36 hours in Sydney

As far as cities go, Sydney will always be my first love. We weren't able to spend much time there on our most recent trip back - more of a bookend to the two weeks - but we made sure that we stayed in a hotel in the heart of the city for our first two nights back.

Experience has taught us that the best way to adjust to the time zones is to force ourselves right into the swing of things and forget about naps - no matter how exhausted we are, no matter how early our flight arrived (6.30am!). We keep the whip cracking, run the kids ragged all day, and then we tend to all fall into a heap for a solid twelve-hour sleep that first heavenly night.

After arriving, we caught a taxi to our hotel in the CBD and were lucky enough to be able to check into our room super early. After refreshing ourselves, and before the girls had a chance to fall asleep, we made our way to Circular Quay. The plan was to catch a ferry to Manly so that we could spend the afternoon with a couple of close friends. Manly holds a special place in my heart, as it was the school holiday destination of choice when I was a child. My grandma would take me on the ferry, we'd buy hot chips and ice cream, and sit on the beach. I've wanted to take my own kids there since forever but ran out of time during our visit last year, so we made sure it was top of the list this time.

After a hot (40ºC) afternoon, we returned to the city and wound up at Hyde Park - just a short stroll from our hotel. There was an incredible public art installation with over three hundred mirrors. It was getting dark, and we were knackered but we found it hard to leave. We eventually dragged ourselves back to the hotel, fell into bed, closed our eyes, and suddenly it was morning. I love those kinds of deep sleeps.

After that huge sleep, we needed to get some bureaucratic stuff sorted (US visas renewed) and once that was tackled, we wandered around with some good old Sydney coffee. See all that sandstone on those buildings below? I miss seeing that. I used to work only a block away, and always loved walking around these parts.

On a whim, we took the girls to the Sydney Aquarium. We were lucky enough to see a platypus swimming around (as opposed to the usual hiding out they do) and to this day, the Faery has not stopped talking about it. The girls were also pretty enamoured with this dugong.

After a bit of a late afternoon rest in our hotel room, we headed back to Hyde Park for some dinner at the Night Noodle Markets (Lobster Pad Thai for me!), and another visit to the mirror installation.

We briefly met up at the park with an old friend, and during the crazy sunset light, I took myself off for a little time out and photo-taking mission. I'm not eloquent to express it properly, but the hustle and bustle of Sydney - especially on a spring evening - is one of my happy places. Having said that... Sydney? I don't miss your traffic. It's gnarly, and not in a cool way. Near the end of our trip, we needed to drive from my best friend's home to my brother's home, and what should have been a forty-five minute drive turned into two hours. Not cool, Sydney. Not cool.

I'm so glad we were able to have this time together - just us as a unit of four - before the busy family obligations kicked in. Also, we weren't to know it then, but a massively stressful shadow would soon hang over our trip when Miss Pie's passport's location became unknown for a week (courtesy of the US Consulate). We could have done without that!

After our quick break in Sydney, our next stop was Canberra for my sister-in-law's wedding... but more on that some other time.

Sorry Orlando, some other time

About a week ago, we gave in to the cold and got the gas fireplace cranking. J and I felt somewhat pathetic, as though we were being 'soft' and wimpy about the colder temperatures, but damn - that heat felt so good. A few days later, in the space of only 24 hours, at least three people - all locals who are used to the Northwest - told me that this weather was not normal for this time of year. There I was, thinking the endless heavy rain (not drizzle), storms, and icy winds were just par for the course after summer, but apparently not. Good to know.

It seems that autumn decided to do a runner. She raced past us, ensured that the trees would all turn spectacular colours... but as for a gradual transition with the temperatures, nope. In the space of less than three weeks, I've gone from wearing singlet tops and T-shirts to multiple layers, boots and rain jackets. Miss Pie even wore her new puffy down jacket today, which I hoped wouldn't be needed until around Thanksgiving at the earliest.

A screenshot of my Instagram feed, from this week.
I really am sinking into new lazily low territory.

Fortunately, we'll soon be getting a respite from this cold. It snuck up on us, but our little trip back to Australia is almost here - as in, we leave in eight days.

Last year, our visit home was preceded by counting the months, weeks, and days until we went. It had been two and a half years since we'd last seen everyone, so our excitement was at an all time high.

This year, it really was a case of J and I looking at each other last week, and exclaiming Oh fuck! We're going to Australia in a few weeks. Fuuuuck!

It's not that we felt no joy at the idea, but that we've had a tonne of things to organise lately, thrown in with small kids settling in to new routines of a new school and preschool. J is swamped under at work, and getting our visa renewal paperwork sorted for the trip has been fraught with stress and complications that has put us in fowl moods. On top of that, this trip is only two weeks long - with a family wedding in Canberra in the middle - so fielding queries about our itinerary from well-meaning family and friends has been tricky (partly to do with the visa renewal process making it uncertain if or when I'd need to go to the US Consulate in Sydney, and the only time slots available were two days before the wedding... in Canberra).

