Sydney, day 4

Today's plan: to the art museum. However, we got sidetracked along the way looking at St Mary's cathedral as a sketch possibility ... and Curt ended up sketching the Sydney Tower instead. It was an easy subject and only took an hour, so we still got to the museum by 11. I'm beginning to recognise names of some of the well-known Australian artists, and we're familiar with most of the European and American artists of course. This museum had a nice enough collection, but it can't really compare with others we've been to over the years. Our poor kids have been dragged to museums all over Europe and the US on our travels. Byron made his first money as an artist at age 10, sitting on the grand stairway inside the D'Orsay museum in Paris, sketching a huge clock above. (He wanted to be just like his dad who was nearby sketching a statue of a naked lady). Austin, the oldest brother who was always full of clever ideas, suggested that Byron should put his hat out next to him while he worked, and people would put money in it. Sure enough, people gathered to see what this little boy was doing, and dropped a few francs in his hat. I think he made enough money to buy himself some ice cream later in the day. We always thought he would grow up to be a professional artist eventually, and we knew this would make a great story about how he got his start in the art world. Well, at the moment he's studying engineering at the University of Washington which isn't exactly art, but at least he's still trying to be just like his dad.

After the museum, we thought it would be appropriate if we went to the Sydney Tower to ride up to the observation deck since Curt had just sketched it that morning. Alas, the queue was about a half-mile long so we opted out. Instead we wandered over to the waterfront area called Darling Harbour which was a little too Disneylandish for us. However, I did stumble upon a Lindt Chocolate store & cafe so I indulged in some dark chocolate gelato. Mmmmm. That made it all worthwhile. We sat on a bench and watched little kids play in a long fountain. It's nice the way Australia encourages people to actually use the water features, rather than just look at them. Parks in Europe can be a bit stodgy when they don't allow you to sit on the grass or play in the fountain. But here, there was a sign at the gate to the Botanic Gardens that asked people to please sit on the grass, hug the trees, and smell the roses. I like their attitude.

Next we entered the Chinese Garden which was an oasis of beauty and tranquility in the middle of downtown Sydney. I was thinking Curt might find something sketchworthy here, but he wasn't inspired.
Me: How about a sketch of the lily pads? Monet liked to paint lily pads.
Curt: Nah.
Me: Ooh. Look at that arched stone bridge. And there's a bench right here with a perfect view.
Curt: Nah.
So we walked along the paths, around the ponds, over the stone bridge, and admired the giant koi fish swimming by the lily pads. It was a nice quiet break from the crowds at Darling Harbour and the throngs of bargain hunters who are still sardined in the shopping streets of Sydney.

Speaking of Chinese, it's time for a rant. Here's what Curt said in his journal: "There are a lot of Asians taking pictures of family and friends standing in front of any statue, building, sculpture, or viewpoint which might be photo-worthy except for the person posing just like they did for the previous gazillion photos." As a Westerner, I just don't get it either. I was trying to understand this habit, so I pondered if maybe they believe that a photo has more interest in it if there's a person in it. And I can agree with that. But the photo album of their trip would NOT be interesting because photo after photo would be mind-numbingly repetitively made of the same composition. So there goes my argument that people do it to make the photos more interesting. My next theory was that perhaps people pose in front of everything to prove that they were there. Honestly, won't their friends believe them? Anyway, I'm stumped. If anyone can enlighten me on this curious habit, please do, because I just don't understand. That's enough ranting for now.

Our last job today is to switch hotels. You see, it was next to impossible to find any hotels in Sydney this week, and there are absolutely NO rooms left for New Year Eve. Besides the fireworks, there's the big cricket match against England so all the rooms are taken. Consequently, we could only find a room downtown for the first 3 nights, a room 10 km south of the city for the next 3 nights, and no room at all for our last night, New Years Eve. We're figuring that we'll be staying up and watching the fireworks till 12 or 1 ... and then we have to be at the airport at 5 the next morning, so we'll just hang out at the airport or something. Anyway, today's the day we switch hotels. We get our bags and take a bus to Brighton (on Botany Bay) which is pretty easy. We like to use public transportation on our travels, so we bought a 7 day pass when we arrived and use it to hop onto subways or buses or ferries whenever we want. By the end of the week, we're pretty good at taking the bus from our hotel to the nearest train station, riding the train downtown, and then doing it all in reverse at the end of the day. No problem.

