In 5th grade chorus Mrs. Schoenlein made us sing Coffee Canon: (sung to the youtube melody below)
C-O-F-F-E-E!
Coffee is not for me.
It's a drink some people wake up with.
That it makes them nervous is no myth.
Slaves to a coffee cup,
they can't give coffee up.
I loved this song; it made me giggle 27 years ago, and I have carried the lyrics (not surprisingly) in my mental lexicon for a quarter of a century (holy shit, I'm old!). I've taught the boys the song and we teasingly sing it to Mark when he's pining for his coffee.
Now, something you should know about me - if you don't already - is that I'm not a coffee drinker. I'm one of the very few people that walk the face of our beautiful planet who does not consume the nectar of the coffee bean. As a tea drinker I still crave my morning cup of Earl Grey with honey and milk as much as the next person craves their latte. In the afternoons I usually enjoy green tea and depending on the weather an iced tea. I tried to like coffee my senior year of high school, but I drank crap coffee and loaded it with sugar and milk - yuck. In my first year of college my dear friend and roommate Caitlin worked at the coffee cart, therefore I got free mochas. I enjoyed my chocolatey treat and loved the jolt it sent through my body, but wasn't keen on the nervousness I felt, or the loopy stomach it gave me. Therefore, I gave it up in 1993 and haven't looked back.
I've always respected everyone's coffee addiction, but at the same time I found myself prideful that I didn't carry the same dependence. In fact, I've always been somewhat jealous of the coffee drinker. There is something ritualistic and comforting about stopping for your daily cup of joe. Stopping for tea is NOT the same, believe me, I've tried. First of all, no one respects tea, unless you live in England and they have an entire hour designated to the classy ritual. Secondly, you can't just grab your tea and go, you need to let it seep for at least 5 minutes before you can flavor it with cream and sugar. Lastly, if you order green tea they put boiling water in your cup which scorches and destroys the delicate tea leaves, not to mention your tongue because cream and sugar, which acts as a cooling agent, doesn't mesh with green tea. See what I mean, you don't care either, tea isn't respected. Sigh.
Anyway, I've been jealous. Mark walks into his local coffee shop and it's like Cheers, they know his name and his poison without a word from him, which I'm sure is beneficial for Mark since he doesn't communicate well until he has his coffee (love you sweetie!).
Six weeks ago my life changed. Mark has been raving about Aussie coffee since we moved to Australia. He's been ordering something called a "flat white," which apparently they don't make in the US. One morning while out and about with the family we stopped for Mark's coffee. I rolled my eyes like I usually do at the pit stop, but when the take-away cup was handed his way I asked for a sip. Surprisingly, shockingly actually, I REALLY liked it. It wasn't bitter like I remembered coffee to be, and it wasn't foamy, but warm, strong, and soothing. I thought, hmm, maybe I should start drinking coffee? Mark looked at me with a questioningly, sideways glance.
Then on September 26th the boys and I took the ferry into the city to tour the Opera House. On our way to meet Mark for lunch I stopped at a cafe and ordered a take-away, regular flat white. I was nervous as I approached the counter. What if I ordered wrong, or what if they asked me a question about my coffee choice and I didn't know the answer - like how many shots of espresso, or what kind of milk? I felt like an underage kid trying to order a cocktail at a bar - they were going to see right through me! Luckily they made my coffee and handed it over without incident. I took my first swig and exhaled - damn that was good! I was a born-again coffee drinker!
Enjoying my first cup of coffee
Shortly after the picture on the left was taken we met Mark for lunch. I had slurped down my coffee and I felt energized, like my eyes were popping a bit, and I noticed I was speaking more quickly than my brain was able to produce the words, and in general, I felt happy. Again, Mark looked at me with a sideways glance. But the bottom line was I felt awesome! This was a rush! I felt like Huey Lewis - I found a new drug!
It's just so pretty!
Since then I've been enjoying a flat white nearly everyday. I don't feel the same jolt as I did the first few times, obviously, but I'm enjoying it tremendously. I still wake-up to my morning cup of Earl Grey, but go for the coffee in the afternoon. I also let Parker order for me now, since he knows, "Mommy likes regular flat whites, and Daddy likes skinny flat whites.
Australia wins in the coffee department, I'm told. The jury will remain out on whether I will continue my love affair with coffee once returning to the US. Will I be able to find a flat white anywhere but in Australia?! We might just need to live here forever for the flat whites alone.
When
backpacking around Europe I cherished the freedom of anonymity, and the clean
slate that came with each new city and/or country. You met people on a
train, in a hostel, or at a coffeeshop called Hill Street Blues where you told
your life story over a Heineken and J. The freedom to divulge your
true colors and life experiences was always at the surface liberating you
from formalities and small talk. I still claim some of the most wonderful
and real people I've ever met were the ones I spent no more than 2 days with
while backpacking. Of course the setting of Cinque Terre, Amsterdam, or
Prague helped master these beautiful experiences in all of us. Nonetheless,
starting from scratch and making friends so easily was refreshing.
Meeting and making friends as an adult, without a backpack, not so refreshing. The formalities and small talk are a part of the awkward courting game.
