Actually, she had no idea which way the drain emptied this morning. Until she sat down to jot this note, the coriolis effect of the two hemispheres was the last thought on her mind.
Instead, the angst of the previous morning infiltrated her shower meditations at 4:14 a.m. eastern Australian time – well, that's not accurate – more like Queensland time because Melbourne and Sydney both function on some kind of daylight savings during this period of the calendar – urgh. Ironically, she, who hated the thought of a clock determining the order of the day, actually demanded regularly to know the time.
One of the delights of travelling 10,000 miles or 13,000 kilometres was that she allowed her body to tell her what to do. So bedtime last night was when her eyes simply would not stay open any longer. Later she computed that to be about 7 p.m. in her corner of Oz and 4 a.m. in the prairie world from which she had travelled.
Her need for orderliness – not just any orderliness, but her own kinky manner of doing things - required that after four and a half months of being away the lamps must be returned to their rightful corners, the wall hangings re-arranged with the children at the centre of the universe.
Loaded with baggage, out of breath from climbing the back stairs, her first words upon entering the lounge and surveying the room, 'This simply will not do.'
Annie, the erstwhile and accommodating youngest child of the Australian, the one willing to change her work schedule in order to pick them up form their international flight, quickly retorted, 'It's not me. I didn't do it!'
There had been previous discussions about whether the children ought to be hanging in the middle of this old Queenslander in their larger than life photo taken when the eldest was thirteen and the youngest were ten and eleven. But the American loved the photo, loved the idea of the three children together at that time in their lives, rather liked the composition of young Australians and the natural environment where they pose together, but are oh so separate. They look directly at the camera. They are complete within themselves even then. And at the same time the relaxed state of their posture relates another tale that claims they are entirely comfortable with each other, with the sibling arrangement they have created.
She missed the metre square photo joining all the corners of the house into relationship.
Apparently the young blond who rented the space while she was establishing a new home in America – a home far too small to accommodate the Aussie trio – had felt a level of discomfort at the family photo and replaced it with a vermilion Buddha meditating beneath his banyan tree. Fine for the guest room – hardly appropriate for the centre of this house where the three young adults had come of age.
It took the weary traveller an hour to find the framed photo with its face leaning to the wall beside the bookcase in her office. Face to the wall? What message did that send? Enough!
Her American angst and promise of retribution muttered repeatedly within that first hour of arriving home gave her Aussie partner reason to invoke sarcasm, impatience and discomfort. Sigh.
All is well in the world now that the family is back on its appointed wall. Comfort levels may even return to normal since she has been able to control the environment, to recreate an atmosphere conducive to her own sense of propriety.
Just thought you might like to know what the important issues in the American's life are these days! 'Don't be messin with my wall hangings and we can, possibly, be friends.'
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Greetings from the Southern Hemisphere
6 a.m. in Kiwiland and all is well. As per usual, there is plenty of rain to greet us. Overcast skies being the default in these isles.
Our journey last night was pleasant - at least in the business class cabin. When we landed, folks were requested to remain in their seats until the paramedics had time to board and care for a person with a medical problem.
As I sit here typing, I can see the beautiful 747-400 sitting on the tamac with a paramedic van (lights flashing) parked beside. I wonder if the passenger in question has left the plane yet. The rest of us have, to be sure.
The twelve hour flight with low cabin pressure could be harrowing for an individual with any kind of heart condition - but that's just a guess.
The Aussie and I are alert, well fed, well slept, and ready for the next stage of our voyage home to Oz which commences in about two hours.
Hope your Monday is as celebratory as our Tuesday.
Our journey last night was pleasant - at least in the business class cabin. When we landed, folks were requested to remain in their seats until the paramedics had time to board and care for a person with a medical problem.
As I sit here typing, I can see the beautiful 747-400 sitting on the tamac with a paramedic van (lights flashing) parked beside. I wonder if the passenger in question has left the plane yet. The rest of us have, to be sure.
The twelve hour flight with low cabin pressure could be harrowing for an individual with any kind of heart condition - but that's just a guess.
The Aussie and I are alert, well fed, well slept, and ready for the next stage of our voyage home to Oz which commences in about two hours.
