughter chose a chocolate cookie with white chocolate chips and I chose a traditional chocolate chip cookie. As we made our way to the cash register I told the man at the counter I'd like to pay for our cookies. He said, "How many do you have there?" "Three," I replied. "Oh, don't worry about it. Consider them free samples," he said cheerfully. "Really?" I questioned. "Really," he said. So we promptly thanked him and made our way to their cafe seating area and sat down to enjoy our "free samples".

One bite into this cookie and I was in heaven. I'm a baker. I make lots of cookies and cakes at home all the time. I don't usually like to get cookies or cakes from a commercial bakery because they are never quite as good as what we make at home. These cookies were an exception. They were delicious. There was a distinct nuttiness to them. I think they had some ground pecan nuts mixed through them. It just so happens I love pecans. I loved these cookies. Wow. They were so much better than anything I remember eating as a kid. My little people loved them too.

As we sat enjoying our cookies, I took a moment to read the various news articles that lined the walls. Stories that had been written over the years telling the world about this little bakery in the heart of Texas; this little bakery in my Grandmother's adopted hometown. It was as if we were enjoying not just a cookie, but a piece of history; a tradition handed down over generations. It was lovely.

The loveliness didn't end there. We finally made our way into their ladies room and it was the nicest ladies room! There were granite vanities with lovely taps. A nice floral couch welcomed you as you entered. The little people took a moment to relax on it. My five year old said, "Gee Mom, this is like the nicest bathroom I've ever been in." Not too bad for a little pit stop three hours into our last road trip I thought quietly patting myself on the back all the while still thinking about the cookie I just consumed.

Once we'd finished in the ladies room, it was time to bid goodbye to the famous little bakery. We had one foot out the door when I said, "You know, we should really get some more of those cookies." Amazingly, there were no arguments from the little people. So we turned around and got back in line.

Ten minutes later we left the bakery with four dozen assorted cookies carefully packed away in a box to be enjoyed at a family wedding on the weekend. Taking the cookies to the wedding was my daughter's idea and I loved it. I felt like I was taking a little piece of history with us. It would be unexpected, but welcome and it made me feel as though my Grandparents would be amongst us in spirit. I felt them both smile at me as I carefully packed these cookies into our car and we drove slowly out of town, out of their town, and back onto the interstate.

Not sure when I'll be back in Corsicana again, but when I do return you better believe I'll be stopping at Collin Street Bakery.

Deep in the Heart of Texas

Last week we had occasion to drive from Houston to Dallas. The last of our Texas road trips for the 2009 Tour de Texas. The children were beside themselves at the thought of more time in the car, but I had big plans for them.

Somewhere along I-45 between Houston and Dallas lies the sleepy town of Corsicana, Texas. It was there, deep in the heart of Texas, that I spent many a Christmas holiday and summer vacation in my youth. My Grandparents owned a very regal, historic home on a stately street right there in the middle of Texas.

My Grandmother, an Interior Decorator by trade, happened upon the house one day in her 70s when she and my Grandfather were looking to buy a small rental property in this little town southeast of their Dallas home. As she told it, she saw the house first from the street, told the agent she was interested and waited quite awhile on the porch in the heat while the agent went to pick up the keys so they could have a look inside. She declared she wouldn't return to Dallas until she'd seen the house.

The house had been empty for a long time and was in a bit of disrepair, but my Grandmother saw the possibilities there. She knew instantly that this was the house she'd always dreamed of owning. She told the agent they'd take it--pretty much on the spot. Before we knew it, they packed up their place in Dallas and moved out to Corsicana--a town that was completely unfamiliar to the rest of the family.

The renovations of the house began soon after the move. It was a labour of love and a process that was very interesting to watch. In hindsight, my Grandparents had incredible amounts of energy for their age. They were climbing ridiculously high ladders and painting the ornate ceilings. They did a lot of the work themselves. Slowly, the house was transformed as we watched a lifetime of skill, my Grandmother's impeccable taste and the intelligence of my Grandfather to simply nod and say, "Yes dear" come together to produce a warm, inviting and very dignified home--both inside and out.