Fast
forward 15 years and the Abramowitz's were fully immersed in the Marin County
community. I hadn't been faced with the challenge of making new friends
in years, decades really. In Marin going to the grocery store was turning
into a social engagement. A brief park outing turned into a playdate with
five other moms. I was surrounded by tremendous friends, and friends of
friends. Feeling lonely was not an emotion I had experienced in quite
some time. So when we decided to jump ship and head west into the future
I knew making new friends would be something I needed to broach.
When
we landed in Australia nearly 10 months ago I was anonymous. Not as
anonymous and care free as my days in Europe, but there was a clean slate
paving our way that was both scary and exciting. I had never stepped foot
in this country, let alone this hemisphere. The anonymity was palpable.
I knew no one other than friends of friends I'd exchanged emails with,
and thankfully I felt I had a few friendships ready to bloom, but I'd still
never met these people. At the grocery store I was lonely. I missed
Trader Joe's and all of the people I saw while shopping there! In Coles
Supermarket I wandered around with a confused look on my face gazing at all
the different products. I wish I had known someone because then I
could have asked, "How many kilos in a pound?" I could have
remarked, "This stick of butter is massive!" "Why does all
the cheese say 'Tasty' on the front?" To put your mind at ease I now
know there are .45 kilos in a pound, and a US stick of butter is approximately
113 g which is about 2/3 an Australian stick of butter. And all the
cheese says 'Tasty' on the front because 'Tasty' means 'Cheddar Cheese'.
But it was confusing, and I was alone!
So
here I was anonymous and alone! I appreciated the new and quiet of
this country after my busy and boisterous Marin life, but I also missed my
Marin girls like CRAZY, and I was feeling alone. It's in my Steph nature
to need people, to need girlfriends, so...how was I going to meet people?
How do you make new friends?! Do you walk up to random mums and
say, "Hi, I'm Steph, I just moved here!" All of the friends
I've made in the last 15 years have been through a mom's group, or a friend of
a friend, or through some organized, communal group. Here I was in
another country starting fresh and all I had to go on was that I had kids to
hopefully segway the friendships. My backpack had long been laid to rest,
and I didn't have the liberating 2 day city/country stint giving me freedom and
voice to approach randoms in a coffee shop.
Not
to worry! Along came Renate. I spotted her across the courtyard at
Manly Village Public School and immediately knew we could be friends
(it was friendship love at first sight), but how was I going to forge a friendship
without any "moves?" Like some sort of odd mum dating ritual I
positioned myself near her at school pick-up one day. Luckily she looked
as lost as I was. I made eye contact and displayed my puzzled, bemused
look hoping we could commiserate on the chaos that is pick-up at Manly Village.
We briefly chatted about the seeming anarchy of Kindy kids at pick-up and
that I had just moved here and knew nothing and no one. I wanted to ask
for her number, but I lost my courage as I found Parker in the mayhem. I
smiled and said, "Well I found him, hope to see you around."
Fortunately Renate was more bold and followed me out of the courtyard and
said, "I'm somewhat new here too, do you want my phone number if you have
any questions, or do you want to grab a coffee sometime?" I wanted
to hug her. She took the plunge and chased me down and I got her digits!
We made our first date for the next week.
It
was kismet at the start. We bonded immediately and joked about
the process and weirdness of making friends as adults. During the 'making
friends discussion' Renate said the most tremendous, fantastic thing - I will
take her comment to heart and use until the day I die - she said, "What I
really need to ask any potential friend or acquaintance is, 'how do you feel
about champagne?'" In that one sentence is embodied everything I
stand for in life, and it made me putty at her feet. I knew we would be
lifelong friends.
Since
that fateful day, as our little ones played on the beach and we discussed bubbles,
we've passed many a wonderful night and afternoon together enjoying the bubbles
and making fun of each other's accents. With Renate's friendship my
anonymity began to fade. I started meeting her friends and then I became
closer with our neighbors and so forth and so on. Now I have a social
calendar and I see the process of becoming immersed in a community as an
inevitable. One, or at-least the Abramowitz's, cannot
live anywhere without seeping into the community. Now to be clear, there is no way I'm going
to be leading a non-profit down here, or even joining the P&C (Aussie's
PTA), but I find myself getting involved and being able to call on more than
one friend when having a rough day, or wanting to hit the beach with the kids.
I feel so fortunate to have met so many special people in such a short
amount of time. Maybe it's my new moves; and that is I ask, "How do
you feel about champagne?"
Reid turned three a few weeks ago and there has been a colossal shift from toddler to little boy, or maybe it's just that I'm more willing to accept that he's a little boy now, and I'm letting go (sniff sniff). He is completely potty trained, during the day and NIGHT - HALLELUJAH! The Abramowitz household is diaper and pull-up free! And he's finally taken to his Strider bike and now he rides it like a 16 year old who just got his license - he's outta my grasp and thrilled. The challenge of the Strider - and the point really - is that it has no pedals and no breaks. On flat surfaces he's jamming along and mostly able to control the bike. On inclines it's not so easy. He's becoming more comfortable gliding down a decline and naturally slowing as the decline flattens, but the other day he was sailing down a slight decline and instead of veering left and continuing on the path as it flattened, he went right, straight into an enormous birds of paradise bush. He completely disappeared from sight as he plunged into the bush, almost like it swallowed him. With fear dripping from my face I ran to him as he was backing out of the bush, still straddling his saddle, and laughing hysterically. As soon as Parker and I saw that he was unharmed we broke down in hysterics too. It was a priceless moment - my fearless three year old. His bike needed a tune-up after the birds of paradise collision.