Our day finishes as it usually does: more walking, more coffee, more ice cream, a nightly foot rub, and lots of sleep. Zzzz.

Sydney, day 3

Curt went running this morning but I stayed in bed. I'm the lazy bum of the family. Still, we were out the door by 8:30 which is pretty good for us. There's a Lindt Chocolate store/cafe on the corner that I had my heart set on, but they didn't open until 10. What is wrong with those people??? Don't they know there's a chocoholic in town who needs her chocolate pronto? So we end up at Starbucks for the mandatory crappuccino ( a word Austin invented 10-15 years ago and is always pronounced with a high pitched parrot-like squawk "CCRRAAPuccino") for Curt while I pig out on a muffin. Then we're off to sketch the opera house. OK, I'm using the word "we" loosely. Curt will sketch while I will sit/read/etc.

While we walk, he tells me of his adventure this morning: running through the trendy/seedy neighbourhood called Kings Cross (like Capitol Hill?) and seeing a prostitute (male? female?) dressed in full gear (pink lingerie) after a presumably busy night. Hmmm.

He's found a shady bench with a great view of the opera house and gets right to work. Annoyingly, there's a little red tourist train that passes by every 15 minutes, and we get to hear the same spiel over and over "... and the design for the opera house was inspired by orange peels ..." After a couple of hours, Curt's masterpiece is finished, and the tops of his sandal-clad feet are beginning to turn red. It must be time to stop.

After a quick lunch at a sandwich kiosk (and the obligatory ice cream bar), we take an official tour of the opera house. Curt is in his element here. He gets to hear all about how many roof tiles there are, how many tonnes of reinforced concrete were used, and he especially likes the pre-cast, post-tension ribs. Don't ask.
He also seems quite taken with the story of the Danish architect, who quit halfway through the project after too many cost overruns and 14 years of delays. Apparently he refused to compromise on quality so he left. And he has never returned to see the Opera House completed! Forty years later, it appears the Australian government is attempting to patch up relations with Mr. Utzon (who is still alive), and in response his son travelled to Sydney to help with some modernisation plans. Curt admires the way Utzon stuck to his principles, and never sold out.

After the tour, we walk to the Sydney Harbour Bridge and climb another 200 steps (we already went up 200 steps in the opera house tour) to the top of the pylon for the view from the overlook. Naturally, this jaunt includes lots of information about how the bridge was built, how much steel was used, how long it took ... Look at the size of those girders! He loves this stuff.

As we head back to the hotel, we notice a crowd sitting on the grass in a park, watching a giant screen TV. You'll never guess what's on. Cricket. It's a competition between the Aussies and the Poms (English) and people are riveted to the games all week. Each game lasts 3-4 days, and there's 5 games. I swear I've been trying really hard to understand the game of cricket but it's just baffling if you ask me. I love the way they break for tea halfway through the match, though. The cricket games are broadcast on screens all over the city, and the scores are constantly updated on the ticker-tape style news display in downtown Sydney, just like the one in Times Square in New York City. But every time we passed the news ticker here, all the news was about sports: which boat was winning the yacht race (Wild Oats?), which boat had broken its mast again (New Zealand's), how badly the Aussies were beating the Poms (absolutely annihilating them), and the retirement of one of the Aussie cricket stars (bad boy Shane Warne). There really wasn't any "hard" news to report, which is actually rather comforting. One day they added a line about Gerald Ford's death, but then the news returned to yacht racing and cricket. As it should.

Boxing Day/Sydney, day 2

There's a big yacht race from Sydney to Hobart that begins today so the harbour is full of boats watching and escorting the yachts. It's quite a sight.

I happen to have a perfect view of all the boats because I am sitting ever-patiently while Curt does a watercolour sketch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Yesterday, we scoped out a perfect spot for him to sit and sketch, which always must include some shade to sit in. He eventually chose a spot on the lawn of the Botanic Gardens under a giant tree, with some curious ibis birds who keep him company. So today as he settles in for the next 60-90 minutes, it's my job to 1) keep myself occupied 2) keep admirers from bothering him 3) swat bugs away 4) go fetch some lunch or cold drinks occasionally and 5) don't try to talk to him because he's too zoned out to have a conversation while he's painting. I love this part of our travels because if affords me the opportunity to lie around and read a book or maybe even catch a short snooze, two of my very favourite activities. When I'm feeling really sassy, I offer my opinion of his work-in-progress, such as "I think it needs a little more purple." That always goes over well.

