A Little Less 'Deck the Halls' a Little More 'Long December'

It's heading to that time of year again. The inevitable holiday season and for many of us that means Christmas. I shouldn't have done it this morning, but I put on Christmas music at work. Instead of being flooded with excitement, I am suddenly achy all over. What is it that I am aching for? Past Christmas seasons when I still believed in magic, my family 12,000 miles away or the traditions I have given up?

I've traded in real Douglas fir trees, Christmas cookies, snow, fires in the fireplace, hearty meals of mashed potatoes, ham, stuffing and turkey and spiked eggnong or hot chocolate for Christmas puddings, mince pies and fruit cakes, cricket, cold beer, cold salads and bbqs, plastic trees, long and hot summer days and pools.

Last year was my first experience of Christmas Carols while sweating. I suppose many people experience the holiday that way. I hadn't. And no, I didn't like it. I missed my family and my traditions. I gave the plastic tree a go and I think I tried a mince pie with custard (a vile experience I am glad I won't have to repeat this year....thank you diet). I even swam in a pool the day after Christmas. I ate cold salads and drank tea instead of a hearty meal with family. I might have even gotten a sunburn.

But it didn't make me happy. It didn't feel like Christmas. It felt like any other day of the year. Any other summer day on a weekend where you spent most of the day laying around to avoid the heat. There were a few presents involved, but that doesn't make the holiday. But then again, what does? That is dependent on the person.

For me? It's the holiday the way I've always known, with the people I've always known. But, we all have to grow up and sometimes that includes moving away. Far away. And that changes everything. So this year I have decided that I am not celebrating the Christmas season. It just feels right. Going away to camp in the wilderness, to enjoy nature in the summer weather. But, I still have to survive the rest of the season up until December 25th. I forgot about that.

So, here we go. I'm preparing myself for the wait (without Christmas cookies or anything else). Another long December until next year....

Halloween - Just an American Holiday?

I recently read a blog post by Jim Birmingham on Halloween in Australia. I really appreciate his defense of the holiday and especially his defense of the "big, bad American culture." But what I love more about this article is not Jim's witty writing or well thought out points, but the comments (which often he replies to). Many of the comments I find insulting, proving there is a large anti-American sentiment in Australia (but I already knew that as I have spent a long time on the receiving end of those comments from strangers, co-workers and even friends and family).

One commenter wrote: "It's all typical American BS like Santa in his red costume and tupper ware parties etc...It's about boycotting American cultural imperialism."

To which Jim replied: "the US embassy just called and they want us to take back Russ and Nicole and Hugh and the Wiggles and Mel (oh man, they really to give him back) and uncle Rupe and... oh well, they're all coming home cos America is sick of our cultural imperialism."

And other comments that have been left are: "The brain dead Austericans (nothing to do with austere) should stay amongst peers and not drag the rest down with them." I don't know who he is, but I'd never let my kids knock on his door, not even to sell him good ol' Aussie Girl Guide biscuits. I am also sure that might be a racist attitude isn't helping me believe Australians are so wonderful and Americans are bad. Nicholas Negroponte said "Nationalism is a disease." And Americans aren't the only ones afflicted with it. Perhaps there is also an 'Ugly Australian' to mix with the 'Ugly American'?

"I, for one, welcome our new Seppo cultural overlords. Australia could use more guns. Especially assault rifles. Would LOVE an M4." Not everyone in America owns a gun or even likes them, so this joke, at the best of times, is an over-generalisation. I for one don't and I don't like them nor have a use for one under my pillow or in my closet or attached to my hip.

"The Seppos have just done what they do best, taken it over and commercialised the crap out of it for the rest of us." To be fair, Australia puts out KILOS of Christmas decorations in September. And for Australia Day every store sells anything and everything with an Australian flag on it, down to underwear and stubbie holders. But no, Americans are the only ones that commercialise things.) Also, 'Seppo' is a lovely phrase for an American national, derived from septic tank. Thanks.

All this anti-American sentiment is interesting. I get that most Australians hate how much of our businesses and TV shows have crept into their society. And yet I see so many people with McDonald's bags and coke in their hands. There is clearly a love/hate relationship going on here.