Hope your Monday is as celebratory as our Tuesday.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Travel -haitus
I’ve sent a couple of book proposals/QUERY letters to American literary agents lately on behalf of Kookaburra Serenade: Almost Parallel Tales. On the emails I sent this week, I included reference to American in Oz. Suddenly it occurred to me that I really ought to write about writing just in case one of those agents decides to check us out. Notice I use the plural, (us, we). This blog wouldn’t exist if there were no readers. Long ago I would have lost my appetite for writing to empty cyberspace.
However, these days when I am drifting off to sleep I often find myself concocting a blog entry for the next day. Readers have become an integral part of life on the prairie. I suppose that syndicated journalists feel similarly – that’s not to imply that my short and simple entries compare to the columns of daily newspapers.
Living in a tiny community (population 77) in a state with a population small enough that we have only one member in the Federal House of Representatives reminds me that any audience is better than none at all – probably the reason most of us seek publication by the traditional media.
The Burke County Tribune, our local weekly rag, has several regular columnists, one of whom, Josh Ellis, is published only every other week. I do miss his column in the off-week. I suspect that regular readers feel the same way when they stop in here to find that I have failed to post for a particular day. Not too much hubris in that comment.
And so it seems wise to share that ‘we’ will be travelling. On Monday we fly. It is possible that there will be a week with no entries as we arrive in Oz eight days later. Long flight!
I promise that as soon as I can turn on the BIG MAC in Paddington, I will be seeking your readership once again – hopefully with scads of travel humour at the expense of the tall guy who used to carry my bags – but won’t be this trip because as you may recall from previous entires, he has the use of only one shoulder. Won’t be crying on that one!
However, these days when I am drifting off to sleep I often find myself concocting a blog entry for the next day. Readers have become an integral part of life on the prairie. I suppose that syndicated journalists feel similarly – that’s not to imply that my short and simple entries compare to the columns of daily newspapers.
Living in a tiny community (population 77) in a state with a population small enough that we have only one member in the Federal House of Representatives reminds me that any audience is better than none at all – probably the reason most of us seek publication by the traditional media.
The Burke County Tribune, our local weekly rag, has several regular columnists, one of whom, Josh Ellis, is published only every other week. I do miss his column in the off-week. I suspect that regular readers feel the same way when they stop in here to find that I have failed to post for a particular day. Not too much hubris in that comment.
And so it seems wise to share that ‘we’ will be travelling. On Monday we fly. It is possible that there will be a week with no entries as we arrive in Oz eight days later. Long flight!
I promise that as soon as I can turn on the BIG MAC in Paddington, I will be seeking your readership once again – hopefully with scads of travel humour at the expense of the tall guy who used to carry my bags – but won’t be this trip because as you may recall from previous entires, he has the use of only one shoulder. Won’t be crying on that one!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Flexibility
Amazing how flexible we humans are.
Six weeks ago I stacked at least three layers of clothing on my body before slipping into my heavy fleece parka and nylon windbreaker, thick wool beanie, earmuffs, and gloves to go out the back door when the temperatures were in the low 40sF (7C).
This morning as I dressed to head for the post office, a quarter mile saunter across town, I zipped up my light fleece jacket over my cotton turtleneck and smiled at the sunshine warming the 36F (2C) breeze that rearranged my hair, but my ears complained not a bit. I stuck my hands and the PO box keys they were jingling in the pocket of my jacket.
I have metamorphosed into a winter crittur. Soon I will head out to continue raking and trimming the lilac hedge in front of the house where I found two heavy brown pelts deep in the leaf litter the other day.
To be in conjunction with the elements is a gift, a gift of adaptation common to all the creatures of the planet. Just takes some of us a bit longer.
While working on the lilacs, it occurred to me that this adaptation is the stuff of graceful aging, of living well into ones majority with a minimum of angst. Think of the Bristlecone Pines of the White Mountains of California, the oldest continuous life on the planet. When one aspect of the plant loses its vigour, a new limb manifests ready to carry on the business of photosynthesis, ready to carry the plant into a new century.
As I raked and pruned, I realized that the lilac does the same: an ancient part dies off after birthing new limber branches to carry on the process of adaptation.
My brain must do the same if I am to be vital in the next decade of my life. The part that is having difficulty finding nouns needs to be relaxed while it creates new dendrites as a result of my learning a new language, engaging in new problem solving techniques, playing new games, interacting with new cultures, finding new patterns for my life than the ones to which I have grown accustomed. Stagnation is the killer.