I loved that house and its history. I loved its character. I loved its ghosts (my Grandmother was convinced there were several). I loved all the amazing things she'd done with it. Most of all I loved going there and wandering from room to room noticing something new and truly unique with each visit.

Over the years we had many large family gatherings inside the magical walls of their home. We played ball on the massive lawns. We helped hang Christmas lights. We laughed and shared many a meal. It was the perfect family gathering place and my Grandmother, ever the Matriarch, knew that. It's as if she planned it that way.

Eventually at the age of 88, my Grandmother lost her battle with ovarian cancer. My Grandfather lived in their house for another year before he passed away and then the family was left with the task of sorting out their estate. It was decided at the time that the house would be put on the market as no one in the family lived in Corsicana nor did any one have any plans to live there. Once the decision had been made to sell the house, it wasn't long before a potential buyer came along. The story was very similar, the buyer had little ties with the small town of Corsicana, but had fallen in love with the house. It seemed the perfect fit--the house would be sold to someone who was just as passionate about it as my Grandmother had been the day she first saw it.

Now here I was 8 years down the track driving through Corsicana with my two young children in tow. I was excited to show them the house that had meant so much to my Grandmother and my family. I hoped that it would look the same and I'd hoped that the new owners had looked after it.

On the way to their street, I began telling my children stories about the things we used to do at my Grandparent's house. When we exited the freeway my daughter was clearly uninterested in this little side trip, but as we got closer to the house she became more and more intrigued. I swear to you, the house has that power over people. When we turned on to the street, I told my daughter stories about each of the neighbour's houses that I remembered visiting with my Grandmother. She said, "Wow Mom. This is a really special street isn't it?"

Finally, we reached the corner where my Grandparent's house sits on a slight hill. It was stunning. Just as I remembered, but even better. The new owner had done lots of work to the house (which admittedly had fallen into a bit of disrepair as my Grandparents had aged) and he'd even made a few additions. There was a gorgeous glassed in sun room that had been added to the side of the house and a lovely covered parking area that extended from the house to the guest house that sits beside it. Several fountains had been installed in the ample gardens and there was even a gazebo of sorts set off to one side. Flowers were blooming and the grass was a very shiny green. My heart swelled as I thought of my Grandparents, particularly my Grandmother, and what she'd think of these changes to her home. I think she'd have liked them, but I know she'd be thrilled to know that someone who has such obvious passion for the house was now living in it.

We sat parked across the road for several minutes as I surveyed all the changes and relived some of the memories of my youth. I so wanted to take a photo, but my camera was in the boot of the car and I didn't want to look like some kind of stalker. I'm kicking myself to this moment for not getting out and snapping a few photos. What was I thinking?

As we drove away slowly, my daughter asked me, "Mom, if your Grandma was still alive, would she like us to come into her house and visit her?" Tears welled in my eyes as I did a u-turn to take one last look and replied, "Oh darling you have no idea. She would have LOVED for us to visit her and she would have thought the world of both you and your brother."

"Mom, thanks for showing us your Grandma's house. I really liked it and this special little town." were the words I heard as we turned off my Grandmother's street and back onto the main road. "I'm glad," I replied, "It truly is special, and I've got one more thing to show you before we go..."

To be continued

A Taste of Texas

Texas tastes really good y'all! When our family first hit Texas nearly two months ago now, we were on a mission: Consume as much Tex-Mex as possible. Mission Accomplished! Just ask my thighs, stomach and backside. The proof is certainly there. We've had tacos, flautas, enchiladas, chile rellenos, tamales, and my personal favourite...the humble gordita. There have been beans and rice, and of course a margarita...or three or perhaps more than that. Margaritas aren't conducive to counting. Oh did I forget to mention all the glorious salsa we've consumed and the yummy tostada chips?? OMG how much do we love this food?

So here are a few photos from our Tex-Mex adventures. How will we be able to say goodbye to all this?

