Little impressions

We've been Seattleites for a good six weeks now, which is crazy. I'm always amazed at how quickly I find new rituals and routines to settle into - it never takes long, but I'm undecided as to whether or not that's a good thing.

One of the first things I noticed here is the set up for receiving mail. In Los Angeles, we had the typical apartment complex lobby - near the underground parking - that was crammed with small post boxes in the wall. When we moved into our townhouse here, I couldn't see a letter box anywhere, so had to ask the leasing agent. "Oh, it's with a group of mail boxes at the end of the street", and she waved her arm in a vague direction. No big deal as we're on a tiny little cul-de-sac, so I wandered to the end to find it. Nope, nothing. I looked around, and could see various clusters of mail boxes from nearby houses and townhouses, but nothing on our corner. Turned out it was actually at the end of our street and across the road. Basically, it's a bit of stroll for the mail, or a pull-over to the curb in the car on our way home from wherever.

I suspect that collecting our mail is going to be somewhat of a bitch when the weather turns cold and wet - so, you know, most of the year.

There's nothing out of the ordinary about this set up in Seattle though. Once it had been brought to my attention, I noticed how all the homes in our area have their mail boxes grouped together with their neighbours', right on the street curb. Groups of three boxes, to groups of half a dozen - all clustered together in what looks like an effort to allow the postie to make drive-by-deliveries from the comfort of a van. This is pure speculation, though.

I don't know if this is a general North American thing (but not in Los Angeles - at least not where we lived), a specific Seattle thing, or even an Eastside Seattle thing. Feel free to enlighten me, if you know.

The other situation that's become painfully obvious to me these last six weeks is that the layout of streets - at least on the Eastside - is a What the fuck? kind of arrangement. Navigating these streets is nothing short of headache-inducing.

Keep in mind that this observation is coming from a woman who has always prided herself on her map-reading skills, excellent sense of direction, and overall refusal to rely on a GPS. In Los Angeles, if I was venturing somewhere unfamiliar, I was still able to do so with a study of the map before setting out, and leaving it at that. Cities with grid-like streets are a piece of cake to navigate.

Unfortunately, Seattle is not one of those cities. Well, the Westside is far more grid-like than the Eastside but the sheer volume of unexpected one-way streets there counteracts any good that comes from a grid arrangement.

I'd love to know which genius was behind the master planning of the streets in Redmond, Bellevue and Kirkland (in the Eastside). Streets twist and turn, with name changes often along the way. There is an unusually high percentage of dead-end streets, creating bottlenecks of traffic through the few routes that are possible to get from one side of town to the other.

Adding to (my) confusion is the way the streets are named. It feels like only a small number of them have actual names, but most of them are a mere number.

NE 80th St.
6th St S.
132nd Ave NE.
SE 42nd St.
155th Ave SE.
2nd Ave S.

You get the idea. It's a wonder there aren't more nervous breakdowns brought on from driving around in circles, unable to get from A to B without getting the streets mixed up, or the streets suddenly changing name or number... because it sure as hell is doing my head in. I once read somewhere that Seattle has been named in the worst ten American cities to drive around. It's early days for me, but I wouldn't be surprised.

On the flip side, drivers here are way more sensible and considerate than their L.A. counterparts. So, that's something, right?

Silly street issues aside, I am falling in love with this corner of the world. We've managed to explore Seattle even more, had a date night in the inner city, and squeezed in a weekend in Portland to catch up with old friends. Life has been good lately.

Time for a stack of photos, but I'll get to that next time I post.

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.

Mission Possible

I am now the proud owner of a Californian drivers licence.

Confidence restored, I can return to feeling superior to so many of the idiot drivers in my area who consistently cut me off, don't indicate, don't let me change into their lane, text while they drive, and plough through pedestrian crossings - regardless of people actually crossing. These are incidents that I see on a daily basis (no exaggeration) and I never drive like that, which is why I was so disappointed not to pass the first time.