I am aware that the information I seek is still stored, but the access points for that information requires my self to knock on a few more doors, to come to the room where information is stored via the roof rather than through the basement where I found the elevator door previously. It takes a bit longer.
But not if I build new stairwells through which I can access the floors of the high rise of my knowledge, of my physical brain. Like the Bristlecone Pines, it is time to send out new limbs by which the photosynthesis of creating continuing knowledge can occur.
Amazing how a walk to the post office or pruning the lilacs can change one's perspective.
Six weeks ago I stacked at least three layers of clothing on my body before slipping into my heavy fleece parka and nylon windbreaker, thick wool beanie, earmuffs, and gloves to go out the back door when the temperatures were in the low 40sF (7C).
This morning as I dressed to head for the post office, a quarter mile saunter across town, I zipped up my light fleece jacket over my cotton turtleneck and smiled at the sunshine warming the 36F (2C) breeze that rearranged my hair, but my ears complained not a bit. I stuck my hands and the PO box keys they were jingling in the pocket of my jacket.
I have metamorphosed into a winter crittur. Soon I will head out to continue raking and trimming the lilac hedge in front of the house where I found two heavy brown pelts deep in the leaf litter the other day.
To be in conjunction with the elements is a gift, a gift of adaptation common to all the creatures of the planet. Just takes some of us a bit longer.
While working on the lilacs, it occurred to me that this adaptation is the stuff of graceful aging, of living well into ones majority with a minimum of angst. Think of the Bristlecone Pines of the White Mountains of California, the oldest continuous life on the planet. When one aspect of the plant loses its vigour, a new limb manifests ready to carry on the business of photosynthesis, ready to carry the plant into a new century.
As I raked and pruned, I realized that the lilac does the same: an ancient part dies off after birthing new limber branches to carry on the process of adaptation.
My brain must do the same if I am to be vital in the next decade of my life. The part that is having difficulty finding nouns needs to be relaxed while it creates new dendrites as a result of my learning a new language, engaging in new problem solving techniques, playing new games, interacting with new cultures, finding new patterns for my life than the ones to which I have grown accustomed. Stagnation is the killer.
I am aware that the information I seek is still stored, but the access points for that information requires my self to knock on a few more doors, to come to the room where information is stored via the roof rather than through the basement where I found the elevator door previously. It takes a bit longer.
But not if I build new stairwells through which I can access the floors of the high rise of my knowledge, of my physical brain. Like the Bristlecone Pines, it is time to send out new limbs by which the photosynthesis of creating continuing knowledge can occur.
Amazing how a walk to the post office or pruning the lilacs can change one's perspective.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
A Biblical Marriage
Landover Baptist Church has done it again. Mrs. Betty Bowers, a better Christian than you’ll ever be, has once more satirized the Christian Right.
With just the right tone, not too proper and totally sincere, Betty uses the Old Testament to vilify those who believe that they have the responsibility to tell the rest of us how to be in relationship.
For a good giggle and a rather well researched commentary on Old Testament marriage arrangements check out this site: http://www.youtube.com/MrsBettyBowers
If you are offended, consider the topics I might have blogged about this morning – The Australian Senator who has taken Scientology to task for slavery and illegal incarceration, for instance. You can find that story on the Brisbane Courier Mail website.
Yes, this is a left-handed reference. Scientology has a reputation for lambasting its critics on line by interfering with their ability to post. I like my blog site and prefer to avoid cyber attacks
With just the right tone, not too proper and totally sincere, Betty uses the Old Testament to vilify those who believe that they have the responsibility to tell the rest of us how to be in relationship.
For a good giggle and a rather well researched commentary on Old Testament marriage arrangements check out this site: http://www.youtube.com/MrsBettyBowers
If you are offended, consider the topics I might have blogged about this morning – The Australian Senator who has taken Scientology to task for slavery and illegal incarceration, for instance. You can find that story on the Brisbane Courier Mail website.
Yes, this is a left-handed reference. Scientology has a reputation for lambasting its critics on line by interfering with their ability to post. I like my blog site and prefer to avoid cyber attacks
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
On Line Maps - whose directions are you following?
New York Times this morning has an article on Google and other map sites.
Damn, who's mapping India, Cambodia and Vietnam, not the spots most of us visit every day, but certainly if we were to head towards the equator, spots we would love to have mapped for us ahead of time so that our Garmin, Tom Tom, or Navigator would find the right rice or noodle shop.