Once the masterpiece is complete (and it's ALWAYS a masterpiece), we walk through more of the Botanic Gardens and are especially creeped out by the zillions of bats hanging from the trees in one area! Eewww.

Then we are even more disturbed by the crowds on the streets. In contrast to yesterday, the streets are absolutely packed today. Boxing Day is traditionally a day of huge post-Christmas sales and all the stores that were closed yesterday when we walked through the ghost town called Sydney are now open and full of throngs of bargain hunters. The Pitt St. pedestrian mall is shoulder-to-shoulder. Good grief. We duck into David Jones department store and head to the 7th floor to look at digital cameras. There's even a queue to get on the escalators, but as we go higher at least the crowds thin out.

The reason we're looking for a digital camera is that I broke ours last week: I inserted a memory card but then couldn't get it out. Eventually I yanked it out in 2 pieces and after that, I couldn't get any other (unbroken) memory cards to go in. After looking at repair costs, we decided to buy a new camera.

Once we finished our mission on the 7th floor, we went to the Food Hall in the basement for dinner, then off to the cinema to see a chick flick: The Holiday. Isn't it sweet that Curt agreed to go to a chick flick rather than making me go see James Bond? For the last 20 years, whenever we went to a family movie, I always got outvoted by the 5 men in my life (4 sons and a husband) and we always seemed to end up going to a testosterone-laden movie like James Bond. It's nice now that there's only two of us and I get to choose the movie occasionally.

Finally, we end up back at the hotel so he can rub my feet, like he does every night. What a guy.

Christmas/Sydney, day 1

We awoke early - not to open presents (there weren't any to open), but to get to the airport for our flight to Sydney. We actually got there too early which was fortuitous because it gave us time to get the visas that U.S. passport holders need for travelling to Australia. What? I had no idea we needed visas!?! New Zealanders don't need visas to enter Australia, but I guess Americans do. Fortunately, we can do this at the airport. All is sorted. Phew.

The three hour flight was uneventful. I think I was expecting a little something special since it was Christmas Day ... perhaps the flight attendants would be wearing Santa hats or something? But no. We had a great view of Sydney Harbour as we landed, though!

Arriving in downtown Sydney was like walking into a ghost town. The whole city was eerily silent. After checking in at the hotel, we eventually made our way to the more touristy waterfront area called Circular Quay where there were a few places open, but the commercial center of the city was definitely deserted. It looked like some post-apocalyptic scenario where the entire population has bizarrely died, and left behind block after block of abandoned skyscrapers and mile after mile of deserted streets. Spooky.

Of course it is Christmas Day, after all, and it makes perfect sense that everyone in this city (except us) was home with their loved ones eating a big ham dinner and Christmas cake. I'm still feeling a little down about Christmas - mostly about not having any family around, but also about the lack of cards and presents. It just doesn't feel right. So I think coming to Sydney was a great idea because I'm hoping it will prevent me from becoming too sad about Christmas.

Across the miles

It's kinda weird being overseas for Christmas. I definitely notice when my Christmas experience isn't the same as it used to be. For instance, I notice that there's only one present under the tree. This is because a) there's only two of us here and b) one of us is morally opposed to Christmas shopping. I already bought presents for our 4 boys, my mom, and my two brothers' families, and mailed them by Dec. 4. Done and dusted. I got Curt an olive tree for Christmas which he already found (six-foot trees are notoriously difficult to hide). The boys won't be mailing any cards or presents to us because they're boys and because they're always broke. My mom says she sent me a package and it might be here by Valentine's Day. I don't know if my brothers are sending us anything. Probably not. And Curt? Well. I gave up on that years ago. So we have exactly one present under our tree. It's from our neighbour. It's small and round and light. I'm guessing it's a Christmas ornament or something like that. Oh wait, all the choir members got a little present from the minister this morning. but I already opened mine and ate it because it was chocolate. Mmmm.

Also, it's Christmas Eve already and we only have 8 Christmas cards. One is from the postie (mailman). One is from the realty company that sold us the house (not very personal). One came with the present from our neighbour. One is from a church family. And we have four cards from relatives in America: my mom, two uncles, and Curt's brother. That's it. It's pretty sad when an email from your credit card company wishing you a happy holiday is the highlight of your day. Come on, people!! You'd think we died or something. No, we're very much alive. And we sent Christmas cards to all our friends and relatives back in the States including our address. Well, fine. I won't let it make me feel too sorry for myself because I don't associate the number of cards we receive with how many people love me. Really.