Anyhow, all good now! I feel lighter, the sun is shining, and I have a hidden stash of the Faery's Halloween chocolates to reward myself with. Even better, I'm going to sleep like the proverbial baby tonight - the stress dreams can fuck right off now. This little glitch is officially behind me.

In other news, we're off to Vegas, baby.

Now when people ask what our plans are for Thanksgiving, I can actually contribute something to the conversation other than it not being culturally relevant for us so, no, I haven't made a gourmet meal plan for the day.

We realised yesterday that it would be the perfect time to go away for a few days, seeing as J will have time off work anyway. Neither of us have been to Las Vegas before, and have been super keen to see the bright lights for a long time. We'll have the girls with us, so it won't be the wild trip it may have been if we'd gone in our twenties, but it's going to be fun nonetheless.

Road tripping through the desert has also been on our list of things to do, and the Mojave Desert is on the way, so I'm excited. If J's lucky, I may even drive for a little stretch of the way.

The hotel has been booked (on 'The Strip'!) and we'll be setting off the day after Thanksgiving - the best excuse ever for not having to slave away in the kitchen.

(Not that I would have slaved away. I've never really mastered roasts - that's J's domain.)

So, Sin City - here we come. If any readers have any tips or recommendations, don't be shy! Leave a comment for me, and I will love you for it.

A little bruised

Finding it hard to smile this morning, so when I saw the lovely comments from new visitors - about my last post - it made me smile. Cheered me up more than anyone could know. So, thank you.

Why so glum this morning? I fucked up my driving test. Yay me.

Everyone has their Achilles' heel, and mine would appear to be tests - no matter what they're for. So many of the exams I had to take in school and university resulted in temporary chunks of memory loss, where words and names danced on the tip of my tongue without fulling revealing themselves, until after the exam was over. I was one of those students whose true capabilities were only clear with ongoing assessment tasks, rather than exams.

Driving tests have kind of been the same. When I was eighteen and did my first driving test, my nerves got the better of me. Going down a hill in a 60 km/h zone, I went slightly over the limit. Oops. My driving teacher knew all the local testers, and when he saw who had tested me, he reassured me that this particular tester was notorious for failing most people on their first test, and that next time, odds were someone different would test me and I'd be fine. I felt a little better, then two weeks later... same tester. Thankfully, I showed him. Pride can be a pretty powerful motivator.

These experiences have been a huge factor in why I kept putting off going for my test here in LA. Having an Australian licence isn't enough, and the Californian DMV makes everybody do the driving test to get a Californian licence, even people who have only moved interstate. Technically, once a person becomes a Californian resident, they are supposed to get their licence within ten days - unless they happen to hold an international diplomatic drivers' licence. Which would be rather convenient, right?

I've been a Californian resident for nineteen months now. Oops. I have my work permit. I have my Social Security number. I even got around to taking the written drivers test back in July, which I actually passed first go.

(When I took my Australian 'knowledge' test, it was on computer. Instead of being referred to as 'the written test', it was referred to as 'the computer test'. Because it was on computer. Duh. Back in 1993. The written test at the Californian DMV I went to? Pencil on paper, with a real live human being to mark it in my presence. It's 2011 now - they might want to have a look at what technology is available these days. Just sayin'.)

So, with our current visas up for renewal in a few months, J pointed out to me the other day that I should take the test soon, before we have a mountain more of paperwork which could hinder the process. I could put it off no more.

And I fucked it up. Not monumentally, but my nerves got the better of me. Surprising, right? Little things here and there, which in general are not an issue. Today, they were.

My ego has taken a bit of a bruising, because I know I'm a better driver than what I was this morning. If I thought I wasn't a decent driver, I would not be getting behind the wheel - most days - with my treasured girls in the back seat.

Hell, I know I'm a better driver than many of the drivers here who seem to frequently ignore that thing called an indicator. I don't cut people off, which also seems to be an accepted practice. Bitter, moi?