Shredded pork tamale with red chile. These were delicious.

That's love on a plate.

Flautas...now can you understand the state of my thighs?

Let's not forget the Tex-Mex standard...the Taco!

I love the hole in the wall taco stands. We got this delicious bag of tacos for $7
The taco stands alone

Our oldest gives these tasty Tex-Mex treats the thumbs up!

This is only a small representation of what we've consumed. I didn't want to torture anyone. (To be honest, I was too busy eating to photograph each meal.)Now I must return to Australia where I can return to a normal body weight and live without temptation. I'll never find anything this good there. =(

Tour de Texas

During 2009's Tour de Texas, we've done a lot of driving. As Texas is an enormous state, we generally opt to fly. This time I had plenty of internal flights booked with only a few short driving segments. When swine flu first hit the USA, there was a media frenzy and heaps of hype. As a result, I opted to cancel a few of our internal flights and make the same trips in a car instead. This seemed a sensible precautionary measure at the time. As more became known about the flu and the hype died down (and you could finally purchase antibacterial hand gel in the stores again) my choice to drive rather than fly seemed extreme. Some might say, stupid (especially given the long distances and the two small children factor) but in the end I'm glad it worked out the way it did.

By taking to the roads, my kids saw more of Texas than they ever would have from a plane. If you ask them, they probably saw more of Texas than they ever cared to or would ever care to see again. I, however, take comfort in the fact that one day when they are sitting around and complaining about what a lame job I've done as a parent, they'll recall with particular disdain the time, "Mom dragged us across Texas in Pop's car and we saw nothing but tumbleweeds for five hundred miles." It was really only 300 miles, but they'll exaggerate for effect. Teenagers do that. "Yeah" the younger one will reply, "That was so BORING!! What was she thinking?"

Maybe I'm giving their little 2 and 5 year old memories too much credit. Perhaps they'll never remember it at all. I guess that just means we'll have to repeat the exercise annually until they reach an age of awareness. Guess that sorts our holiday plans for the next five years.

Seriously, I think we all enjoyed our drive even though the scenery was at times, repetitive. You know, for like 300 miles. Personally, I grew up making the long drives across Texas to visit relatives, although it's probably been a good 10 years since I've done such a long road trip across Texas myself. I'd forgotten the vastness of this state I so fondly called home for most of my life B.A. (Before Australia). I'd forgotten how the landscapes are so varied and extreme from one side of the state to the other. I'd forgotten the names of the little towns that dot the long highways between the metroplexes. Gems like, "Van Horn", "Welfare", "Ozona". I'd forgotten how I could rely on these towns for their Dairy Queens. I'd forgotten all about the blizzard and the Hunger Buster.

In 10 years, not a whole lot had changed along a stretch of road I traveled with great frequency during my younger days. Same gas stations, same arid landscapes--although I was pleased to see a new massive wind farm perched on the mesas that give some texture to the barren far West of the state. Finally, I thought, something useful in this sandy, wind prone bit of desert. The giant windmills were a welcome distraction for the little people in the back seat as well. It's truly a pity the Handsome Australian wasn't with us to witness them too--he LOVES a good wind farm. Even took me on a tour of one in Australia once. Yes, I'll tell you all about it one day or perhaps you could just have a root canal--it might be just as interesting.

I don't know if it's my age or simply the time I've spent away from Texas, but I really soaked in so much during these drives. I took note of things I'd never noticed previously. I wondered things I would never have thought about in my youth. I appreciated the simple beauty of the landscape--I stopped to smell the flowers. Okay, so maybe I didn't stop for the flowers, but it's been my experience that cactus isn't particularly fragrant--that and can you imagine the first aid disaster that would be two little people covered in cactus prickles?

I did stop for a coffee at the McDonald's in Van Horn, Texas. I ordered a latte from their new coffee menu. As we drove away and I sipped on my latte from Macca's (as we call them in Oz) I thought to myself, "Wow. This is a good coffee." After which I immediately thought, "Wow. I've been away from Melbourne for far too long."

