cycles

How can you be ONE?! They say the first birthday is as much a celebration for the parents as for the kid...surviving the first year is an accomplishment, even though you still get up at 5am every morning and call it a good night's sleep. We're fortunate in so many ways, not the least of which is that landing a mere five months ago still gave us enough time to make fast friends who came out to celebrate Kai's birthday with us. Is it better to emigrate from North America to Australia when a) you're 7 months pregnant, b) your baby is 6.5 months old or c) your baby is 7 weeks old and you also have a 4 year old? Ask a) Kylie, b) me and c) Clarine.

Here are our beautiful friends, Francois and Clarine (photographing) with their son Noa (4) and Luca (asleep in pram) who came from Quebec via Oregon, Mireille and Mike (4 month old Jason is in his pram) from Montreal, Kylie from New Guinea and Australia (holding Kai) and Dylan (with Cole) who met in Whistler and moved from LA, Angela from Sydney (with Jaye) who settled here after working in London for years. Jaye, Cole and Kai are almost the same age and are quite the trio. I think mine's the troublemaker...

11 months

Rahm-SHTINE!!!

Sorry, another text-heavy/photo-light entry. The characters you meet in Brisbane, I tell you people...

Kirk and I were invited to the wedding of Christie and Andy (fellow Pandemic-ites, Christie in fact runs the whole operation). Lovely wedding, formal dress at the Stamford Hotel for which I busted out my mauve Rick Owens getup and Alexander MacQueen medieval hunting bag and a pair of suede heels that I had bought as wishful thinking back when I was heavily pregnant and had not yet had occassion to wear. Kirk rocked his Prada wedding suit (our things had arrived on a slow boat from Vancouver just the previous day) and we packed up The Bun and all his accoutrements for an overnighter at Kylie and Dylan’s. Kylie had been kind enough to offer up her family (mum, dad and brother) to watch Kai as well as their baby, Cole. Excited at the prospect of our first night out without The Bun since he was five weeks old, we over-indulged in the drinks (Kirk was seen with pastry on his head at one point but you all know he doesn’t need drink for that to happen) and all four of us wobbled into a cab for a quick ride back to Dylan and Kylie’s as the night waned.

Kylie gets in next to the cabbie in front while Kirk, Dylan and I climb into the back. Kirk immediately launches into a drunken impression of The Jerky Boys, going on and on about his GASSSSS. The cabbie, not amused, advises (in heavily accented English):

cabbie: Hey, I am not kidding if you have a problem man it is a HEALTH ISSUE go see a fucking doctor man get the hell out I don’t need this trouble...

Dylan: Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? We’re CUSTOMERS.

cabbie (still doing 40 kph): I don’t care man I don’t need the fare get the fuck out I don’t know where you going anyway.

Kylie (calmly): We’re going to Newman Street in Gaythorne (sidebar: that’s Newman Street in Gaythorne in Queensland...another ongoing thing).

Me (whispering): Is this (general hand gesture in the air, sign for what are we listening to on the audio system?)...Rammstein?

Kirk: RAMM-STEEN? Is this RAMM-STEEN??

cabbie: Rahm-SHTINE!!!!

Sound of four pairs of hands immediately clapped over four mouths and various pitches of “PFFFFHHHHTTTTT!!!“ stifled laughter.

Dylan: Did you hear the cover of that Depeche Mode song they did?

cabbie: No.

Dylan: No?

cabbie: No. I am not the gay.

[SIDEBAR: Gentle reader, may I direct your attention to the lyrics of track number six from the Rammstein classic, “Sehnsucht”, a dreamy little ditty entitled “Büch dich” (English translation: BEND OVER):

............................................................
Bend over, I command you
turn your visage away from me
I don't care about your face
bend over

A two-legged being on all fours
I take him for a walk
ambling along the corridor
I am disappointed

Now he comes backwards towards me
Honey stays stuck on the garter
I am disappointed, totally disappointed

Bend over
your face doesn't interest me

The two-legged one has bent over
and moved into a good light
I show him what you can do
and I start to cry

The biped stammers a prayer
because he's scared I'm feeling even worse
he tries to bend over even more
tears run up his back

Bend over

Bend over, I command you
turn your visage away from me
I don't care about your face
bend over once more

Bend over
............................................................