But I have no one to blame this morning except myself. I am mad as hell at myself, and embarrassed. I had no intention of even writing about this, but then I realised I always feel better when I've had a verbal or written vomit, which is kind of where blogging comes in handy.

Until today, I was feeling pretty good in general about how far I've come with my driving here. Okay, so I still avoid freeways, but I was a less than confident driver when we moved here, and the thought of driving on the opposite side of the road filled me with terror until reality of life in LA stepped in. I didn't want to be stuck at home all day, every day, and LA is such a sprawl that to get just basic errands done, a car is pretty much a necessity.

That drive-test horse shall be ridden again, soon (I've already made my next appointment). Stay tuned.

For now, I'm going to have a small pity party. Just for today. I shall blame PMS, and I shall pity myself in style.

Golden Oldies

It's taken a while, but I finally get it.

Now I know how care-free it feels to be driving alone, with some favourite music blasting away. In the past, given my lack of driving confidence, I've usually preferred no music when it's me who's driving. Music felt distracting. Also, with two little people in the back of the car - oh, say 98% of the time - things tend to get noisy anyway. On those rare occasions where I'm alone behind the wheel, I've savoured the silence in the car - just me and my thoughts.

Lately, 'just me and my thoughts' don't seem to cut it, though. Last weekend, when I was making an escape for a few hours, I impulsively switched the radio on. Lucky for me, J had it tuned in to a station he'd already discovered and likes - KROQ. Even luckier for me, the station was having a 'Nothing but the 90s' weekend.

Heaven.

It must be a sure sign of ageing - being reduced to fits of bliss when hearing songs from 'way back'. As a kid, I remember how happy my mother would be listening to songs from the 70s, when we were in the car. The Doors aside, I remember thinking how daggy and old those songs were - songs that weren't as old (then) as the songs I found myself belting out to on Sunday.

Oops.

If anyone cares to join me in a trip down memory lane, here are some of the songs from KROQ's playlist that had me smiling like I haven't smiled in a long time:

Ah, sweet youth...

Most of our CDs are boxed into storage back in Australia. Many of our favourite albums are on our iTunes library, but we never got around to putting them all on. I wish we'd been a little more organised in that respect, but hey, the internet is a wonderful thing in the mean time, right?

What songs take you back?

Motor skills and blinking lights

Within weeks of my eighteenth birthday, I got my drivers licence and - on the same day - moved out of home. I bid adieu to life in the suburbs and was ready to rock the uni student lifestyle.

It was another fourteen years before I drove again.

There were various reasons for this - no money for a car, no access to the family car, living/studying/working in areas with good public transport, and likewise, no need for a car when we lived in London. Londoners will moan about their public transport, but it's actually pretty good (as in, "Bugger, just missed the tube and now I have to wait a whole four minutes for the next one! Woe is me!") and the networks of both the London Underground and buses are extensive.

But I digress. I didn't drive for fourteen years, and I can't blame it entirely on the above reasons.

Anxiety played a big part. As the years went by, and my physical memory of being behind the steering wheel retreated, so did my confidence in my ability to drive safely. Or even drive at all. Often, the most stressful dreams I had involved having to drive somewhere, alone, and not knowing how to start the engine, or know which pedals to push. Then once the car was started, I'd have trouble steering it, or controlling the speed. Those dreams were awful, and did nothing to make me want to drive again. Ever.

By the time I hit the big 3-0, the Faery's birth was imminent and we knew - despite getting by fine with our inner city lifestyle - that we needed to buy a car, so we did. Shopping, strollers and buses don't go well together.

Even then, it took another eighteen months before I was driving again. It was hard to explain to people why I didn't drive. I'd attempt explanations, but I'd see in their eyes that they just thought I was strange. Or pathetic.

Then one day - after attending a funeral - something in me switched. I really did feel pathetic, and I was tired of relying on other people to do the driving. It felt humiliating - with a toddler - to have my mother in law drive us places if needed. I also owed J more than just a few nights as designated driver.