Reid fixing his Strider
Parker has been cruising on two wheels for almost a year now and is very conscientious - most of the time. In the past, prior to the Strider conquest I walked briskly by with Reid in the pram and Bodi trotting next to me while Parker causally biked ahead; smiles plastered on our faces as we walked along the beach. Now that Reid has found his biking groove they are like bats out of hell! They have turned into rascally boys, with wild looks in their eyes, without an awareness that others exist; even for me who is running after them pushing an empty pram while dragging Bodi (he's no runner), shouting, "Watch out! Look forward, not behind! Slow down! Stop ramming each other!" Yes, I'm that mom now. My conscientious first born has breathed new biking life now that his brother is by his side to raise hell. And EVERYTHING is a competition, via Parker's rules of course. Parker is always ahead during the race and constantly looking behind him to gauge his lead. I'm terrified that he's going to run into some helpless little grandma and send her flying. There is a fine line between the strangers we encounter that have the soft, sympathetic look in their eyes that says, "Boys will be boys," from those that say, "You crazy mum, control your children, and I really hope you don't have any more!" I'm no stranger to boys and their level of activity, what has changed however is that I'm now the mom, and responsible for these wildings - how did that happen?!
This increased level of activity doesn't stop at bikes, it involves anything and everything except TV, (which I try not to allow since they look like drugged, comatose mannequins when they watch - it's a bit creepy actually). If they see an obstacle, they must climb it. This includes, trees, parking barriers, benches, street lights, hills, fences, garden walls - you name it, they want to climb it. If they see an opportunity to push each other; they push and then tackle, an occasion to run turns into a game of tip (tag) all while dodging people, bikes, skateboards etc.
I may sound like I'm complaining, but the truth is I wouldn't change it for the world. I think Bodi is the most shell shocked. He definitely prefers the old days of sauntering along. I am nostalgic for the days of pushing my baby in a pram though, Bodi by my side, while strolling and listening to Pandora or chatting on the phone, but I imagine I'll always miss those times. Their energy is palpable and innocent, their shining smiles contagious and trouble-free. They fill my body with warmth and make my heart swell. What a wild ride they are. Love my boys :-)
Several months ago my mom gave Parker "The Lion King" Broadway musical cd. Since that time The Lion King and its array of characters has woven its way into the fabric of our lives. We sleep, eat, and breathe The Lion King. I find myself lying in bed seeking sleep while "The Morning Report" dances through my mind. Hakuna Matata is a regularly used phrase around here and Parker now refers to Mark, Reid, Bodi and me as his Pride. Simba, Mufasa, Scar and the whole gang are characters in the play that is our lives.
Beyond our pleasure and entertainment The Lion King has prompted hours of interesting conversation and questions that range from marriage, death, and puberty to monarchy, ecological consumers, and of course Africa and every animal that lives on the continent. It's also encouraged Parker's art. We have a myriad of original pieces of art of Simba and his buddies.
To give you a slice of some of the questions... "Mommy, since hyenas are scavengers, if a hyena died would the other hyenas eat it?" I've had to educate myself on the ecological consumerism of EVERY LIVING THING! Carnivore, herbivore, and omnivore are commonly used words in our house. And it continues, "Mommy, why couldn't Scar be king? I'm now an expert on the line of succession to the throne; "the heir and the spare." And more, "Mommy, why are Timone and Pumba sad when Nala and Simba are singing, "Can you feel the love?" This prompted several conversations about having "feelings" for someone and "coming of age," which of course lead to marriage talks (about Parker and Eadan of course), hormones, body hair - "Yes Parker you will be as hairy as Daddy one day, and yes your voice will change, and yes, you will be taller than me, and I'll have to look up to scold you" - and it still goes on and on...
"Mommy, why is there only one lion and lots of lionesses?" My response to this is, "Look Parker, a Kookaburra!" DIVERT! Don't think he's ready to hear; "Well Parker, the lion is a big ole arrogant ass who lays around all day while the lionesses are off doing the hunting and then when he decides he wants to "get some" he pounces the nearest lioness." Is there a better explanation?! Although to be fair lions sometimes hunt, but not often because lionesses are naturally more aggressive and the lion's mass and mane inhibit their hunt (as well as their enormous reproductive organs). Also, sometimes there are two lions in a pride and not just one. I love Wikipedia!
Parker and Reid also have a lion den which is located under our dining room table. They each have an end and rest their sweet lion heads on the table leg and make meowing noises while they pretend to sleep. They also walk around the house on all fours with their Ugg's on their feet, their rain boots on their hands and wearing goggles - don't really understand the goggle connection but I don't question.
The instrumental music of The Lion King, which is fabulous, has also inspired what I can only describe as some form of a tribal dance in our boys. Similar I suppose to the African Anteater Ritual, it must be their African roots bubbling to the surface. I only wish I could have their moves on video, but they don't groove on command, unfortunately.