In terms of personal relationships, I've also been more than a little anxious about having to see someone who - the last time I spent days on end with, a few years ago - did not end on a good note. I won't lie, my stomach is in knots at the thought of the potential drama she'll create. We just never know with her. When she's happy in life, she's a wonderful person to be around and in the past, I've held tremendous respect for her but in recent years, things have disintegrated and it can be like walking on eggshells. Seeing her is unavoidable though, and I just need to put on my big girl pants.

But then last night, the cloud lifted. The visa renewal process turned a corner and we also discovered I don't need to front up in person at the US Consulate (assuming there are no problems with our paperwork), so I guess I'm not likely to meet Orlando Bloom there this time. Yay about the US Consulate, but bummer about Orlando, dude.

Other things began to fall into place, and despite our concerns about how on earth we'll find the time to catch up properly with everyone we want to, we began to feel the first tingles of excitement about the trip. Our first twenty-four hours in Sydney will be a blank canvas, so we are keeping it that way, to just hang out as our own little family of four. A night in a nice hotel in the heart of the city, a ferry ride to Manly (a place which is special to me, and I was unable to get to last year), and deep breaths to prepare for the following two weeks of madness.

I'm trying not to think about the fact that we can't fly directly from Seattle, so what is already a long flight now has another three hours plus layover time at LAX added. Calming me is the knowledge that Miss Pie is now the age that the Faery was when we very first flew from Sydney to Los Angeles. Three and a half is a much more manageable age for long-haul flights. With any luck, we won't have half the dramas we had last time - either with Customs or the luggage mix up. Big learning curves there. BIG.

And there you have it. Things will be even quieter on this blog front - for a while, I suspect - but it's all good. I will be in sunshine, making the most of a brief top-up of sweet spring air, and time with our most-loved ones south of the Equator.

The time I met a movie star

Location: Sydney, Australia
Starring: Orlando Bloom

I've been holding out on a story - not for any special reasons, just that I kept forgetting to tell it. First, though, I need to set the scene.

While we were back in Australia last year, we had to pay a visit to the US Consulate in Sydney. The specific visas that allow us to live in the US require us to reapply if we leave the States for any amount of time. Annoying, expensive, and it seems to be a mere formality. I have to say, Americans do love bureaucracy (that word is my Achille's Heel of spelling).

Naturally - being the US Consulate - the location itself is super tight with security. It's in one of the tallest buildings in Sydney, split over two levels. First, visitors need to arrive fifteen minutes before their appointment so they can 'check in' with security, on the tenth floor. It's not unlike going through an airport - passports need to be presented, then shoes removed, a walk though a metal detector, then all personal belongings (barring your actual paperwork and passports) handed over to a cloak/bag check in. Yes, even your wallets and phones. Especially your phones, and they must be switched off.

Once your load has been lightened on the other side of the metal detector, you need to present your paperwork to one of the staff members who are sitting at a large wooden table. Generally, two different people can be seen at a time. The staff members look over your paperwork to make sure you have everything you need for your appointment upstairs.

Did I just say upstairs? Because once your paperwork has been checked, you are then ushered to one of four rows of seats and instructed to wait until your row is called. When your row is called, you are then escorted to a lift and whisked up - from memory - to the 59th floor. Once you step out of the lift, there is a lobby, filled with large flags for each of the Australian states and territories, an Aboriginal flag, and - of course - the stars and stripes. There is further security waiting there, to open (what appears to be) the heaviest bomb-proof door, into the main part of the consulate.

Once through that door, it looks like any standard place which involves taking a numbered ticket, waiting... waiting... and presenting your paperwork, being 'interviewed', and having your fingerprints taken. If you're Australian, think of the RTA (in NSW) or Centrelink. If you're American, the DMV. British, where you go to get your NHI number. In other words, there are rows and rows of bored-looking people, sitting in plastic seats. Except, they are extra bored because nobody has their phones or reading material to kill their waiting time. One wall is lined with numbered windows through which to interact with consulate staff. The only feature which makes this place any different is that there are pretty American tourism posters lining the walls, and the end wall has a very large window that overlooks part of the city and the sparkling harbour - quite breathtaking, in fact.

So there you go - scene set.

We had a morning appointment at the consulate, and managed to get all four of us there without any drama. We did the check in, walked through the metal detectors, and handed over the stroller - along with all our personal belongings. No phones. No kiddy snacks. Definitely no water bottles. Then J sat down at the large wooden table, next to another fellow, as the staff sitting opposite them went through and checked the paperwork. Meanwhile, I wrangled the girls as we sat in our row - waiting to be given the all clear to head up the 59th floor.

Of course, being a two-and-a-half year old, Miss Pie had no interest in sitting quietly. Why would she? This was a confined, security-tight place... time to run around, in other words. She began to charm various other people nearby, then I heard giggling and she said, "Aww... cute baby! Mumma, there's a cute baby there!" My gaze followed to where she was pointing, and sure enough, there was a sweet looking little boy, about eighteen months old. The two of them pulled funny faces at each other, giggled more, and ran around together. I was just relieved that she had some form of entertainment.