There is also a tendency to lump every single American into them mix for causing either the Iraq of Afghanistan war (believe me, I cried when we invaded Iraq. And they were not tears of joy). I don't like to be judged by my former dimwitted President anymore than Australians want to judged as being like Steve Irwin or Paul Hogan.

I don't think my culture is superior in any way. There are plenty of things I choose actively to avoid. And there are things that I love. The point is, my culture and traditions are more a reflection of my family and the way I grew up than just what country I grew up in. The things I will carry with me and share with my children are the things that shaped my life in a positive and wonderful way. Friday family dinners, homemade Halloween costumes, baking Christmas cookies, pumpkin pies and apple pies (made the same way my Grandmother made them and then my mother and now me), decorating two Christmas trees (the big one and the kids one full of homemade ornaments from class and scouts), a stuffed bunny and a book in every Easter basket and red hots with homemade potato salad for every summer celebratory picnic). These are the traditions that make me...me. Not American or a Seppo or a converted Australian. ME. And I get to define that.

But back to the debate at hand. My final favourite comment from Jim's blog: "You hammer us but give no good cohesive reason for it other than the kids love the sugar rush and its a good excuse to get drunk. So i suppose in a way that is an Aussie pastime. But you can apply that to just about anything can't you.

So are you going to celebrate Thanksgiving too?" I have to agree with that getting drunk for every holiday seems like an Aussie pastime.

As for Thanksgiving, I'd prefer Australians don't celebrate it. Now that's a holiday that I can proudly say has roots that are truly American (unlike Halloween, though I guess television has confused most Australians a bit about reality). Thanksgiving was celebrated by the pilgrims in 1621 after their first successful and plentiful harvest. They invited the Native Americans to share the feast with them (back before the incoming white people turned on them). It wasn't a true national holiday until 1863 in the midst of the Civil War--thank you, Lincoln.

So no, I don't want Australians celebrating that holiday. But to put up a big fuss about Halloween, whose origins are much much much older than America is a bit silly. I resent being told by Australians that as an American I must be a gun-loving, SUV driving, war-loving, ignorant individual who wants to impose my culture on everyone else. You and you alone can decide what traditions you want to make for yourself and your family.

And me? I'm keeping Halloween.

Down the Mornington Peninsula

For the most part, I like not owning a car. I live in a city where the tram is at my doorstep and the train is around the corner. A taxi fare from the CBD is only about 20 dollars. I don't have to worry about the price of petrol or insurance, maintenance bills, rego or car payments. And best of all, I'm reducing my carbon footprint.

But sometimes, when I want to get away from town and explore other places, a car would be rather useful. So, it was quite the treat to have my in-laws drive down from South Australia. It meant that for a few days, we'd have a car to drive down to the Mornington Peninsula, just an hour away from our apartment.

On a sunny Saturday morning, we piled into the car and started the drive down the Nepean Highway. After a nice nap, we stopped the car at Heronswood Garden in Dromana.

It is home to the Digger's Club, a garden club interested in preserving traditional gardening and heritage plant varieties. As if this sign outside Heronswood wasn't proof enough.

My in-laws decided to opt out of paying $10 per person to see the gardens and instead purchased items from the shop before heading to the restaurant on site Fork to Fork for some coffee and scones as we had missed out on their fabulous organic lunch menu. I'd like to make the trip back there someday to try the constantly changing menu.

With gardening purchases in hand, we set our sites on the real reason we came to the Mornington: to drink wine. On our way inland to the wine region, we ended up getting sidetracked at Arthur's Seat and had to pile out of the car to get a picture or two.

Now, finally on to some wineries. Except that my father in-law took a detour when he saw cheese tasting. Okay, so cheese tasting, then wineries! We stopped at Red Hill Cheese to indulge ourselves in a tasting platter (and I tried everything but the blue cheese).

I have found that I am not a fan of cow milk products in Australia (I have yet to deduce why, but so far they seem to have a sharp taste and a slightly foul odor). I surprised myself by enjoying the sheep and goat cheeses. I even bought the sheep's milk soft cheese, Tyabb Mist.

And then, we drove back down the dirt road to stop at Main Ridge Estate. Our first winery of the day. Somehow, with all the distractions and afternoon tea, the day had withered away and it was now after 4pm. Our plans to visit the Peninsula's wineries had suddenly been dashed. But, here at least was one, looking very welcoming in the low afternoon sun.