There will be a natural end to The Lion King obsession one day, but that day isn't today, or tomorrow, or next week for that matter. We did however purchase "The Little Mermaid" broadway musical when we were back in the states. Who knows, we could have littler mermen or crabs swimming through our living room soon. Wonder what questions that music will initiate?
Old Man winter has not only pissed us off with his arrival during what we traditionally call our summer months, but he's also brought the plague with him. Instead of the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918, we're calling this the Australian flu pandemic of 2012.
It all began nearly three months ago when the weather turned on a gloomy day in April. The slight humidity vanished from the air leaving a chill in its wake. The need to grab a sweater became more frequent. Now this San Francisco girl is well versed in having a sweater in my purse, car, crook of my arm every season of the year, but even I threw the knit to the wind and embraced the ability to have sleeveless couture 24/7. Next the wind picked up, and the birds grew quieter and more sparse. Where did they go?! They can't fly south for the winter, they would freeze mid-flight! North for the winter?! That's a new one. And just as everyone in the US was defrosting from their winter slumber, and little noses were drying up, we were crossing over into the dark time. Now let me preface my dramatic tale with, yes, I know it's not THAT cold here, just as it doesn't get THAT cold in Northern California either, but come on! When you hear about Australia do you ever think of anything but sun, sand and surf?! That's what a thought.
So let me be the first to inform you that it does get cold here. In the early mornings it can be in the low 40's and it often doesn't rise above the low 50's during the day. Granted there is no fog, or gray gloom. It's either sunny and cold, or rainy and cold. We've had some impressive storms though - so impressive that my beachside boot camp was cancelled, check it out!
Back to Old Man winter who's grumpy ass not only brings temperate weather, but also illness. I was warned by some American friends that the different, "foreign," germs down here might wreak havoc on our dainty American systems. I took this with a grain of salt, or rather the eternal optimist in me felt positive about facing the "foreign" Aussie bugs. They can't be that foreign this IS an English speaking country! I was naive.
Without going into the gory details about our illnesses let's just say the Neti Pot has become a permanent fixture on our bathroom vanity and in Reid's bath time tea parties. We've depleted our supply of children's ibuprofen, Theraflu, and more importantly, the night-time sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, so-you-can-rest medicine is GONE and they don't have it here! Everyone has their favored, go-to medicines and I can't find mine! Thank goodness I smuggled a large bottle of prescription Codeine into the country which is still alive and well.
After 3 weeks of struggling with a sinus infection that I took to the mats and won, I thought I was in the clear, but no, Old Man f'ing Winter had something else in store... It started with a simple, run-of-the-mill sore throat. I ignored it, channeling Mark's approach, then paid it some attention by nursing it with some homeopathics. After 4 days of war negotiations I threw up my white flag because it was taking me down and fast. At one point I looked forlornly at Mark and in all seriousness said, "Mark, I think something else is wrong with me." I didn't have any suggestions other than the flu of what could be ailing me, but I knew this is what some form of dying must feel like. When all was said and done, I was in bed for 3 days with a 101/102 fever and on antibiotics for an ear and sinus infection. Four days after I forced myself into a vertical position I started feeling like myself again, but only after I was involuntarily shape-shifted into Florence Nightingale because Mark capitulated. Papa Bear was taken down, it wasn't pretty. Bodi on the other hand was delighted, he had someone to laze with for a week straight. The boys were delighted too, they watched a lot of Wild Kratts and Word World. Other than sleeping and more sleeping we read and watched movies. I finished the second season of Downton Abbey (LOVE), read the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy (awesome trash), watched 4 movies with Crocodile Dundee toping that list ("That's not a knife, this is a knife."), and that's about it. In general, it was a lost week. Thankfully the boys haven't succumbed (knock on wood) to the Australian pandemic of 2012. We're still crossing our fingers. They have however had runny noses for 12 weeks with slight fevers thrown in here and there. On the bright side, no permanent damage has been done and no lasting scars have been left. My American friends haven't been so lucky; one is less her tonsils since arriving Down Under and the other endured sinus surgery. Guess it's more exotic and foreign here than I give credit. I should have listened to their warnings and not left the house.
DISCLAIMER: I do realize that dogs live in the moment and aren't people. I also realize that being a quasi-crazy dog person makes me a bit off my rocker - and I'm ok with that. But my life has been, and continues to be, enriched by their existence. For those in-between dog lovers, and even for the non-dog lovers (like my BFF) you smile at my plight because you love me (hopefully most of you) and therefore, you can smile at the journey we've taken to get our Bodi home.
Now, back to the journey...
On my first visit
Bodi arrived on Thursday, May 3rd. I phoned the quarantine facility later that afternoon hoping to speak to his "keeper" and see how he was faring. I spoke to the dispatch woman who assured me Bodi had arrived, but was going through processing etc and I needed to call back the next day at 8am to get a status report. Ok! He arrived! Bodi was in Australia! That's a long way for anyone to go, let alone a dog.