After about a minute or so, I watched as the little boy wandered over to his father, who was sitting at the wooden table next to J. Both men were sitting with their backs to us, but when the father turned around to his little boy, I realised he was Orlando Bloom.

My first reaction was to swivel around and see where Miranda Kerr was. I've always thought her to be gorgeous so it was only natural that I wanted to ogle... but she was nowhere to be seen. It was just Orlando and their kid.

Holy shit, my kid is playing with Orlando Bloom's kid.

I looked over at J, to see if he'd noticed who was sitting right next to him. J's not the type to get starstruck but he's seen most of the Pirates of the Caribbean films, not to mention the Lord of the Rings trilogy. He definitely knew who Orlando Bloom was. I was unable to see J's face, so I tried to will him to look over. I was ready to do all kinds of crazy faces to convey Somebody Famous was sitting next to him.

To be honest, until this day I'd never really had a thing for Orlando. Plenty of my girlfriends did though, so I was mostly just looking forward to gloating about seeing him in the flesh.

Eventually J was told he could come and join us, so that we could go upstairs when called. Frantic whispering ensued, and yes, he'd seen who was next to him.

Orlando and his little boy were escorted to the lift a few minutes before us - after getting Miss Pie to say goodbye to her new playmate, I thought that was that. End of encounter. Not even polite chit-chat with Orlando, just the polite smiles that parents exchange in playgrounds when their kids are playing together.

We were ushered up to the 59th floor shortly after, took a number, and waited. Rather than sit down amongst all the bored people, we were drawn to the window with harbour views, where warm sunshine was spilling in. After a while, J was called over to one of the numbered windows - which was thankfully nearby, meaning I didn't have to yank the girls away from the window.

Then I noticed the person at the numbered window next to J's was Orlando... and his little boy was running around, looking for someone to play with. Sure enough Miss Pie found him, and there was a lot of giggling together.

Over the next forty-five minutes or so, J was called to his window a number of times, as was Orlando (yeah, I'm going to pretend I was on first-name terms with him... you would, too). Back and forth. Visa and passport issues can never be a straight-forward matter, right? Basically, there was a lot of waiting around. Us. Orlando. Our kids playing (by this time, the Faery was in on the action too).

The polite 'playground' chit-chat was inevitable. At first, despite my prior non-crushing status, I felt a little self-conscious every time my mouth opened. To Orlando's credit, he was utterly charming, without coming across as too smooth.

The usual small details were exchanged - such as the kids' ages. Miss Pie is a year older than Orlando's son and - as he watched Miss Pie - he said was trying to imagine what it would be like when his little boy was another year older and talking more clearly, but couldn't imagine. Like most dads, he sounded excited at the thought.

Orlando asked us if we lived in the US, we told him which part of LA we live in (and the studio where J works)... and I was tempted to point out the obvious about us being the same nationality as his wife, and that we should all get together some time for pavlova (yes, I really did have that thought - jokingly, sort of - so it was a good thing there was no wine around to loosen my tongue).

I didn't, though - I couldn't. I'm not even the type to ask for autographs, or to have my photo taken. I used to have a job which involved meeting famous customers often enough, and I decided a long time ago I could never gush or act girly in the presence of someone famous. A little tongue-tied, maybe, but that's it. My personality is far more that of an aloof cat than a friendly puppy.

Mostly, though, our little chats centred around the kids playing together, little observations and expressions of pleasure that they were playing so well, and were keeping themselves entertained, not getting bored. The sort of relief that only parents know when stuck in a situation like this - a confined space, long waits, no toys or snacks to dole out. And truly, it wasn't just mindless comments. The kids were playing beautifully, and compared to many of the little boys I've known, Orlando's was one of the most well-behaved, easy-going, polite toddlers I've encountered. I was impressed. Had we been in this situation when Miss Pie was a year younger, I'm certain that a meltdown would have been unavoidable.

Okay, so this was hardly a rock'n'roll encounter. I probably haven't made it sound terribly exciting... but at the time, it seemed so surreal. I mean, if I told anyone I'd met Orlando Bloom, they'd immediately assume it was somewhere in LA - not in a US Consulate in Australia. Also, I was struck by how much of a regular person Orlando seemed to be when he was chatting to us. There was no ego evident. It was like talking to someone sitting on the same bus or train ride. He appeared genuinely interested in our answers and came across as a warm, friendly person. He clearly adored his son, and my friends who are in love with him probably would have quivered helplessly if they'd witnessed the quick, casual nappy-change he had to perform.

A movie star in a black T-shirt, black jeans and boots, whipping a travel pack of baby wipes and nappy from his back pocket... sounds like one of the Ryan Gosling memes, right? (I'd like to know how he smuggled those upstairs, by the way... I certainly wasn't allowed to bring... stuff...)

Anyhow, everything drew to its natural end. Paperwork and interviews sorted, we all shared the lift back down to the tenth floor and collected our belongings. On our way out, I saw Orlando being greeted at the exit by two or three people - assistants? - and handed a bag, sippy bottle, coats and so on. We said our farewells, and that really was it, this time.