I forced myself to get on with it, and eased my way back into driving in the same way that a person learns from scratch. Thankfully, without the added pressure of having to pass a test - I'd always made sure to renew my licence over the years. Hey, it had served as convenient photo ID, if nothing else, in my twenties.

An advantage of getting back on the road a little later in life is that 95% of the driving I've done has been with the voice of a little person in the back seat, asking me impossible questions and challenging my focus. These days, I am used to driving and dealing with the Faery (and Miss Pie) at the same time. When I have a rare drive by myself? I savour the silence. No music for me. Nope. I drink in that silence, and relish every last drop of it.

It was about three years ago that I got back on the horse, so to speak. I'd really only been driving regularly for two years before we decided to make the Big Move to L.A.

You can imagine, then, the terror that filled me at the thought of having to get used to driving all over again - on the other side of the road (for readers who may be unaware, Australians drive on the left side of the road).

There was no getting around it, though. To live in L.A, you need wheels. It's as simple as that. The public transport is woefully inadequate, and in my limited dealings with the buses, extremely difficult with a stroller. Although the buses are designed to allow wheelchair access, the drivers still insist I remove Miss Pie from the stroller and fold it up. Even when there are no wheelchairs already on the bus (unlike Sydney buses, where it's perfectly acceptable to wheel a stroller on to a bus). Bollocks to that.

Within a month of arriving here, I was comfortably driving J to work, picking him up, and popping out to the local malls. With noisy kids in tow.

There are actually a few things that I prefer about driving on American roads. The lanes are wider, and busier roads will always have a designated lane for left turns, so you never feel at though you are holding up traffic as you wait. There are special lanes not just for left turns into streets, but spare lanes in the centre of busier roads where you can sit safely while waiting to turn left into driveways. I approve.

I also like the fact that - provided it's safe to do so - you can turn right when stopped at a red light.

Parking is a cinch, too. Many car parks have spacious angled spots, where you drive nose in. Impossible to screw up, really, which makes me snigger all the more when I see momentous parking fails - and I see them frequently.

I've reached the conclusion that Los Angelenos are terrible drivers.

It's not just the failed parking attempts that leave me feeling smug. It's the fact that people rarely indicate when they're changing lanes, or turning. It's as though the drivers here genuinely do not know what an indicator is, and I'm not exaggerating. Friends who hail from other states and cities have agreed with me that this is a big problem in L.A.

One acquaintance, originally from Tennessee, told me that after seven years in L.A, he no longer 'signals'. He says he's noticed, amongst other drivers, that if he indicates to change lanes, they will speed up to not let him in. There seems to be a mentality that if you want to be able to change lanes, you need to do it on the sly.

It doesn't explain why people rarely indicate when turning, though. From a pedestrian's point of view, this really pisses me off. I don't understand - do they think they'll get zapped by the indicator if they use it? I actually enjoy using indicators. There's something hypnotic about the tick-a tick-a tick-a and blinking lights.

It's now been a year - almost - and I can report that I have only driven down the wrong side of a road once. Ahem. In my defence, I was turning left - at the northern end - into a very wide, empty boulevard. There was no traffic around, and then half a block down, I noticed that the angle at which the cars were parked looked odd... woops. A quick turn around, a red face, and all was well in the end.

Now, there is only one obstacle left for me to conquer, and that's the freeways. I can't bring myself to drive on them, even though I know it can save time. The high speeds, and needing to sometimes cross five lanes at a moment's notice to access the correct freeway change or exit, combined with other drivers who don't indicate, all make it seem downright dangerous to me. It scares me.

I haven't got around to getting my Californian licence either, which technically - as a resident - I'm supposed to have by now. Oops.

As for those sweat-inducing dreams?

I haven't had one for a few years. Hopefully, that chapter is closed. Locked up, and key thrown away.

The local stretch of the 134