Eight am on the nose I phoned the next day and was given the direct line to Scott his keeper. I envisioned a grumpy, not friendly, older man who hated his job and hated women like me - not to mention the American element - who just flew their dog 1/2 way across the globe when people are starving and homeless around the world. Scott couldn't have been friendlier! He answered his phone right away and raved about how sweet and well-behaved Bodi was. He told me all of Bodi's bedding that he flew with was unsoiled and could be returned to us. WOW, Bodi made it almost 24 hours without peeing! He must have been "busting" (one of my favorite Aussie words to mean you gotta pee bad - Parker says it all the time). I of course cried tears of joy at the positive report. I told Scott I would be there during visiting hours (Tuesday and Thursday from 1:30-3:30 - yes, that's IT) the following Tuesday. Thankfully I hired a dog walker who would walk him that day, Friday. Sigh, my four-legged boy made it Down Under.
Now, I don't know what you picture when you imagine "quarantine," but I know what I pictured, and the reality is not far off my mental image. I really wanted to think my minds-eye had it all wrong and that in fact, quarantine was like doggie-camp, touting doggie swimming pools, heated floors, toys in every corner, and play-dates with the Lab next door who just arrived from Malaysia. Call me an eternal optimist.
When Tuesday - visiting day - rolled around I drove the 1 hour and 15 minutes to the quarantine facility directly west of Sydney. When I arrived I found an unmarked gated area with barbed wire springing from the top of the fence to give that added sense of, "Stay the fuck out!" I turned off the road and pulled up to the center kiosk with a phone. The Nav System told me I was in the right place, but no sign welcomed me to, "doggie prison." I picked up the phone and it rang. The person on the other end said, "Doggie Prison." Just kidding, she said, "Animal Quarantine." I stammered, "Uh, I'm here to see my dog." She said, "I'll let you in." The gate sluggishly rolled open and I proceeded down the unmarked road. I eventually came upon a building that said, "Plant Quarantine." This puzzled me. Who imports plants?! I still haven't figured this out. Across the parking lot I spotted the animal quarantine building. I shakily parked and proceeded toward the building. I was already on the verge of tears. As I entered the building I knew I would have to talk to someone so I put on my most stoic face. I eased toward the counter where 2 women sat. In expected Aussie service, the women barely regarded me and pointed to a sign-in sheet. I filled in the requested information and then said, "Excuse me, where do I go from here?" Through rolled eyes she said, "Oh, is this your first time? Well first you need to sign this." She shoved in front of me a 2 page sheet of do's and don't's, essentially saying I would be arrested and prosecuted if I didn't follow their rules. This is the Australian government after-all. Next she showed me a paper map of the facility and told me to walk out this door and follow the path out this gate, and then that gate - make sure you secure the gates behind you - then walk down this way, then turn left... Oh, and put on this sticker that screamed "VISITOR." I took a deep breath and proceeded out the glass door.
One of the concrete paths
I unlatched the first gate, eased it open, stepped through, and latched it behind me. I could almost hear the sound of keys turning and the crashing sound of jailhouse bars slamming shut - like in Law and Order, when the scene changes to a prison and you hear the alarm sound signaling the opening and closing of jail bars - that's what filled my mind. I took a deep breath looking at the structures that lay ahead, knowing that Bodi was somewhere in the midst of them; we were about to be reunited. I proceeded down the concrete path, lined by fence and yes, barbed wire sprouting from its top, while I wiped my tears - how could I have done this to him?! I came upon another gate and maneuvered the squeaky latch and swung it open, and then of course, latched it behind me - didn't want to be yelled at. I continued down another concrete path between two buildings that were clearly the cattery. The exterior walls of the cattery were grated and therefore I could see the cats within. Now, I'm not a cat lover, but my heart went out to these felines. They stood there, gazing outside with a blank expression, not meowing, just staring. I advanced along my route, took a left, then a right, and I was in the dog area. Again I was surrounded on both sides by buildings with grated exterior walls - the dog kennels. The dogs immediately started to bark and turn circles at the sight of me. Because it was visitor day there were several people who had set up shop in the kennels with portable chairs, or just copping a squat on the kennel floor talking and loving their beloved four-legged friend. I was struck with a sense of wonder at the sight of these dogs; they all had an interesting travel story I'm sure. Not to mention, these dogs were loved! Someone, somewhere, had transported their dog from the far reaches of the earth, with great expense, so that they could live their lives with their BFF, or best mate. I looked at each dog, barking and wagging at me, and wondered where they had journeyed from? What language did their person speak to them? Where were they born? How long was their sentence?
I arrived at cell block #5, Bodi's cell block. The door was locked, but almost immediately someone saw me and said, "Hey, how you going? Who you here to visit?" This must be Scott, and it was. I took a gulp, again, choking back my tears that started 30 minutes prior, and said, "I'm here to see Bodega (his official transport name), I'm Steph (cause not ONE Aussie can actually call me Stephanie - they shorten everything)." Scott replied, "Oh yeah, Bodega's doing well, although the last few days he hasn't eaten so much and he seems a little anxious." I thought, NO SHIT, it's cause he's in PRISON! But Scott was so nice I replied, "Oh really, maybe he just needs a few days to adjust?" He unlocked the door to cell block #5 and led me into what looked like a very large veterinarian's exam room. I brought a new bed, blanket, several toys, and treats with me that he approved before leading me to another locked door which looked upon a long hallway with kennels off each side - yep, it was a cell block. Bodi was at the very end of the cell block - of course - as if I needed to drag out the drama spewing from my emotional depth by trudging down the long corridor. The dogs jumped on their doors barking and wagging as we passed. They each had a sign posted on their door listing their names: Mambo, Stella, Kip, Capone, Hawk, Duster. Most dogs were solo, but some had a mate - lucky little guys, making the trek together. Scott chatted as we walked; I have no idea what he was saying, small-talk I'm sure, I was busy fighting the impulse to burst into sobs, again. We arrived at cell #35 and there he was, on hind legs looking out his grated kennel door, awaiting something, someone. Scott unlocked the door. I plowed my way in - as Scott locked the door behind me - threw myself on the floor and let Bodi mall me as I wept (non-dog people insert eye-rolls here). He went ballistic! On my approach I wasn't sure whether he would remember me - it had been 4 months (and we all know dogs aren't the sharpest mammals on the planet) - but based on his reaction, he knew me. It took him a good 10 minutes to stop squealing, jumping, and honestly, took me that long to stop weeping. I kept saying, "Holy shit, Bodi, you're in Australia!" It really shook me at that moment that he travelled from the US to Australia! Again, I would never know what he went through.