Ummmm...Mr. Cabbie? Care to comment? Or maybe you’d like the one written from the POV of a HERMAPHRODITE. And have you SEEN this CD cover art (above)??? END SIDEBAR]

OK, know what? I’ve been sitting on this half-assed blog entry since October so I’m posting it anyway finally. Couldn’t find a nice coda to end it on. Blah. I’m a hack.

pathetic

We moved down the hall mid-October and the broadband took 2+ weeks to follow but that’s a sorry excuse for my not having blogged since SEPTEMBER. Belatedly, here are some photos from a little day trip we took to Currumbin Beach on the Gold Coast. Photos by Adam and me, image processing by Kirk.

say it with me now.......

Maroochydore, Mooloolaba, Coolangatta, Jindalee, Noosa, Caboolture, Cootha, Currumbin, Indooroopilly, Coolum, Nudgee, Eumundi, Beerwah, Teewah, Cooroibah, Cooloola, Nebo, Bongaree, Nullarbor, Uluru, Geelong, Kalgoorlie, Wollongong, Jindabyne, Mudgee, Toowoomba, Coorparoo, Tarragindi, Pinkenba, Wooloowin, Mudgeeraba, Tumbulgum, Murwillumbah, Bogangar, Coombabah, Jimboomba...wasn’t that fun?
Aboriginal Languages of Australia

p.s. Don’t read about what happened to one of the girls in Rabbit Proof Fence if you don’t want to be sad.
The True Story of Rabbit-Proof Fence

magpie madness

So Mireille and I are sitting under the shade of the enormous Moreton Bay Fig in New Farm park this afternoon when she says to me (in her soft, lilting French Canadian accent), “Have you ever been attacked by a bird?” Hmmm...well not really, but I go on to relay the story of a wild turkey/carrion feeder/raptor thing that busted out of some low scrub and came squawking after me, Kirk and The Bun while we were walking on a Mt. Nebo trail a few weeks ago. Not an attack though, no. So she starts telling me about the time she and her husband, Mike, were riding their bikes around town and an Australian Magpie went after him, pecking at his helmet and generally giving him the business. And when he thought it was all over, the same bird came after him on the ride back! This I find outrageously funny and I respond with widening eyes, hands clapped over my mouth and plenty of guffawing and appreciative horror (I LOVE crazy wildlife stories! Like how Bill Bryson writes about crocs stalking people!!) until she shares this piece of information...“they go after the eyes. It’s recommended that you wear a helmet and paint eyes on the back...maybe you should get one for the baby.” Excuse me??? I see these black and white birds all over town and I would always think, “wow....preeeettttyyyy!!” when I should have been screaming, “COVER THE BABY’S SOFT TISSUES FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!”

Of course I google “Australian Magpie” and find these specimens...looking evil, so very evil. The males attack while the females brood over the eggs, they go after mainly males aged 10-30 and postal workers (“posties”!) on bikes. The National Parks site has these handy hints:

.................................................................................................

If a magpie swoops at you:

• Walk quickly and carefully away from the area, and avoid walking there when magpies are swooping.

• Make a temporary sign to warn other people.

• Magpies are less likely to swoop if you look at them. Try to keep an eye on the magpie, at the same time walking carefully away. Alternatively, you can draw or sew a pair of eyes onto the back of a hat, and wear it when walking through the area. You can also try wearing your sunglasses on the back of your head.

• Wear a bicycle or skateboard helmet. Any sort of hat, even a hat made from an ice cream container or cardboard box, will help protect you.

• Carry an open umbrella, or a stick or small branch, above your head but do not swing it at the magpie, as this will only provoke it to attack.

• If you are riding a bicycle when the magpie swoops, get off the bicycle and wheel it quickly through the area. Your bicycle helmet will protect your head, and you can attach a tall red safety flag to your bicycle or hold a stick or branch as a deterrent.
.................................................................................................

Why do you think they pointed out “ice cream container” in particular as good helmet material? Anyway...