I guess time away from "home"--wherever that may be--makes you appreciate it all the more when you return and sometimes, you might even see things in a different light.

Easter in Texas

I realise Easter was a month ago, but this is the first chance since we've been on the road that I've had a chance to sit down and put some thoughts together.

One of the holidays I miss the most living in Australia is most certainly Easter. It's not that the Aussies don't celebrate Easter, because they do. It's also a pretty big deal in Australia and in some ways bigger than Christmas with the shops closing and people having public holidays on Good Friday and Easter Monday. It's just the way that Australians celebrate Easter that strikes me as uninspired. Well, hang on a minute, I love the idea of a public holiday and will gladly take those, but after that, the Aussies have a lot of chocolate and that's pretty much it.

I've never seen Easter Egg colouring kits in Australia and I've never known any of my Anglo Aussie friends to actually colour Easter eggs since I've lived there. We've had friends and family who are part of the Orthodox church share their tradition of colouring eggs and then playing this game where you try and crack each other's eggs. Whoever has the last egg that isn't cracked wins the game. It's fun and light hearted, but in my experience their eggs are only one colour--red or maybe blue. They used regular food colouring to colour them and don't have any fancy swirls or glitter or anything remotely fun like that.

We've had the fortune of spending the last three Easters in Texas with my family. All of these occasions have been filled with heaps of fun and my children will have many lovely memories of sharing this special holiday with their American cousins.

What makes our Easter so special each year? A little something called, cascarones. Historically a Mexican tradition, our proximity to Mexico has seen this endearing ritual spill over the border and into our hearts and minds. Like anything worth doing, cascarones take a lot of time, love and care.

Here's how we do it...during the year, my Mom will start saving eggs for us to colour. Each time she uses eggs for cooking, she cracks them a special way (using a knife to break off one end) and drains the egg out keeping the shell mostly in tact, except for a hole on one end. She then rinses the egg shell out and puts it aside to dry. My sister -in-law does the same at her house.

When Easter weekend rolls around, we pull out all the egg shells that have been put aside. Then on Good Friday, we have an Easter Egg colouring session. We get out several long tables and set the kids up outside with aprons on and colours galore. They spend the next several hours colouring the egg shells beautiful colours. Because the shells are empty, they are a bit more delicate--there are always a few casualties, but with 18 dozen or so to work with we can afford a few mistakes. The kids are surprisingly gentle with the eggs and have a great time creating lots of different colours with them. We put the eggs back in the cartons to dry.

They dry overnight and then sometime on Saturday afternoon, we have another egg preparation session. This time we give each kid their own bowl of confetti and they begin to fill each egg with a small handful of confetti. The holes at the top of the eggs are pretty big so it's not too hard for little hands to accomplish this task. We usually direct them to hold the egg over their confetti bowl so that any confetti that doesn't make it in the hole just falls back in the bowl ready for the next egg.Once the eggs are filled with confetti, they are placed back in the carton to await the next step.


I don' t know about you, but I can already see the fun brewing in these eggs!


While the kids are busy with the confetti, the adults generally sit around and start the sealing process. This involves small squares of tissue paper, some glue, a toothpick and a bit of patience. First, we take the glue (your Elmer's variety is fine) and spread it around the opening of the egg with a toothpick.
Then we carefully place a piece of tissue paper over the hole and smooth it down over the glue. This acts as a seal to keep the confetti on the inside of the egg.


Here is a carton of eggs with their seals waiting for the glue to dry. We leave them overnight.

On Easter Sunday, the Easter Bunny comes along and hides all these gorgeous eggs in the garden. This is when the fun really begins...

Would you like marg-a-reen on that?

When I first arrived in Australia I thought to myself, "Now this is going to be a breeze because at least I speak the language here." While I spoke Spanish quite well when I lived in Buenos Aires, there were always things I didn't know or things I couldn't always understand. In Australia, I reasoned, I'd be able to get around and do whatever I liked with no problems since I already knew the language. I obviously had no idea because I've lived here for 8 years now and there are still times when I'm completely lost in a conversation. The Aussies certainly know how to turn a phrase.