After the initial freak-out welcome we played toss with his Kong - his FAVE toy. Then I brought his new bed in the far corner of the outside area of his kennel. I sat in his bed, draped my legs over the sides and he nestled between my legs and rested his head on my thigh. He was relaxed, happy, and soaked up my cuddles and loves. He kept gazing up at me, as if to verify that I was really there. He had sadness in his eyes, which could have been jetlag, but it made me sad. How would we both endure this for 25 more days?! I held him for 2 hours - max visiting time - until Scott came to get me. I armed myself with treats to give him as I walked out, but his ears were perked as if saying, "What? You're leaving me?" Again, cue tears. I assured him I would be back in 2 days - as if he understands - and walked out with Scott as he locked the door, securing Bodi in his jail cell. As Scott and I trudged the long cell block I asked if I could call him the next day to see how Bodi was doing. He said, "Oh yeah, that's fine. Hopefully he remains at ease and isn't anxious by your visit." With a squirmed face I said, "Anxious by my visit?" He gently replied, "Well sometimes you have no idea how they respond to being left by their owners after such a journey." Again, cue guilt, tears, insanity!
Parker and Bodi
I made my way out of doggie prison and drove home depressed and uncomfortable. I felt this way for 2 days until I could go back to see him on Thurs. I decided spontaneously to bring Parker and Reid with me. I surprised Parker by picking him up from school early and saying, "We're going to visit Bodi." He was delighted. For selfish reasons I needed my boys to lighten the dark cloud of quarantine. Kids have the amazing ability to forecast happiness over any situation. Their pure hearts and minds can lighten the darkest situation. They didn't balk at the quarantine facility, just argued about who would give him the first treat. Upon entrance into his cell the boys were thrilled to see their four-legged brother - it wasn't sad for them at all! I needed their fresh, non-worldly, innocent view on the situation. All they saw was that Bodi was in Australia and that he would come home to us; just what the doctor ordered for me.
My subsequent visits became easier and easier. Bodi and I played more, cuddled and sobbed less. Like anyone in lockup Bodi gained some lbs, which is actually a good thing because it meant he was at ease and eating. On my visits, as we snuggled, I absorbed the sounds and scenes around me. The other dogs barking was deafening at times. There seemed to be a ring leader about 5 kennels down who really got em going. He would start and they would all chime in creating a harmony between their different doggie accents. There was another dog who liked to party with his food dish. I couldn't see him, but he must've been bating and tossing his dish around like a toy because the sound of the tin on the concrete floor was shrill. Most of the time, Bodi ignored what was going on around him and immersed himself in my company. My four-legged boy, in lock-up, but still having a positive attitude.
After all is said and done - because as I write this I have my boy back - it was a painful and emotional process, but I respect the purpose. Australia is a unique continent, country, and island, and I realize its exceptionality. The quarantine staff, or "keepers" were fabulous and I wish I could hand them a bottle of wine to thank them - cause that's usually how we thank people, with booze. My family is now complete - and that's all I have to say about that.
The first time Mark mentioned the possible move to Australia - after my elation subsided - a pit in my stomach surfaced. Not because I would miss my friends and family, which of course I would but we would be back ( I promise), and not because I had to pack up my house and send it across the Pacific, but because I knew getting Bodi Down Under would be quite the undertaking. When we first started the conversation with the pet relocation company - yes there is a company that just relocates pets across the world - I thought I was going to pass-out when she dryly said, "Australia has a 6 month quarantine, so we better get the process started." I wanted to shout, "How dare you blurt that out, emotionless and unsuspecting of the pain surging through my body!"
Let me back up. I am a dog person. I've had multiple dogs sleeping at the foot of my bed my entire life. My family are dog people - not crazy, "Best in Show," type dog people - but real dog lovers, quasi crazy. When I met Mark I had my precious, sweet, once-in-a-lifetime dog Sam. Having a dog clued him in that I was a dog lover, but it wasn't quite spelled out on my "resume" just how much I loved dogs. He didn't get the whole picture until he met my family; parents, grandparents, brothers, and 3 aunts whom each had at least 2 dogs of the same breed running the house like children; that was evidence enough for him to realize there would be more than one dog in our future (I thought). I even agreed to give up the notion of a 3rd child for a 2nd dog, lucky him considering he already knew that was going to happen - I should have thrown in some diamond earrings with that compromise. So you can imagine how shocked I was when 12 years after we started dating Mark suggested we, "find a new family for Bodi" before moving to Australia. It was one of those moments when time slows and you (Mark) hear yourself saying the words in that long, deep, drawn-out voice, but they've already excited your mouth and it's too late, your mouth is still moving, they're out there floating in the universe, and you can't travel back in time and just say nothing! D'OH! I'm sure the look on my face was a mixture of shock, pain, and "you-did-NOT-just-say-that-to-me!" Needless to say, Mark tiptoed around the rest of the night and never spoke of leaving Bodi behind again.