Besides presents and cards, here's a few other differences I've experienced:
• Christmas pud (pudding), Christmas cake, and mince tarts are traditional Christmas treats here. The closest American traditional Christmas food might be the ubiquitous fruitcake/brick, but even that is more of a joke than an actual food that is consumed. As for mince tarts, Curt was a bit confused when we were given 12 little mince pies by our neighbour. You see, in NZ "mince" usually refers to ground beef. So he thought we got 12 little meat pies. But actually, they're minced pecans and raisins and brown sugar ... what Americans would call mincemeat pie. (and that fact that mincemeat has the word "meat" in it when there's no meat in it just makes it doubly confusing!)

• I used to wear Christmas sweaters all the time in December in the States. But here, it's too hot to be wearing sweaters in December (besides which they're called jumpers). Trust me, I tried. Once. I wore my Christmas sweater to church last week and thought I'd be OK because it's always freezing in that big old building early in the morning. But by the time church was over, I was roasting, and I had to strip off a layer in the car on the way home. Let's say I learned my lesson.

• Stores and offices close for a few weeks during the holidays. Curt's engineering company will be closed from Dec 22-Jan 8. There's nobody in the office. No engineers, no bosses, no secretaries. I thought maybe a few guys might go in to catch up on a project that's behind schedule, since they've been getting flack for it being so late. But no. The clients understand that nobody is going to do any work over the next 2 weeks. NOBODY. I also went to my favourite bakery to buy my favourite bran muffins but they were closed from Dec 23-Jan 17! The American/capitalist in me wonders how a business can afford to go without income for that long. But the newly emerging Kiwi in me says "good on them" for realising that time off is more important than money!

• Since Christmas happens during everyone's summer vacation, people's holiday traditions tend to involve being gone at the beach house or being gone camping. I don't think there's the same notion that you need to be HOME for holidays. Our neighbours left on the 20th for 3 weeks at their vacation house in Whitianga. They must have taken along all the presents and will open them there. Do they also take along the stockings? I wonder if they put up a tree at the vacation house?

• I haven't heard as much Christmas music playing in the grocery stores, malls, doctor's offices, etc. In Portland, there was even a radio station that played ALL Christmas music from December 1-December 25. There's really not that much good Christmas pop music around, so you can imagine that a lot of the airtime was filled up with tunes like Jingle Bell Rock performed by Neil Diamond or Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire sung by 'N Sync.

It's also weird to see how my Christmas experience is still the same as it used to be:
• For instance, last night we watched National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation with Chevy Chase. That was always a favourite holiday movie with our family especially when Clark Griswald put a gazillion lights on his house.

• Speaking of lights, people do decorate their houses here, but not nearly as many because ... 1. It's summer and it doesn't get dark until quite late. 2. Most people go away camping for Christmas so they're not home anyway. 3. Christmas isn't as over-the-top commercialized as it is in the US. The local newspaper showed photos of a few of the more decorated houses, but I couldn't help but be thankful that NONE of them had Santa flying The Traditional Christmas Helicopter or riding The Traditional Christmas Alligator like my next door neighbour in Portland had on his roof. I am not making this up.

• People still do PLENTY of shopping, and still worry about what to get their sister-in-laws, etc. Men still put off the shopping until the last minute and still don't know what to buy. Some things are universal.

Overall, the Christmas experience is definitely different here. Some parts are better than in the US - like the weather - and some parts are worse - like not being with family. If the sun comes out, we may go walk along the beach promenade like we did last night. If not, I think I'll make some popcorn and watch sappy Christmas movies and open my present. I can't decide if I'm sad or not ... but I think I am a little. I miss the family.

Christmas caroling

Our choir went caroling to three rest homes where long-time church members now reside. My first goal was to NOT get lost, because the last two times there were choir outings, we got lost. Both times. This time, we finally got smart and rode in someone else's car (thanks Lucia), had a map with directions (thanks Beth) and had a navigator (thanks Wendy). Things were looking good.

As we walked through the halls of the first nursing home, inhaling the antiseptically sweet, warm air of an old folks' home, I was having second thoughts. Why did I agree to go caroling? I don't even know these people who we're visiting. I've never liked nursing homes. Or old people, for that matter. These places are always so sad and depressing, as if they are a depository for old people who have become too inconvenient to be part of their former lives any longer. The country music that was piped in throughout this institution didn't help.