Except now, I'm no longer immune to the movie star appeal of Orlando Bloom. I confess: I've joined the ranks of my girlfriends who crush on him. A little...

Beginnings and endings

At the start of September, my youngest brother was married - the reason why we timed our visit for when we did, as opposed to Christmas. It was a gorgeously perfect spring day, in a stunning location, Taronga Zoo. Everything went as smooth as could be.

Well, almost. We'd tried the flower girl dresses on a week earlier, to ensure that they fit properly. Miss Pie had proclaimed her love for her 'princess dress' and we all sighed with relief. Excellent. She'll be fine on the day.

Except she wasn't. My job was to get the flower girls ready at the bride's parents' home, so that the wedding photographer could get started there too. Allowing for an early (but necessary) toddler nap, then a long drive to the zoo, I had a window of about an hour to do my thing.

Let's just say that three-quarters of that time was spent trying to coerce a certain toddler to wear the carefully chosen ensemble for her. She wasn't having any of it. Nope. Flat out refusal, "Don't want to be a princess!" There were tears. There were tantrums. I tried the gentle approach. I tried being patient.

In the end, I had to get a little forceful with dressing her. It made for a stroppy toddler during the initial photo shoot, only wanting to be held by yours truly. Fun times.

Thankfully, the forty-minute drive to the zoo was enough time for her to perk up. When it came to 'showtime', she charmed and insisted on twirling in front of everyone while the music was being played. Look at the bride about to come down the aisle? Are you kidding? Look at me, everyone! That child of mine is no shrinking violet.

The Faery, meanwhile, dealt with things very differently. Ever the people-pleaser, she was only too keen to dress up for the occasion. She'd been counting down the days until she could dress like a princess, and it was all she talked about. There were no dramas getting her ready, because she'd been dreaming about this day. The only thing marring it for her was her nerves. Poor poppet was anxious about walking down the aisle and being watched by everyone, but she did well. No need to twirl and hog the limelight, though. Nope, duties done, she sat quietly with my parents through the ceremony as I chased after Miss Pie, softly shushing her constant exclamations and questions.

Not only was this a big day for my brother, but it was also momentous because we were seeing close family - some of whom I cherish but hadn't seen in many years. A number of aunts, uncles and cousins had flown in from interstate. Some of them had not seen the Faery since she was a baby, and most of them had never met Miss Pie. It was special.

Being a Sunday, most out-of-town guests had to leave the next day. We were due to fly back to L.A. on Tuesday. All we had was that one evening to catch up as best we could.

My dad's sister, in particular, is someone I've always adored and looked up to. As I was growing up, I was used to not seeing her often because she lives in Brisbane, but over the years, it's never felt like much time has passed between seeing one another.

The evening flew by too quickly, and before I knew it, it was 10.30 pm. Ten-fricking-thirty, and not a single tantrum that night from Miss Pie... but naturally, meltdown o'clock was imminent, so we started to say our goodbyes (again, can I stress how amazed and shocked I am that Miss Pie lasted so long, so well, into the late evening?).

I'm normally a pretty cool-headed-keep-my-shit-together kind of girl in emotional situations. Mainly, because I internalise it instead. Healthy, I know.

However, as soon as my lovely aunt began telling me what a credit the girls are to J and I, it was a struggle to keep composed. So tired. A little tipsy. A little hormonal (great timing, cycle-wise). Everything conspired to make me lose it then and there, but I didn't. Not yet, anyway.

Goodbyes are always difficult, but it doesn't help when you've only said your hellos on the same day - and you don't know how many years will pass until the next hellos. Oh, and you're leaving the country in about thirty-six hours.

As I hobbled to our rental car (bloody high heels! and carrying an almost-asleep toddler!), blanketed by the safety of darkness, I was a sobbing mess.

Lesson learned? Don't do huge family-type reunions at the end of a holiday.

I'm still a little raw.

The shameless flirt

While we were on holiday, I rekindled an old flame.

Sydney.

I love her grand old sandstone buildings, 

her towering walls of glass,

her blue water backdrops,

painterly clouds and birdsongs,

her breath smelling sweetly of spring.

How I'd love to grow old with her.

This & that, down under

1. Coffee date with a girlfriend and the Faery, in my old neighbourhood - known as Little Italy. On the menu: one caffe latte pour moi, a babycino for the Faery, and toasted banana bread... with lashings of butter, of course.

2. & 3. First time ever on a ferry for Miss Pie. She was rapt: "I YOVE IT!"

4. Making the most of decent public transport; also Miss Pie's first time on a real train.

5. Beautiful thunderstorms! Sydney put on a couple of grand shows for us, which I wasn't expecting for that time of year. The fat raindrops smelled just as heavenly as I'd remembered.

6. More coffee, just the way I like it. Embarrassingly, a second cup would put me a bit on the jumpy side. Evidently, LA life has decreased my threshold for proper Sydney-strength espresso... but I made the most of it and barely a day went by without consuming it.

7. It was the perfect time of year for wattle galore. I couldn't get enough of that scent.

8. Harbour views from Taronga Zoo, this photo taken after my brother's wedding rehearsal. It was a glorious day to be out and about.