My biggest communication issues in the days and months after I initially arrived in Oz (that's Australian for Australia) centered around ordering a sandwhich. I spent a lot of time exploring the CBD (Central Business District that's Aussie for Downtown) of Melbourne and each day I'd pop into one of the many cafes or sandwhich bars that populate the streets. Most of these places have all sorts of sandwhich ingredients all chopped up in trays behind a glass counter--think Subway style. They'd be busy and packed with a lunch time business crowd. Everyone is in a hurry to get his or her lunch and get back to work. There wouldn't be any obvious menu on the wall like you'd find at Subway, just a list of ingredients and some vague pricing. So I'd step up to the counter and the conversation would go like this:

Me: Hi, I'd like to get a ham sandwhich please.

Sandwhich Lady (hereafter SL): What type of bread would you like?

Me (with a furrowed brow searching for a list of bread somewhere and not finding it): Um, what kind of bread do you have?

SL: We've got bread rolls, foccacias, turkish bread, or white, wholemeal or rye sliced bread.

Me (thinking, OMG what did she just say? What's a foccacia? Ahh someone help!!): I'll have the white bread? (I say almost as a question because I'm not sure that's the right choice, but it's the only one I recognised in the list besides rye and I didn't like rye).

SL (goes and picks up the white bread grabs two slices and puts them down on the bench--that's Aussie for counter--and then says...) Would you like maragine on that? (Only marg-a-RIN as we'd say it in America comes out like marg-a-REEN)

Me (What did she say? What did she say? She looks a bit impatient. I'm holding up the line. What did she say?) I'm sorry, what did you say?

SL: Would you like marg-a-REEN on that?

Me (staring blankly, beginning to break a sweat, telling myself this is only lunch it's not rocket science. You can do this, you just have to break the code--why is is so loud in here?): I'm sorry what?

SL (picking up a tub of margarine and a knife and using hand gestures to indicate that she means spreading the margarine on the bread and repeats herself again slowly ennunciating the whole thing like she's talking to a non-English speaker which I must clearly be at this point) Would_you_like_marg-a-REEN_on_that?

Me (Oh marg-a-REEN means marg-a-RIN! But wait a minute, why would I want margarine on a ham sandwhich???): Um, no thank you. Do you have mayonaise?

SL (gets mayonaise and begins to spread it on the bread grabs some ham and puts that on the bread as well): Do you want salad on that?

Me (Salad? Salad? What salad? Just when I thought we were finally communicating): I'm sorry, salad?

SL: Tomato (only she says it to-mah-to), Lettuce anything else?

Me: Oh yes, I'll have tomato (only I say it to-may-to) and lettuce.

SL (looking past me at the long line that is waiting behind me): Anything else?

Me (too afraid to take up more of her time and ask too many questions): No that's fine thanks.

SL: Would you like salt and pepper (only she says pep-AH)

Me: Oh, yes salt and pepper (only I say pep-ER) is fine.

She finally cuts my sandwhich in half and tells me how much it will be. I fumble through my purse (that's Australian for wallet) and try to come up with the correct amount. All the while the line behind me gets longer and longer.

My friends, I wish I could say this was a one-off experience, but I think it took me an entire year of living in Australia before I actually got the sandwhich I wanted and I didn't get there on my own. The Handsome Australian had to sit down and give me a 10 minute tutorial on how to do it. Sad. Sad. Sad.

Learn the Lingo

Oz=Australia

CBD (Central Business District)=Downtown
bench=counter
purse=wallet

Australia in my dreams, their nightmares...

What's the hardest thing you've ever had to do? In my case many people would say, "Moving to the other side of the world and leaving all your friends and family behind must have been pretty hard." I suppose there is some truth in that sentiment, but harder than that even is telling your friends and family that you are going to make said move.