Known for their award winning chardonnay (which my mother-in-law promptly made a face at) and their pinot noir (my husband bought a bottle of their half acre pinot, in hopes that he can have enough restraint to cellar it for the next 10 years).

We only had time for one more fast detour at Lindenberry to quickly try their range of wines and grab a few cleanskins before heading back up the Nepean Highway. We passed through Brighton just in time to catch the beautiful afternoon sunset on one of the first warm days of this (rather late) Spring.

Victoria: the Place to Be

Well, that's what the licence plates say anyways. I'm looking into it. As I was talking on Skype with my mother this evening (her bright and early morning), she asked me why I began writing in my blog again. I had no immediate response; I was dreadfully silent during my time in Adelaide. Maybe I was preoccupied with getting married and settling in. But, I probably should have written something during those 2 1/2 months of unemployment. What's done is done, however, and now that I am in Melbourne I feel a burst of creativity and curiosity.

I know South Australia is known as the 'Festival State', but since arriving in Melbourne in June there have been a plethora of festivals. Writers Festival (where I saw the hilarious, genius and entertaining Joss Whedon give a key note address), Spring Fashion Week, State of Design Festival, Fringe Festival (not as good as Adelaide's however), Melbourne Festival to name a few. I apologise if I omitted any. There was also the Melbourne Open House 2010, where the buildings of Melbourne open their doors to the public and we gladly take the chance to peer inside.

While it runs over two days, Shannon and I only had the chance to visit a few buildings on the Sunday. First stop was the Origin Energy rooftop garden:

7 stories up, we got to take the opportunity to look over some of the city. Including a snapshot of the Eureka Tower, the highest building in Melbourne at 91 stories tall.

Next, we traveled to Collins Street to the ANZ Gothic Bank. Originally built in 1883-7 as the English, Scottish, Australian Chartered Bank, it has eventually become a fully functioning ANZ branch with a Gothic twist.

We also got to the see the original bank manager's, "apartment" (it is probably too grand, with too much gold leaf and and too many gas lamps to be considered an apartment). Sir George Verdon, the first bank manager, was at least smart enough to get double glazed windows (something that's a rarity in Australian buildings now). His home is now used for ANZ private banking (if you have millions to spend, you might get to meet there to talk investments and such), but as it is still a working bank, I was unable to photograph any of the interior. Stupid security!

After waiting in line for about an hour and a half at the bank for a tour, we walked over to Docklands to see the Mission to the Seafarers. I am unable to stay away from anything with the word "sea" in it.

There is also a large Dome in the mission, which was once used a gymnasium. There are a few rings left in the ceiling, which hint to its old existence, however it is now used a gallery.

After that visit, it was a walk back to the tram via the Seafarer's bridge and Southbank where I set my eyes on the Polly Woodside for the first time. She's owned by the National Trust and in the final stages of her fit out before she is opened for public tours. She won't sail again, but she's looking rather smart.

I am currently sorting out the details to volunteer with the ship when she opens to the public sometime in December 2010.

Aside from enjoying a crisp winter day in Melbourne, I have enjoyed many tea breaks in the tea room of the NGV, seen both of the Winter Masterpieces exhibitions at the NGV and ACMI. I'm still new to the city and every weekend out is an adventure to explore the CBD, my suburb and the suburbs beyond.

My suburb also happens to be known for a large Jewish community and with that comes many amazing bakeries like Glicks that make fresh bagels. I haven't had a fresh, real bagel since leaving the States in January 2009 and I am happy to say that I have indulged myself in many morning bagels with schmear.

I'm starting to think Melbourne might be the place for me.

Next time: A quick trip to the Mornington Peninsula.

Digital Panoramas

Since I got my small, rugged, take-anywhere Lumix FT1 for my honeymoon (easier to stash than a DSLR, cheaper and far more portable in places I plan to go in the future), I have latched on to the panorama assist function. I find the most beautiful scenes that I can, which won't fit into one frame and I turn them into many, using the handy little automated grid on my camera screen.