Geo volunteers says the NY Times!
So, next time the nasty little man or snarky woman's voice tells you 'where to go' and is wrong, you can blame the volunteer! I know, I know, usually the machine is right; but I have been taken far afield many a time by our Tom Tom that is correct 98% of the time. Guess, I'm just naturally argumentative. If there isn't a human being around to contend with, I turn to machines. Shrug! Least ways, no one's feelings are hurt :)
I remember my uber traveller friend who returned from Lithuania with stories of hiring guides in order to travel the back country. No maps, no road signs - designed to keep foreign invaders confused. No more!
Take a look at the article by clicking on today's blog title. You may be surprised.
Damn, who's mapping India, Cambodia and Vietnam, not the spots most of us visit every day, but certainly if we were to head towards the equator, spots we would love to have mapped for us ahead of time so that our Garmin, Tom Tom, or Navigator would find the right rice or noodle shop.
Geo volunteers says the NY Times!
So, next time the nasty little man or snarky woman's voice tells you 'where to go' and is wrong, you can blame the volunteer! I know, I know, usually the machine is right; but I have been taken far afield many a time by our Tom Tom that is correct 98% of the time. Guess, I'm just naturally argumentative. If there isn't a human being around to contend with, I turn to machines. Shrug! Least ways, no one's feelings are hurt :)
I remember my uber traveller friend who returned from Lithuania with stories of hiring guides in order to travel the back country. No maps, no road signs - designed to keep foreign invaders confused. No more!
Take a look at the article by clicking on today's blog title. You may be surprised.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Trimming
Must be hungry.
My mind immediately did a click on turkey. (And all the trimmings).
Holiday spirit was the next connection (Trim the tree, the house, the front door)
Third was my fringe (Australian) that would be my 'bangs' (American). I had straight edged them after brushing the hair out of my eyes seven times too often. Had a trim at the local hair dressers in Lignite on Friday. Not precisely Tony and Guy, but you can tell the hairdo from the eyebrows now.
The real reason, I titled this entry Trimming lies in my work for the past several hours. I so want to find an American literary agent before heading back to the southern hemisphere in two weeks. In that pursuit, I spent from 7:30-1:30 today rewriting (trimming) and sending out a whole slew of new book proposals. Right now, the ration of rejections to invitations to send our manuscript on to an agent is 14/1.
Whenever a rejection comes into my snail or e mail box, I find another agent to whom I can send a new book proposal. As you might imagine after spending several days on this process, my book proposals are reaching new heights of perfection. Never perfect, tho. I suspect the process will undergo continuing change until we finally find someone who loves our work as much as we loved writing it and decides to accept the responsibility of helping us find a publisher.
Cross your fingers, send out your blasts, think good thoughts. And thanks ahead of time. As I've mentioned before, I'll let you know when success is ours. Probably you'll hear me in the middle of your dreams one night..check back here if you do. I do have that sort of connection!!
love to all..
My mind immediately did a click on turkey. (And all the trimmings).
Holiday spirit was the next connection (Trim the tree, the house, the front door)
Third was my fringe (Australian) that would be my 'bangs' (American). I had straight edged them after brushing the hair out of my eyes seven times too often. Had a trim at the local hair dressers in Lignite on Friday. Not precisely Tony and Guy, but you can tell the hairdo from the eyebrows now.
The real reason, I titled this entry Trimming lies in my work for the past several hours. I so want to find an American literary agent before heading back to the southern hemisphere in two weeks. In that pursuit, I spent from 7:30-1:30 today rewriting (trimming) and sending out a whole slew of new book proposals. Right now, the ration of rejections to invitations to send our manuscript on to an agent is 14/1.
Whenever a rejection comes into my snail or e mail box, I find another agent to whom I can send a new book proposal. As you might imagine after spending several days on this process, my book proposals are reaching new heights of perfection. Never perfect, tho. I suspect the process will undergo continuing change until we finally find someone who loves our work as much as we loved writing it and decides to accept the responsibility of helping us find a publisher.
Cross your fingers, send out your blasts, think good thoughts. And thanks ahead of time. As I've mentioned before, I'll let you know when success is ours. Probably you'll hear me in the middle of your dreams one night..check back here if you do. I do have that sort of connection!!
love to all..
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