9. In Hyde Park, there was a busker with all kinds of balloon-blowing contraptions. We happened to be there on a quiet weekday (not sure what he was thinking?) and saw bubbles like I've never seen - large enough to swallow children. The girls had a blast playing along.

10. Driving on the left-hand side of the road again - kind of like riding a bike, I guess. It was less strange than I thought it would be, but you know what was a shock to the system? Sydney roads. Tiny, narrow, congested, and hardly ever a direct route from A to B. I never realised how crappy they were before - mind you, the majority of our time spent in Sydney was more innercity-terrain than suburbia.

Homecoming, Part 1

If our arrival in Sydney was to be any indicator, our visit there was destined to be one big ol' stinky pile of poo. From the time we checked in at LAX, until we'd been on Australian soil for a good five hours, one unlucky turn of events evolved into another, and another. That old adage - what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger - was one that ran through my head many times that morning.

The first piece of bad luck we had was the downgrading of the plane for our flight. It was supposed to be an Airbus 380, and J had already pre-booked our seats online so that we could all sit together in the same row of four seats. Upon check-in, we were told that the aircraft was no longer an Airbus 380, but a 747 - smaller plane, obviously, so our pre-booked seats were no longer valid. We were assigned new seats.

When it was time to finally board, we walked down the aisle, searching for our row... and kept walking... and walking. Turned out that our row was the very last one at the back. Cramped and squishy? Understatement.

Lucky for me, the girls were in top form for the flight and gave us the least amount of grief possible, so I was willing to forgive Qantas.... until the final hour before landing. This is normally when the landing cards are handed out, but it was announced that the crew had been given the wrong pile of landing cards before departing LAX. Most of the cards were in Spanish only. There weren't enough English landing cards for everyone on the flight, and passengers at the back of the plane would be handed cards in Sydney, after getting off the plane. Translation: anyone sitting towards the back of the plane were royally fucked if they had hopes of a speedy getaway.

Being in the back row, naturally, we were last off the plane. After stepping off, I was handed four landing cards, and we walked along numerous corridors and travelators until finding an available seat where I could fill out all four cards while J helped the girls burn off some steam running around.

I don't know how long it took, but bear in mind it was 6am local time and I'd just stepped off a fourteen-hour flight - with a grand total of maybe fifteen minutes' sleep (I don't sleep well on long-haul flights under the best of circumstances, let alone dealing with a bored toddler). Each landing card required names, birth dates, passport numbers, flight numbers, reasons for visit, citizen status, customs declarations - it was excruciating to do. Four times. This is why they normally give out landing cards during the flight, when there isn't a sense of immediacy to join the queues through Immigration, before they get even longer... and one's brain hasn't completely farted from exhaustion.

Our plan was - once out of the airport - to grab a taxi and head to our friends' place. They didn't live far from the airport and we were going to refresh/recharge, leave the girls with them, jump on a train to Kings Cross (where we were to collect out rental car), drive back, pack up the car, then begin the three-hour drive south to my parents' house.

A long day, already somewhat complicated, and not in need of any further drama.

Despite it being only 7am at this point, the queues through Immigration were already insane. By the time we made it through and over to the luggage carousel, it looked empty of all luggage from our flight.

Fuck.

We needed to collect three suitcases: one black, one purple, and one grey. Then from oversized luggage, we needed to collect an infant car seat, a booster seat, and a stroller. I went ahead and retrieved our oversized luggage while J waited with the girls at the carousel. And waited. And waited.

After about another ten minutes, we realised our bags weren't going to be found there anymore, so we asked around and staff radioed one another to see where our luggage could be. In the end, they'd been pulled off and put on the floor next to the carousel - but right down the other end, where the crowds were milling to join the queues for Customs. People had been standing around our bags on the floor, which is why we didn't see them.

Heaving big sighs of relief, J loaded up the bags onto a trolley, while I attempted to stop Miss Pie from running off, out of sight. Then we reconvened into the queue for Customs... another long line, of course.

Eventually, it was our turn to declare whatever goods needed to be declared. I informed them that I had some American beef jerky (as requested by a friend). The Customs official asked me which bag, I looked at our trolley, and saw that the bag in question wasn't there. J - as sleep deprived as I was - had only put two of our suitcases on the trolley. With all the oversized luggage needing to be rearranged, it was an easy oversight.

I frantically glanced through the glass wall, past the long queues through Customs, and saw our grey suitcase, standing alone on the floor by the carousel.

I wanted to cry...


(to be continued)

Postcard from Sydney

Found this photo in my archives - taken from a trip to Taronga Zoo, many moons ago. I love that place.

It's time for a break, but I'll be back. Our calendar for Sydney is already chockablock with weddings, birthday parties, housewarmings, cafe brunches, barbecues, dinners, meeting new bubbas, beachside trips, family catch-ups, catch-ups with friends, US consulate visits... and a whole lot of driving in between.

Blogging will need to take a backseat but I think it'll be good to have a self-imposed month off.