I then take them home and plug them into Hugin and let the magic begin. I let a program do most of the work, aligning the images and matching the exposure/colours. I then set to work in Photoshop for some fine tuning-- a bit of cropping, burning, dodging and some trusty level adjustment. And once that is done, this is what I've come up with so far:

Auckland from Mt. Eden, New Zealand

Uluru at sunrise, Northern Territory

Kings Canyon, Northern Territory

Mt. Connor, Northern Territory

Alice Springs from ANZAC Hill, Northern Territory

It's a bit of a start. I have a few more to do. I confess that I mostly discovered the tool when I went to the Northern Territories with my husband and older brother (best trip ever...would do it again with them in a heartbeat). I look forward to finding the right weather to photograph Melbourne from Southbank and Elwood Beach. I also have every intention of taking a million photos from Freycinet National Park in Tasmania this Christmas. And any other adventure that comes my way soon.

Now, to figure out how to print these things....

Distance Between

"Now there's an ocean between, where I am and where I want to be." - Flogging Molly

When I moved so far away I knew I would feel, at times, strong pangs of homesickness. But I have made my decision to live here, so I have accepted those feelings as natural. But what I didn't think about what just how far away you could feel sometimes.

These feelings and thoughts come from having had a rather tough week; I guess not really for me because I am so removed from the situation. And yet, even in being so far away, I feel that it ought to be affecting me and completely alter the course of my week. And yet things go on, uninterrupted, though I feel stuck in some sort of limbo, unable to express my own feelings and somewhat unsure of what they should be.

This week a friend's father passed away. Though he had been ill many years before, it was quite a shock. I used to be quite close with this friend and his family (we used to sail together) and unfortunately, the years put distance between us. I should be there to offer my condolences, but I feel utterly useless so far away. I feel shocked, pained, dismayed, confused, but mostly useless. What help will a Facebook message offer?

It's made me realise just how much I miss. A year and a half ago a friend passed away quite suddenly. I don't think I had the chance to really grieve or speak to friends who could help me. And being so far away, I can be told my friend is gone, but how am I to know? I am so far away, that I didn't see a funeral or a wake or even a gravestone. I only have Facebook to follow. So much of my life relies on the validity of what I read on Facebook. The miles make it so easy to turn everything into a dream; the world I left behind when I moved is no more than a dream.

I have friends who have had children (beautiful babies who I will not meet until they are much older), friends have been married and divorced. I can't expect life to stop for me when I am so far away, but sometimes you feel it changes much faster than you can grasp it.

And people could tell me that that's the decision I have made when I moved here and I have to understand that life will go on without me and it's normal to feel left behind and isolated. I have a life here and people's lives to share and be a part of. But that doesn't change the fact that somewhere in the world, far from me are people that I love and care about. People who I have known for the better part of my life and I can't be there for them. I can't share their joy or their pain. I can only send a Facebook message to express myself and hope that is enough.

It might be for them, but sometimes it's not enough for me.

The City in the Rain

This morning I climbed on the tram, bleary-eyed and rather cold for a Spring day. The sky was gray, still threatening another downpour and the ground was still slick with the sky's last offering. I felt the fresh, chill in the air, more akin to Fall than Spring.

As I stepped off the tram, surrounded by concrete sidewalks and skyscrapers, I was bombarded by a strange array of smells. Smells always heightened after a good downpour. Cigarettes, coffee and subway bread immediately hit my nose after retreating from the stale interior of the tram. They are always stuffy this time of year, with hordes of professional business people in their suits and shiny shoes all crammed together like sardines.

Cigarettes are a smell hard to avoid in a city. There is always someone in front of you, cigarette dangling between his or her fingers, the trail of white smoke lazily wafting towards you as you try desperately to hold your breath so as to avoid foul, stifling smell. After rain, the stale smell of cigarettes lingers in the air, mingling with the smell of coffee. Coffee is a warm, rich, inviting smell--one that invigorates rather than repulses. It's everywhere in the morning, drifting from cafes and coffee cups.

And Subway bread, a smell that is so distinctive that you immediately know you must be in the vicinity of a store where the sugary bread is slowly rising in an oven. It was a smell that quickly blotted out all other smells this morning.