Now that we've established where this post is headed - doggie love - and my dog status, I'll move on. For the sake of this blog post there are 2 types of people: dog people, and non-dog people. You pretty much know which camp you're in. If you're unsure, take this little quiz... 1. Was Eddie your favorite character in the sitcom Frasier? If so, you're a dog person, if not, you're in the other camp. 2. Does the thought of the Old Yeller movie bring tears to your eyes? (Be like Bill Murray) If so, dog person. If you answered, "Who's Old Yeller?" non-dog person. 3. If you read Marley and Me and never cried harder than you did at the end of that book (my eyes are welling just thinking about it), or if you saw the movie and had to turn it off and not watch the end - but still cried anyway - then you're definitely a dog person. If you dismissed both the book and movie as a lame dog movie then you're a non-dog person. Now that you know which side you're on, read on with caution.
After our initial phone conversation with the pet relocation woman - where Mark had to be on the phone with me because I couldn't talk through my tears - we began the process of getting Bodi to Australia. Fortunately Australia has recently changed their import laws and animals don't need to be quarantined within Australia for 6 months, but can stay in their home country for 5 months after the first clear blood test, but must be in lockdown within Australia for 30 days, making the entire process 6 months, or 180 days. But the kicker was that we were leaving in 6 weeks! Enter the Song's. Bodi would stay with Katy and Ho Shin for 4 months until he was able to enter Australia on April 30th - exactly 5 months after his first clear blood test. We also learned in the initial phone conversation that dogs cannot be drugged for the flight - who doesn't want to be drugged for a 14 hour plane ride?! We were relieved to have a loving, happy home for Bodi for the home country quarantine, but knew the flight and 30 day Australia quarantine would be 32 days of unease.
You may ask, why is Australia's animal import law so rigid? Australia has never had a rabies case reported; it doesn't exist on this island. What's the first thing you think when you see wildlife in the US?, "Stay away, it could have rabies!" When we were in Tasmania hanging with our nocturnal visitor, the brushtail opossum, I wasn't afraid to get close to the furry guy because I knew he didn't have rabies. Granted he could have scratched or bit me, but I wouldn't have had to get 20 shots in my stomach (is that still what they do?). Nevertheless, I respect their process and desire to keep their country rabies free.
Bodi's departure date was looming. I was anxious for what lie ahead for everyone involved. I knew it wouldn't be easy for the Song's to say goodbye to Bodi. He had become part of their family and I hurt knowing they would sorrowfully feel his absence. Happily the Song's went to Tahoe for Katy's birthday before he left - his first time in the snow. Sounds like it was a last hurrah for Katy, Ho Shin, Jane, Luke and Bodi. We will forever be grateful to the love they showed our B dog during his US quarantine.
Departure day arrived. Bodi was picked up by the relocation transit from Katy and Ho Shin's in Mill Valley at 3pm on Monday, April 30th. He was transferred to an animal station at SFO where he spent the night and awaited his first of two vet appointments the following day. His first vet appointment, and blood draw, was the morning of May 1st. His final US vet appointment was at 3pm on May 1st where he was given a complete check and "sealed" in his crate. "SEALED," which means he couldn't get out until he arrived overseas! So, his plane left SFO at 9pm on Tuesday, May 1st and arrived in Auckland, New Zealand at 10am, Thursday morning May 3rd, which would have been 5pm Wed afternoon - screw the time change, it's a long fucking time to not pee!!! He then had a vet check in this hemisphere before getting on another flight to Sydney where he was picked up by quarantine staff and taken to the quarantine facility on the afternoon of Thursday May 3rd. I endured Bodi radio silence from Tuesday morning until Friday morning. It was an emotional time. Visions of Bodi being anxious, alone, scared and jostled to and fro in the belly of a plane haunted me. I'll never know what he experienced, and I'm sure he has forgotten, cause he's a dog, and dog's aren't smart. Regardless, during this process I began to question our decision to bring him to Australia. Katy was sad, I was sad, Bodi was sad - who was happy?! What would have been more selfish, having Bodi make the trek, or doing what Mark suggested (bad Mark) and finding a new family for him?! Dog lovers can feel my pain, non-dog lovers stop rolling your eyes.
The drama will continue in Part II where Bodi steps paw in the land Down Under...
Manly is like no
other place I’ve ever lived, or visited for that matter. I imagine it’s a
bit like Venice Beach but with more class, more money, and less drugs and
plastic surgery – although I don't get out much. Manly has the energy of
what I imagine a “normal” beach town emanates, but since this is my first go of
living in a beach town I’m gaining my own perspective and it’s amazing. I
LOVE Manly.