You can count on one thing, though - come September, there are going to be a lot of photos here to check out.

See you then!

Woven

We first met in a fine arts class that we shared at university. When I look back on those outdoor lunches we had between classes, there's a warm, golden glow filtering through my memories.

I'm not sure what T saw in me, why she wanted to get to know me. To spend time with me.

In her, I saw sunshine. Others saw her light, too - so many of us, like moths. T was completely unaware of the effect she had on people, though.

In her, I learned what gifted meant. Her words tumbled and flowed. Her drawings oozed and dripped, revealing shafts of light - and darkness - from her soul. The very sight of her handwriting, alone, filled me with anticipation.

In her, I found a sister. A friend for life. The world, as I'd known it then, shifted. Tilted. Expanded.

I miss her so much.

Those student days were intense.

Together, we danced and sang to music we loved. We lost weekends to 'recreation'. Juggled study and work. Juggled housemates and relationships. Love and heartbreak. Colour and chaos. Entwined.

A few years later, she came to see us in London, and stayed for the summer. More adventures. Sunshine. Music. Barefoot freedom. More broken hearts.

Since then, geography has got in our way. When J and I returned to Australia, we moved to Melbourne. T was in Sydney. We eventually moved back to Sydney, and I was able to start spending time with her again. Then, when I was pregnant with the Faery, she left Australia. A new life in a new country was calling her.

I didn't want her to go, but I understood. She needed to be with the love of her life, and so once again, a sea stood between us. Another timezone. It was only a few hours, but it seemed so far.

Now, it's an even bigger ocean between us. We've never been into buying birthday cards or gifts for one another, although I still have - and treasure - one she made for me all those years ago. Shyly given to me outside Fisher Library. A black and white drawing, a silhouette of two female figures on a small boat, sitting opposite, palms raised up and pressed together. There's a large full moon rising behind us, illuminating the gentle waves.

That card is tucked away into a shoe box of mementos, inside a bigger box of belongings, in storage. Far away from me. I haven't laid eyes on that drawing for a very long time, but when I close my eyes, I can see every last etch made by her pen. Every line. I know the picture well.

Just like the card, I haven't seen much of T in recent years. Months, and more months, will pass before one of us gets in touch with the other. Sometimes longer.

It doesn't matter though. Our letters and emails have been prompted by dreams we've had about the other. A hunch, pushing us to pick up a pen, or switch on the computer. The timing has been uncanny.

She expressed it beautifully, not long ago - it's like we're cut from the same cloth, and it doesn't matter how much time passes before we speak or write, because there's always a part of us in one another.

Woven.

I love that.

Yesterday was one of those days when I heard from her, out of the blue, but the timing was perfect. As always, her words made me want to cry. I still get a lump in my throat each time I replay her words.

I'm not a gushy person. I'm not touchy-feely. I do the whole bottle-it-in-with-stiff-upper-lip thing a little too well (just like my family). Some people probably even find me... prickly. I don't do declarations of love, except to a select few. That's just who I am. My poor husband.

I needed to write this, though. I love and miss T like crazy and today, it hurts... so I'm making an effort to go against my usual grain, and attempt the mantra of better out than in.

I hope T knows just how much she means to me.

Where am I?

Wild iris, bird of paradise, eucalyptus, jacaranda, bottle brush and agapanthus.

Throw some bougainvillea, jasmine - and even wattle - into the mix,

as there are plenty of these around, too.

I could be walking down any street in Sydney, in November.

Instead, it's May in L.A.

I feel a little bit upside down.

Or should that be wrong side up?

A year in La La Land

It's been a year since we stumbled bleary-eyed through the gates at LAX and arrived here. In the spirit of this milestone, I thought I'd list some of the good and bad about life in La La Land so far. Not in any particular ranking...


Things that amuse me

1. The advertising for prescription medicine
I'm guessing there are federal guidelines which state that medication can't be advertised on TV, radio, or in print media unless the risks and side effects are clearly stated. All the commercials I've seen for various anti-depressants, contraceptive pills and so on have a large portion where the negative risks are mentioned. Call me crazy, but when I've just listened to 30 seconds where possible nausea, blurred vision, diarrhea, incontinence and worse are mentioned as possible side effects... I'm not really tempted to buy or ask for this product. Also, given that prescription medicines aren't advertised in Australia or the UK, the fact that they are even advertised here has always struck me as odd: Doctor, I don't want that brand of anti-depressant, I want this one that I saw on TV. I may not have a medical degree but I'm sure I know better than you because I saw the ad for it...

2. Commonly used euphemisms
Bath tissue = toilet paper, nursing = breastfeeding, restroom = public toilet
Toilet is an embarrassing word to use? Or maybe it's considered distasteful - I haven't figured it out. And breastfeeding? Really? This makes me laugh because there's a stereotype of Brits as being prudish, yet they have no problem using these words - and Australians definitely don't have a problem with them. But then, we can be a crude bunch.

3. Drive-through ATMS
Enough said.

4. Squirrels
I stalked them obsessively in London parks when we lived there - feeding them by hand - and I stalk them here when I see them, too. Which is often.