As I rushed away from Subway, the freshening smell of rain hit my nose, quickly followed by dirt. The smell of a dirty city--the kind of smell that is only stirred up by a hot, stifling summers day or after a drenching rain. The kind of smell made of up actual dirt and soot, stale body odors from thousands of people, garbage that has been littered on the ground and no doubt a fair amount of piss. It is an unmistakable, metropolitan smell. It runs amok in the streets of New York and Paris--it no doubt has found its way to Melbourne.

I wrinkle my nose until I'm greeted by the faint smell of perfume. Although too much can choke you on the tram in the morning, just a hint of it drives the city smell from my memory. And so I continue my walk, greeted again by the smell of cigarettes, rubber, smoke, coffee and fresh rain until I scan my keycard and retreat into the office.

And while not all the smells are pleasant, I find them fascinating. They are what makes a city, uniquely a city. All the smell that linger on the concrete and bitumen remind me that it's a city full of people and life.

Identity

My in-laws are in town this weekend and last night there was a discussion about my husband applying for his British passport--as his father was born in England and later moved to the Southern Hemisphere. My mother-in-law was sure to mention at the end of the discussion, "don't forget you are Australian first and foremost." My mother has told me something similar saying that no matter where I go, "just remember you are always American. Don't give that up." Not that I would surrender my American citizenship, but it has caused my mother some unnecessary worry.

But all that talk about identity in terms of country got me thinking. What on earth is going to happen to my children? If my husband must always be Australian first and I must always be American first, then what do our children have to be first? It would certainly cause an identity crisis if we expected them to be both at all times. And when did our identity have to be so tied in with our citizenship? Does where we come from completely dictate who we are? Can we only be from one country? Perhaps, we are only born in one country, but is it perhaps our more recent memories and experience that change that?

However, I wouldn't consider myself Australian. I don't know if I even truly consider myself American anymore. I haven't been in the country for nearly two years. A lot can change in two years--including myself. And I don't know if I could completely relate the same way I used to. So, I guess I'm an outsider. Does it mean I have lost my identity too?

And in a globalised world, why are we so concerned with tying identity to country anyways? We've melded so much culture together that we're all living with second hand traditions borrowed from other countries anyways. So why are we so concerned with defining ourselves by imaginary lines anyways?

My husband told me this morning on the tram that our children will be "citizens of the world." But they still have to live somewhere. Do we battle it out to see if we raise them in Australia or the States or do we find neutral ground in a place like the UK? Does it even matter? It probably matters greatly to our parents, where one of them will have to miss out more than the other if we pick one of our birth countries. But then is it fair to make them both miss out? Is it even possible to split our time 50/50 between countries. Unless I win the lottery, I think not.

But then again, does it really matter? Can't it all work out? Won't our children's identities in the be determined by how we shape them? Not just where on the world map they live? But my husband cannot identify as British. He has never lived there. But does that mean that there isn't some part of him, of his history and family identity that is British doesn't count? Maybe it really does come down to where you live now, not just where your family comes from or where you go.

But I'd like to think that those things matter. I believe that my identity is more than my passport.

Starting at the Beginning: Adelaide

Before I begin to chronicle my new lifestyle in Melbourne, I thought I should take the time to step back for a bit to Adelaide. It was after all, the first city I have called home in Australia, and it always will be, for better or worse.

When I arrived in Adelaide, I admit that it felt very different from being a tourist. All the pressures and needs of everyday life came with me--that includes the need for a steady income. 2 1/2 months of stress brought me gainful employment as an admin at a law firm. Not exactly the dream career I left graduate school hoping to achieve. Perhaps I was slightly overqualified for my role, but pickings were slim for an outsider who had to convince people she had a legitimate visa. And it was my first job. Education has this wonderful talent for building students up to make them believe they will get their dream job when they finish. Reality is, you're lucky if you get something a step up from the minimum wage job you did to get you though university.

So, for over a year, I grappled with the reality of a first job. Of the disappointment in being unable to obtain something in your field. Of the reality that the jobs just aren't there in the city you live in--or they haven't been created yet. Or maybe no one cares about the arts. Instead all that filled my mind was legal contracts, briefs to counsel, due diligence, court forms, lease agreements and the wealth of property developers and energy companies. Now, I know it paid the bills, but I was fighting for the two things I'm rather against -- urban sprawl and oil drilling. Not to mention you live in an office where there is a sometimes unspoken, but ever constant divide between the "professional staff" and the "admins". It's there, it hurts and it's offensive.