I returned from my year in Buenos Aires just in time for Christmas in the USA. My family was so excited to see me. So thrilled to have me back. Home. Where I belonged. It was great to be back although leaving my new found friends and adventures in Buenos Aires had been a teary affair to say the least. It was such an intense year, such a big learning curve, it was hard to leave all that behind and return to the comfortable, but all too familiar surroundings of home. I suppose it all seemed a bit easier knowing in the back of my mind that this was simply a pit stop and I'd be off again soon. I had a new destination in mind and I was slowly working out how to make that next journey a reality.

I never really mentioned the Aussie mystery man to my family when I met him in Argentina. I kept the whole thing under wraps. Initially, I wasn't taking the whole thing seriously myself. I mean I was American, he was Australian, we were in Argentina--can anyone say "Holiday Romance"? The kind you remember fondly, but is exactly that--just a holiday romance. It doesn't last longer than the holiday itself and is just a bit of fun. I was having great fun with this Aussie guy, but we had different schedules, different reasons for being there and I don't think either of us were really looking for anything lasting to come from it.

Also, I didn't want to raise the alarm at home unnecessarily. One of the last comments my Dad made to me before I left for my adventure in Argentina was, "Now don't go falling in love with some Argentine guy and end up staying there forever." To which I'm sure I just rolled my eyes and said, "Please Dad! As if! Sometimes you say the most ridiculous things." (He probably wishes now that I did meet an Argentine guy--hey Buenos Aires is only an 8 hour flight from Miami. I'd be much closer to home than I am now.) Knowing that my meeting someone in my host country and staying there forever was a concern for my family, I thought it better not to mention the Aussie--I didn't want them to stress, especially when I wasn't sure myself what the 411 on the whole situation was.

Once it became clear that this thing with the Aussie was serious and that I was thinking of following him home to Australia, I only had a few weeks left in Argentina. At this point I decided I'd keep the news to myself until I returned home where I could explain it all in person. Not sure that was the best move ever, but that's the choice I made at the time.

To be fair, I think my family had some inkling that there was someone on the scene in Buenos Aires and I also think they may have known he was Australian...how else could they explain the mail I was receiving at my Texas address from the Australian Embassy in Washington, D.C. with my visa applications. Yes, there were certainly clues.

Nevertheless, telling my family that I was just in town for a few months while I sorted out my Australian visa and then headed off to Oz was not easy. I think they were happy for me to have found someone I was obviously so keen on, but I know there were reservations. I'd just been away for a year and here I was leaving again. And who was this Aussie guy? They didn't know him. They didn't know anything about him. I had photos...that really wasn't enough. How did I know this was a real relationship? Why was I chasing this guy across continents? What would I do when I got to Australia anyway? Does he even know you are coming? (Yes, my Dad actually asked me this). These were all valid questions and I'm not sure I had the best answers at the time, but it didn't seem like a big deal to me. I would go and see what happened..if it worked out, it worked out. If it didn't, it didn't. I remember having a pretty casual mindset about it all. I think I was more concerned about how I would feel if I didn't go. If I never gave it a chance. If I missed the opportunity. It would always be one of those, "What ifs" and I was certain I didn't want to have that resting on my conscience.

I listened to their questions. I did my best to address their many concerns, but I really couldn't understand what the big deal was. It was only Australia, and it wasn't forever. I just wanted to go and see how this whole relationship played itself out. Though there was much worry and concern on the part of my family, I can't think of a single one of them who told me not to go. I'm sure they would have preferred it if I stayed home, but no one came out and actually asked me to do so. I give them all a lot of credit for this. Especially now that I'm a mother myself...I don't know if I could be so big about it all. Did I mention my family is amazing? Well they are. They were willing to support this dream of mine even if was probably one of their biggest nightmares come true. This was truly one of those, "If you love them, set them free" kind of moments.

My friends on the other hand were pretty cool about it all. I think everyone recognised the new adventure that lay ahead of me. My girlfriends were fascinated by this Aussie mystery man and of course they would miss me, but what girl doesn't like an exotic love story? I think most of them were caught up in the emotion with me. If anything, most of my friends kept telling me how brave I was to take such a chance. I didn't see it that way at all. I would call myself a risk-averse person, so I guess throwing caution to the wind and heading over to Australia on a wing and a prayer doesn't really gel with my personality, but I guess I was blinded by love at the time because I had no fear and didn't see the potential pitfalls.