5. Nickels and dimes
I can never remember which ones are 5c or 10c coins, so I'm always thrown when someone refers to a nickel or dime during cash transactions (it doesn't help that the 10c coins are significantly smaller than the 5c coins). I know I'm not stupid, so I'm going to use the old - and convenient - 'baby brain' excuse. Let's overlook that fact that Miss Pie is now a toddler.


Things that will make me grumble

1. The health care system
I don't have the space here to rant about it, but simply put? It's woefully inadequate. The paperwork involved, and the time spent finding the appropriate doctor who actually accepts the health plan you're on is frustrating at the very least. I wouldn't want to be a person on a low income in the US. Free basic health care should be a given. For everyone.

2. High fructose corn syrup
Sure, food is really cheap here, and there's a reason for that - high fructose corn syrup. It's BAD for you, and in most of the food - unless you take the time to seek out the food that hasn't got it. Annoying.

3. Los Angeleno drivers
They seem oblivious to what an indicator is, they really do.

4. The coffee
Thick, tasteless foam in lattes and cappuccinos - yuck. I prefer my lattes creamy in texture - and with actual flavour - but my standards are gradually slipping and I'm becoming more accepting of how it is here.

5. American date format
Month/day/year? Sequentially, so illogical. After a year, I still have trouble writing it this way, and on more than one occasion I've had to tear up cheques I've written because of this.


Things that I love

1. Amazon.com
We had access to Amazon in the UK as well, and I missed it when we went back to Australia. In those days, it was mostly books and music that were sold; these days, it's everything. Good prices and fast, cheap - if not free - shipping. What's not to love?

2. Trader Joe's
This grocery store is right up there with Whole Foods in my book, and their staff are so much friendlier. Their service is genuinely cheerful, and their food presented so appealingly. An early morning weekend visit there is always a happy start to the day.

3. Inn-N-Out Burgers
The tastiest fast food. EVER. All made from scratch on the premises, too.

4. America's love affair with peanut butter
A year ago, I'd have said that there's peanut butter found in places it has no business being in, but I've now embraced this. Peanut butter cookies, peanut butter ice cream with peanut butter cups, peanut butter-filled pretzels... I am a convert. My most recent discovery is the Tagalongs/Peanut Butter Patties (Girl Scout Cookies). To die for.

5. No more freaky creepy crawlies 
I saw my first American cockroach only last week, and it was tiny. It may just be that our apartment building is fairly new - so the pests have yet to move in - however, going a year without seeing a cockroach in Sydney would be unheard of. In the old terraced houses that we'd rented there, cockroaches were a fact of life. As were hideously fat stripy slugs, and an assortment of nasty spiders. Just the memory of brown huntsman spiders that gallop is enough to make me shudder. I'm not saying that Los Angeles hasn't got its own nasties; I just haven't encountered any yet. Here's hoping I don't!

A tail in three cities

Melbourne

Meet Emily (left) and Jet (right).

Not long after we moved to Melbourne, we decided it was time to get a couple of kittens. J and I both had always had special cats in our lives, but in the years we'd been living in the UK, we'd missed having cats. Being back in Australia, we felt the timing was right, so we headed off to the Cat Protection Society of Victoria to adopt some little 'uns. The plan was that we would choose one each.

As soon as we walked in, we spotted Emily. She was tiny and clinging on to the side of the cage she was in. She had little shaved patches on her front legs and a  huge shaved patch on her side with stitches poking out - the result of being desexed only the day before. Justin pulled her out for a cuddle, she purred, and that was that. Decision made. Stroking her, he asked, "Can we get her?" I replied, "If you don't choose her, I will".


While they cuddled some more, I wandered around the other cages to choose a brother or sister for her. I pulled out a couple of others for cuddles, but then my attention was drawn to a black kitten who was trampling his cage mates in his efforts to get my attention. He had a loud meow, and implored me with his eyes to give him a cuddle, so I pulled him out. He had the loudest rumble of a purr, and I'm a sucker for a loud purr. That was that. Decision made.

Melbourne

This was seven years ago, and those kittens became our babies. Emily endeared us by climbing into our bed at night, and snuggling up to us - when she was small, I often woke up to find a warm, purring bundle wrapped over my neck. She was the 'good' one who never had accidents. Jet, on the other hand, had his moments with forgetting to use the litter, but wasn't too bad. We were in a first floor apartment, so they were mostly indoor cats. Jet was 'special' - he was easily spooked by things and used to have us in stitches with his springy jumps of surprise. We joked that he got signals from the mothership in space, and he loved to spend time up on the highest surface possible - it was where he felt the safest.

Sydney, House #1

Sydney, House #1

After a year in Melbourne, we returned to Sydney. Happy to be back with family and friends, but I was also surprised at how much I was going to miss the life we'd carved for ourselves in Melbourne. We found ourselves a small terrace house to rent in Sydney's Inner West, and Emily and Jet immediately set about getting familiar with outdoor life during the day. This house had a cat flap - handy - which we closed at night to keep them in.