We arrived at the selected church member's room, crowded in, and our group of well-wishers, aging from 7 to 70, began to sing. Apparently this patient had been a choir member for decades so she knew all the words to all the verses of our carols. It was sweet. Although her body was contorted and she remained perfectly still with her eyes closed, her mouth was moving with the song. Clearly, she enjoyed the familiarity of the music. It must be enormously soothing to hear the same songs that you used to sing 80 or 90 years ago. Ah, the timelessness of Hark the Herald Angels Sing.

On our way out, we walked past a lounge area with a few residents, so we decided to stop and sing a little for them, too. One of the workers sat down to enjoy our performance, and I then I began to hear her singing along ... in harmony! As she sang, she stroked what little hair remained on a female resident's balding head. What kind of people work at rest homes? The kind who stroke an old lady's thinning hair while she sang Christmas carols in her ear.

It made me think of my own father, who is nearing the end of his life. He is still at home (in America) with the help of visiting hospice workers and my mother (a.k.a. the saint), but has lost mobility and has little awareness of the outside world. Two of our grown sons live in the same town as Grandma and Grandpa, so they've been visiting almost daily, often to transfer him from bed to wheelchair or back. In return, Grandma feeds them home-cooked meals every Sunday night as a respite from the usual junk food diet typical to single men in their mid-twenties. This inter-generational arrangement began about five years ago, when the boys would mow the lawn or clean the gutters in return for Sunday night dinner. Slowly it has evolved into care and feeding of Grandpa as his condition worsened. Whereas Grandma and Grandpa used to babysit our sons 20 years ago, now our son babysits Grandpa so Grandma can attend church. Our boys have always had a close relationship with "G-ma" and "G-pa" because we lived next door to them for 15 years when the boys were growing up. Grandma's house served as a handy refuge whenever your brothers were picking on you, or your mother wanted you to clean your room. You could just head next door where Grandma would give you cookies and you could lie on the carpet, use the dog's belly as a pillow, and watch a baseball game with Grandpa. All would be well again. They were fortunate to have Grandma and Grandpa as part of their daily lives and even if the boys don't realise it yet, they're fortunate to be part of this stage of Grandpa's life. My dad is also fortunate to have support from them and from the rest of the children and grandchildren who have visited. Most of all, my dad is fortunate to have my mother, who is probably singing Christmas carols into his ear and stroking his thinning hair as we speak.

Off we went to the next rest home - without getting lost, thanks to the fine navigating skills of our mapigator. We had acquired a few more carolers by now, including our conductor who managed to bring some order to our chaotic musical skills. Without him we started Silent Night way too high at the last place. It's a terrible feeling to start singing the first 2 or 3 notes, and then realise you're going to sound squeaky tying to get all the way up to "All is calm."

We arranged ourselves in a lounge where there were about a dozen residents, and we started singing. During the third song, a little old lady came hobbling in, waving her arms as if she was conducting the music. She called, "Is that my husband?" If she was disappointed to see our conductor instead of her husband, she didn't show it. She sat down with some difficulty, and continued to conduct every song. She was not just some joker waving her arms around, trying to imitate a conductor. No, she knew what she was doing and clearly had a background in music. Perhaps her husband had been a choir director ages ago. Perhaps our music took her back to those days.

As we arrived at the third scheduled nursing home, we acquired about 5 more singers including two teenage boys, their dad, and their grandmother, and filled into their lounge area to sing. You'd think that most Christmas carols would be familiar to me and Curt, but being American expats in New Zealand, we keep discovering (belatedly) that familiar titles are actually different tunes. We're used to a different version of O Little Town of Bethlehem which is in a minor key, but the version here is peppy and upbeat. The NZ carol songbooks had two versions of Away in a Manger, but neither of them were the one we were used to in the US. It keeps us on our toes. For our final song at the nursing home, we decided to sing We Wish You a Merry Christmas. Easy enough. Everyone knows that song, right? Wrong. This version is a round, lickety-split like a fugue, and about 12 pages long. We're sightreading it and it feels like we're riding in a runaway sleigh, which seems strangely appropriate in spite of the 75º weather outside.