Manly Beach looking South
Manly was named by Captain Arthur Philip, English of course, who sailed
with the First Fleet. The First Fleet, which is a big deal here, was the
first fleet of ships that sailed from Britain to Australia in 1787 to establish
the first European colony in Australia. They left in May of 1787, and
arrived in Jan of 1788. Their arrival is marked by Australia Day, which
is a PARTY here. In any other country it would be their independence day,
but here, just a day of establishment (cause they’re still not independent,
shhh). Anyhoo, the First Fleet consisted of 11 ships, led by Capt. A
Philip. Total free persons, 348, prisoners, 696; total persons,
1044. Capt. Arthur Philip was founder of the settlement that became
Sydney, and first Governor of the state of New South Wales. He named
Manly after the Aborigines that were living in this area when he “founded” the
land. He said, “Their confidence and manly behaviour made me give the
name of Manly Cove to this place." The Aborigines, or “manly men,”
ended up spearing him through the shoulder while they were dining on a whale in
Manly Cove. Guess they really were “Manly!”
Manly Cove
Manly is a peninsula, and creates the North Head of Sydney
Harbour. The Manly peninsula is curvy like someone with a terrifyingly
tiny waist and enormous hips. The “waist” portion of Manly is 2 blocks
wide from harbour side to Pacific side. Parker’s school is exactly in the
middle of the “waist.” At one end is calm Manly Cove beach, at the other
is big Manly Beach on the Pacific side. You can almost toss a coin, “Do I
want waves or calm, sun or shade?” Because each beach will give you
something different. It’s awesome.
Manly is a walking town, and we walk - or rather bike, scooter, and
stroller everywhere. Many days it’s calm, clear, and beautiful, however
recently, with the approach of winter, it’s blustery, chilly, and sometimes
unpleasant. The ocean proximity is only pleasant if the seas are
agreeable. But currently, autumn is marvelous, better than summer.
We’ve had clear blue skies, warm temperatures, and calm seas. Several
days a week I do a Boot Camp on Manly Beach at 6am. With the recent
daylight saving I’ve had the fortune of absorbing the sunrise on Manly Beach as
I work my ass off running in the sand and lifting tires over my head while I do
squats. I’m just thankful for a little light since it’s been black until
at least 7am.
Manly Beach looking North
Manly Beach is a magical place. The beach itself is about 1.5
miles long. The shoreline has a large pedestrian walkway that straddles
the beach wall, then a large grassy area with small parks dispersed
intermittently over the 1.5 miles, and then another bike and pedestrian walkway
that hugs the restaurant and shop lined street. It’s how you imagine a
beach town would look. During the day you see every walk of life moseying
along the beachfront, but at 6am it’s some of the same, but also a different
people that dwell.
Sunrise over Manly Beach
I’m not accustomed to seeing the sunrise over the Pacific, sunset for
sure, but watching the sun sluggishly appear on the horizon, instead of melt
with the day is unique. With this first light a whole new world
materializes in an instant. You see and hear things you can’t during the
day. Like with every break of the water there is a spray that jets off
the top just as the water peaks and then breaks into a roll. The birds
commence their chatter just as the sun awakes and you’re surrounded by a
cacophony of their prattle where the air was still before. The older,
hairy gentlemen in their speedos are making their way to and fro the water for
their morning dip. Brave men; not only for going to swim at that hour,
but wearing those speedos. The insane barefoot sand runners are
crisscrossing the beach as their upper bodies barely move with their slight
motion.
Then all of a sudden the surfers that speckle the waves emerge with the
orange glow. They look like black crumbs bobbing in the water. Then
one of them sees the wave s/he wants and mightily paddles, pops up on their
board, and rides on. I hold my breath as they charge; you never know when
their attempt will falter as a second too late, or a foot’s misstep could throw
them down where the washing machine churning of the ocean takes control.
Most of the time I gaze in astonishment at these awesome riders of the
waves. They glide with the wave, just moments ahead of its break.
Sometimes the wave will break on them, but they’re still able to storm through
the wall and appear on the other side, floating into shore and then sinking,
only to paddle out again. What a rush it must be. I imagine surfing
is like a drug - a good drug - you either “get it”, and are hooked, or you
don’t. Men and women seeking the surf park their cars around the beach
and walk to the edge of the ocean wall and stop, stand, and watch. The
first time I saw someone do this I thought they were stalking or looking for
someone, but no, they were just watching the surf, evaluating. I would
love to know what they are thinking; what mathematical equation they’re using
to determine where on the beach they’ll ride and perhaps what board they’re going
to take off their Subaru. I’m not even a bit tempted to try
surfing. I love to watch and I appreciate and respect their sport and
world, but it’s not for me. However, Mark keeps threatening to
learn. I tell him to go for it and I’ll wave to him from the beach.
I love the sunrise, not only the visible beauty, but the peace that
arrives with the sun. Being up at that hour makes me feel like I'm
getting a head-start on the day. It's a refreshing way to
tackle a new day. Once Parker and Reid are awake there is no stopping, so
waking early and exercising makes me feel like I'm one up on the little
rascals, as if I can take them on with more confidence and strength.
Living here is thrilling, not only in Australia, but Manly. When
in life will we ever have another opportunity to watch the sunrise over the
Pacific?!