Sydney, House #1

For the most part, they were great mates and complemented each other well. Emily loved her tummy rubs, which we happily indulged her in. Who can resist a fluffy expanse of creamy caramel stripes and spots? Her paws were always a forbidden zone, but Jet loved his paws being rubbed and touched. This set him apart from any cat I'd ever known, and I loved that about him. His tummy was to be touched at one's own risk, though. It triggered the frisky kangaroo kicks and swipes, but always in a playful way and never malicious.

Things were cruising along nicely, then J and I decided we'd been practicing this nurturing stuff for long enough - without killing any small defenceless creatures - and it was time for a real baby (pot plants were another story, though). Along came the Faery.

My worries about the cats jumping into her cot and smothering her proved to be silly. If anything, they avoided her. A cat just can't relax around creatures that make randomly loud, squawking sounds. Apart from the occasional look of disdain in her direction, there was little interaction... although they did try to compete for attention at times, especially when I was breastfeeding. Both of them would try to find a spot on my lap, which made for interesting times.

Sydney, House #1

This is one of the last photos I have of Jet.

Maybe it was the Faery's refusal to sleep at night, or the noise she made, but he began demanding to go outside in the middle of the night - something we'd never allowed after losing past beloved cats to the roads. However, Jet had a meow to rival any of the oriental cat breeds. In other words, he was loud. And constant. He could be a broken record. He even reached up and rattled the old door knob on our bedroom door from the other side. He was a bugger.

After months of sleep-derivation and losing my sense of humour, I was a zombie. Not wanting anything to potentially wake up the light-sleeping Faery once she was asleep, we caved in to Jet's demands. This only happened for a couple of weeks, then there was a knock on our door at 3am one morning. I knew straight away and was crying before J had even opened the door. A kind passerby (so he claimed) had found him and brought him to us, as Jet's name tag on his collar had our address. His body was cold but hadn't stiffened yet, and we sat up, cuddled him and said our goodbyes. It was almost three years to the day since we'd adopted him.

Nearly four years later, I still blame myself.

Sydney, House #1

As far as fur-babies go, Emily became an only child. She also found herself the sole focus of a determined toddler's attempts to be friends. To this day, it's still a very one-sided friendship, but as the Faery gets older and less heavy-handed, Emily has become more accepting.

Sydney, House #2

We moved to another house after our landlady announced she was selling - we didn't want to deal with the hassle of home inspections and wondering if the new owner would keep us as tenants, so we got out while the going was good. We found a house not far away, on a hill, with a backyard that faced west. Perfect for a cat to catch those afternoon rays of sunshine.

Sydney, House #2

Sydney, House #2

Life was pretty good for Emily... most of the time.

Then our new landlords decided they wanted their house back. I was heavily pregnant with Miss Pie. Bugger.

Sydney, House #3

The next house had a huge old tree out the back, which Emily enjoyed climbing. She wasn't terribly impressed with the move, though, and she sensed things were going to change even more.

Our cat, who had never peed anywhere naughty, pissed in the yet-to-be-installed baby car seat. I cleaned it, left it to dry, then discovered yet more cat pee in it.

I didn't take many photos of Emily in this home. Too much was happening.

I had my second baby.

My best friend had her first baby.

J was offered The Job in Los Angeles. We had barely unpacked from the last move, and had to start all over again for an even bigger move.

Emily then pissed in the stroller. Little bugger.

However, being part of our family, we never doubted that we would bring her with us to L.A. Besides, it felt like too much of an imposition to ask anyone to mind her for a few years.

We boarded Emily for the final week we were in Sydney, and for the first couple of weeks we were in Los Angeles. We wanted to be settled somewhere before flying her over, and avoid having her stay in our cramped hotel room.

Los Angeles

Emily finally arrived (and I had a super-duper new camera!), looking like the proverbial that a cat had dragged in - she had gotten covered in her drinking water on the plane, in icy cold temperatures, which gave her a wretched cold. I'd never seen her so sick, but she got better quickly. Little trooper.

But she was less than impressed by her ordeal and new surroundings. She pissed in Miss Pie's bouncer. She pissed in the Faery's little suitcase. She pissed in my suitcase. She pissed on a pile of my underwear in the closet. She crapped in one of the bathtubs, on several occasions. Charming. I'm pretty sure that on each of those occasions, her access to her cat litter had not been obstructed. They were very deliberate acts on her part... and I was pissed off. I was furious, and sick of cleaning cat pee. It got to the point where I had to lock her in the bathroom when we went out during the day because I did not trust her. Thankfully, it was just a phase, and she stopped doing this. I'm not proud to say I was ready to give her away.

Los Angeles

Now? She just has to deal with the unwanted gropings of Miss Pie, who is yet to master being gentle. I mostly feel sorry for Emily, though, and let her sleep in our room with the door shut. All day. Because now that middle age is setting in, sleeping is all she wants to do these days.

Mind you, a few eye pokes and tail tugs are a small price to pay for this:

Los Angeles

If reincarnation exists? I'd like to put in a request for domestic cat. It's not a bad life at all.