To blog or not to blog...that was the question.

So here we go into the weird and wonderful world that is blogging...I have thought and thought and thought about whether or not to start a blog for a long time now. I had lots of concerns--will I have the time? What will I write about? Who might read it? Will anyone actually care? Lots and lots of thoughts about privacy and the loss of it. I'm not sure I ever answered any of those questions, but I have decided to take the leap and see what I may have to add to this ever growing community of people speaking their minds and sharing their stories. I'm hoping my blog will offer a bit of insight into life as an expat--I'm a Texan living in Australia. I've been here for 7 years. I never in a million years would have predicted I'd end up here one day, but I did.

So here I am and here's the beginning of my story (because y'all need to know how I got here right?)....

I wasn't born in Texas, but I got there as quick as I could! Spoken like a true Texan--see, I've still got it. I spent my youth growing up in one of the larger border communities that line the US-Mexican border. I had no appreciation at the time for how this community, that was a delicate balancing act between two cultures--American and Mexican, would serve as excellent preparation for the road that lay ahead of me. Yeah, who knew menudo on Sunday would be the precursor to a meat pie at the footy? (Both delicacies are on my "No thank you, I'm fine." list BTW) But seriously, it opened my mind to the possibilities of other points of view, other traditions, and other ways of life that were different to my own. Free your mind and the rest will follow...

And here's what followed...I left my comfortable border home and headed off to Uni (that's Australian for University and one of many Aussie words that have now become my own) where my horizons were further broadened by my professors and my fellow students. I did two stints abroad in consecutive summers and really caught the travel bug. I had also managed to finally become proficient in Spanish. When my final year of college was coming to an end, I signed on for Grad school. I wasn't ready to face the real world yet and the job market wasn't ready for me or my contemporaries...things were slow. I knew I could buy some time with Grad school, but what would I do after that? I mean honestly, would I need to go and actually find a job? That seemed so mundane to me. I wanted to travel and see the world a bit. The only problem was I wasn't sure how to fund such an adventure. So I started doing a bit of research and looked into various scholarships that would pay for me to continue studying overseas. Lucky for me, the wonderful people at the Rotary Foundation were offering just the sort of opportunity I was looking for. I applied for their scholarship program, went through several stages of rigorous interviews and was finally awarded the opportunity to continue my study overseas. I got to choose my destination and there were very few limitations. Since I was still working on perfecting my Spanish, I decided a country where Spanish is spoken would be the best choice for me. I chose Argentina. To this day, I can't tell you why I chose Argentina. Lots of people have asked me that question, and I really don't know the answer. But it's a bloody good thing I did...

I spent the most amazing year living and studying in Buenos Aires. There are many tales from there which I hope to get back to at some point (I'm planning on archiving them here at some stage if I can). I had lots of laughs and made lots of great friends and even met someone who would change my life and redirect my trajectory. This life change came in the form of a very handsome and tremendously puzzling Australian bloke--yes I said Australian, not to be confused with the local Argentine variety (who themselves are very handsome, but the Aussie got to me first--sorry fellas!). The Handsome Australian and I met over drinks at a cocktail party at the Australian Embassy in Buenos Aires. I know, I know, such a typical place to meet someone. He was there on a six month assignment with his work. We dated three months (that's another long story of misteps and misadventures for another day) and when he was due to depart two months before my year was up, it became clear to me that my next step needed to be getting myself to Australia. This was not what I thought I'd be planning as my next move. I'd spent the earlier half of the year contemplating what sort of job I should look for when I returned to the USA after my studies in Argentina finished. I had also contemplated extending my stay in Argentina. When something feels right though, it just feels right. Australia had become my destiny--now I just needed to figure out how to get there...

Learn the Lingo
Uni=University