I can say that that divide even seeped into my personal life and I was friends in Adelaide with one too many lawyers. Not only was I reminded of my first demeaning quality (I was only a woman), but I was also the woman who was seen as their "secretary". So, I may harbour some bitterness when it comes to that role. And I may never look past that.

But, I by no means want that to be the judgement of my time in Adelaide, or my experience. It was unfortunate that I could not find the employment that would better suit my talent, skills and most importantly, my convictions. I'm not sorry to say that I hope to have left the legal world behind FOREVER.

Adelaide is a lovely place, but I was miserable. I was tainted largely by a job I hated and by always feeling like an outsider. I wasn't from Adelaide and that spoke volumes. I'd never belong, just like I can never change my accent. People will always tell me how much they "love New York City" when I tell them I'm from "New York State" and people will always wonder if I am on vacation. They might confuse me as a Canadian instead of being from the States, but that didn't matter. It only mattered that in many ways I was always being reminded that I wasn't from there, I didn't go to private school there and I would never be from there. I didn't grow up in the right suburb, didn't go the right clubs (I hate clubbing, I am so over a beat and no music) or even shop at the right stores. I don't wear makeup and I think my best outfit is a t-shirt, jeans and Sperrys. I hate high heels. I also hate both AFL Footy teams in Adelaide (go Saints). And I will never ever join a footy tipping group at work. NEVER. I think drinking after work on a Friday night with just workmates in the work kitchen is weird and anti-social. I also would like to point out that while I am American, I am not America itself and am not personally responsible for any comment or action made by the handful of nut job Americans out there. And when generalising my country, it does help that when you say "except you of course" you actually know other Americans you are generalising, because I'm pretty sure I'm the only American you know so I'm the only evidence you have to go on. I don't mind being different, I am proud to be different, but I shouldn't be ashamed because of it.

I haven't written much in the past year in Adelaide. Even with a new computer. I have no voice. I feel mute, uninspired, miserable, useless, homesick. I don't even take pictures. Any creativity I had was being squashed and I wouldn't stand for it. I was getting out. And that's how I found myself on a plane to Melbourne. On my way to the enemy. Dirty, nasty Victoria. A nice place, except it is full of Victorians. Or so they say.

I can't promise that Melbourne will do wonders for me. I can't promise that will heal every ache in my heart. But time will tell.

From Adelaide to Melbourne

I probably should have kept this blog going as I moved from the States to Australia in order to chronicle the trials and tribulations of being an expat. But now with almost a year past, I have remained silent--though I guarantee I have probably had a lot to say on the subject. But, I find myself on the horizon of another big move; though this will be the first time in a few years the move takes me only to another state and not another country.

23 January 2009: I arrived in Australia and moved to Adelaide to start a life with my fiance and to find my first full time job and do all those things an adult does after leaving university.

20 June 2010: I am boarding a plane to move to Melbourne in order to start a new job, arguably a new job that will set me down the professional path I want to travel. For the first week or two, I will be alone, navigating a new city from a hostel (until I finally secure suitable accommodation). I am leaving behind most of my belongings, my husband, my pets and the place I have had to call home for over the past year to set out on another adventure.

I seem to regularly leave behind my comfort zone. I confess I find it a bit exhilirating and just as terrifying.

I do have mixed feelings about uprooting myself so soon after settling in. I have made friends and most of my husband's family lives in Adelaide. I have settled into a routine, with local pubs and local parks. But, despite all the aspects I have found to love in Adelaide, I have struggled with feeling like I am still in a small country town. Granted the population is over 1 million--so for Australia, it definitely earns city status. But, it's 9 hours from any other city over a million people. It is painfully isolated (I don't know if I would survive in a real Australian country town).

I confess. I am a city girl. I thrive off the vibe on the streets, the buzz and hum, the people, the smells (most of the time anyways) and the lights. Melbourne has this and more. And when I think of that, I know that I am doing the right thing. I wonder what place in my heart Melbourne will hold (could it ever beat out Toronto?) and what impact it will have on my journey.

All I know right now is that, I'm a city girl. And I'm heading back to the city lights.