Near the end of our visit, Mireille says, “next time I want to show you the pythons that live in a tree...on the walk to the city!” Before I had even met Mireille in person, I saw video of her crouched next to a tent on the beach and trying to feed potato chips to a 5+ foot long goanna. Googled that too and this is what it said: “has been observed killing a young kangaroo, and then biting out chunks of flesh like a dog.”

*all magpie-related photos stolen off the ’net!

nurse becks

I saw an enormous grasshopper flying around at eye level today. It was amazingly beautiful and of course I didn’t have the camera on me. I wish I had a visual to go with this story, I really do, because the contrast between that amazing grasshopper and my morning was pretty major!

I had heard great things about the children’s health nurse who held drop in hours at the local chemist (pharmacy). Emily had told me she was “very direct” which I quite liked the sound of and Kristen had told me she brings her daughter every month so it was with high hopes that I got The Bun ready and wheeled him down a full hour ahead of the opening of office hours. I had been lead to expect a queue, so popular was Nurse Becks (not her real name although chances of her landing here are pretty damn slim). I had a bunch of questions, most involving the issue of eating...how much? What textures? Will he ever feed himself or will I be holding the bottle at an angle until he’s 18? In fact, will he refuse to drink from anything other than the bottle until he’s 18 (he’s keen to drink from a real water glass all the time so I guess he’ll be alright...but NO. SIPPY. CUPS. EVER).

After a flattie and pastry, I wheeled in and announced that I’d start the queue. No one was going to jump in, not even the lady with the unfortunate port wine birthmark on her face who was wheeling one bub and Bjorn-ing another. Show up right at 9am will you? The Bun and I have been here since 8:39 so step off.

“Are yeh waitin’ feh may?” I heard a voice boom. I looked up and beheld the sight of a rather large woman in a Kelly green polo, delicate gold jewelry and a short spiky ’do with a prodigious layer of powder on her face that still couldn’t quite hide the gin blossoms on her nose. Imagine if W.C. Fields had a sister who was a penal colony outpost nurse.

“Yes!” I chirped with my best introductory smile while port wine kept up the chatter with Becks. No way was she butting the line. Once Becks was ready, it went a little something like this:

NB: “Put ’im up there, sitting...no...let go. Hmmm....big fella aren’t yeh? Long fella...father tall?”
Me: “Nooo...” (if you know Kirk you’ll laugh here)
NB: “Wot’s ’e eatin’ then?”
Me: “Two meals a day, breakfast and dinner, mashes...but he doesn’t like his food...”
NB: “Milk? Formula?”
Me: “Formula...”
NB: “Wot kind?”
Me: “Nestle Nan 2 Gold, but I was thinking of switching to Bellamy’s Organic...”
NB: “Dun’t matta...pay mowah fer the owergennic. How many bot’uls?”
Me: “About 1200 milliliters...”
NB: “BOT’ULS!!”
Me: “Five!”
NB: “TOO MENNY!...FAAAAHHH TOO MENNY!!! THREE BOT’ULS...that’s all...three mayals, one bot’ul aech mayal, plus aftahnoon tay wif a coop o’ watahh, ’e ates wotchew ates...samwiches, whatevah, NO MASHES! Won’t leahhn ta chew othawise...WON’T LEAHHHN TA CHEWWW! Yeh hear that yooung fella...NO. MORE. MASHES. FEH. YOUUU!!!”
Me: (meekly) “What if he doesn’t want to eat the solids...”
NB: “TOOFFF!! Won’t stahhhhve will ’e???? WON’T STAHHHHHVE!!! TOOFFF!!”
Me: “His weight’s OK?...” (actually wondering if he was too big at this point)
NB: “E’S UUUUUUUGGE!!!”

So I collected my UUUUUGGE lazy chewer and beat it the hell out of there, slinking past the queued up mums and bubs and stopping at the bottle shop where I picked up a bottle of red. “Bag?” said the young man assisting me, ostensibly asking if I’d like one and not, I hope, a comment on my appearance. “No thanks!” I chirped brightly, “I’m thinking of just drinking it ON MY WAY HOME!!”

I texted Emily as I walked and pushed The Bun along: “met becks 2day...traumatized!!” She texted back, “It was a fine line between putting you off before you’d met her and forewarning you. The effect mellows with time.” I could hear her laughing at me.