After singing at three nursing homes, we still have one mini-performance to go: we have to sing for our supper at the parsonage. Curt and I managed to find the parsonage all by ourselves(!) without getting lost, we all entertained our hosts, and then everyone started munching. I looked around at this group of people who have taken us into their lives, invited us into their homes, and shared their goodwill with us, and I was filled with emotion. This morning at church, I kissed the downy head of a 2-week-old baby girl born to our conductor and his wife. This evening I saw music trigger deep memories in 100-year olds. Merry Christmas.

Fun with Words

My apologies for using so many Kiwi-isms in our Christmas letter, but I just have too much fun playing with language! Our family has always liked to play with words. When the boys were little, they liked to call me Marm instead of Mom (they still do), and then they started making words rhyme with Marm such as possiblarm (possibly) and taking a schwarm (shower). Austin also used to claim that since the plural of octopus was octopi, then the plural of bus was bi. Twenty-five years have gone by, but we still enjoy using our made-up words. On Saturdays, Curt always lows the mawn (mows the lawn). We go to the grocerary store. We wash the launderary. We wear soxes and we eat grapeses. We try not to talk like this in public, or people might think we're mentally challenged. But it is our family lingo.

Well, you can probably imagine how much fun we're having in a new country, trying to learn new words and phrases and pronunciations!

Sayings:
I'm reading a book of Kiwi sayings. It's a relief to see that some sayings (like hissy fit) are used in both US and NZ. Other US sayings will be incomprehensible to Kiwis, such as "out in left field" which is a baseball saying, and nobody plays baseball here. I recently learned the saying "That's not cricket!" which means "that's not fair" or that's not how it's supposed to be done." I've also noticed how US sayings - but not NZ sayings - have been influenced by Spanish words and by Jewish culture (such as schmuck). Instead, New Zealand has Maori words mixed in. At my school, the student commons or student lounge area is called the whanau space which is Maori for family.

Pronunciation:
• In NZ, they pronounce the H in herbs. And vitamin is pronounced "VITT-a-min." They say "ba-NAH-na" and "to-MAH-to" but potato is still pronounced "po-TAY-to." Don't ask me why. Lat week I actually said "to-MAH-to" during a conversation, and my colleagues got all excited.
• I've also been trying to get them to teach me to say scone properly, because we get scones for teatime every Wednesday. I explained that I pronounce it "scone," rhyming with "phone" and "throne," right? I thought I'd proved my point. But then Lara said "scone" rhymes with "gone." What??? English is such an impossible language. Why doesn't "gone" rhyme with "phone"? Good grief. So every Wednesday I try to pronounce it like "sconn" or "scunn." Then I ask, "Did I do it right?" Their response is to bust out laughing. Apparently I need some more practise.
• Another noticeable difference is the pronunciation of su as shu. For instance, peninsula is pronounced "pen-IN-shu-la." If you're trying to sound hoity-toity, you'd say it more like "pen-in-SYU-la," but most people shorten syu to shu. Other examples are: "con-SHU-mer" (consumer) and even "SHTU-dent" (student). This all seemed very strange to me until I realised that American English does the same thing in issue, sugar, and insurance. Do you hear the sh sound? I remember learning how to spell sugar when I was little and wondering how on earth the sh sound was supposed to be spelled su! Well, 40 years later, it finally makes sense. It probably used to be pronounced "SYU-gar." These are things only an English teacher like me would contemplate.
• You've probably heard the British-type pronunciation of secretary as "SEC-re-tree" with only 3 syllables instead of 4. Well, the same applies for library - it has 2 syllables: "LI-bree." And I work in a LI-bree. Every time I answer the phone, I'm supposed to say "Hello. LI-bree. This is Megan." I'm trying to say LI-bree, but let's face it, I'm not very good at saying it like this. So the person on the other end of the phone usually takes an extra second to process what I just said and whom they might be talking to. They often hesitate and sound as if they're worried they may have dialed a wrong number.
• I haven't been able to figure out any pattern to New Zealanders' pronunciation of foreign words. New Zealanders butcher the foreign pronunciation of pasta, saying it "PA-sta" instead of the Italian "PAH-sta" while Americans maintain the original Italian "PAH-sta." But New Zealanders maintain the original French pronunciation of debut as "day-BOO," which Americans butcher into "day-"BYU," Who can keep these things straight?
• Curt often gets in trouble in choir when he sings "planted" real loud instead of "plahnted" or "master" instead of "mahster." (I'd get in trouble, too, but I don't sing as loud as Curt.) But our choir director is happy when we sing "oh" because the Kiwi o sounds more like "ow." Think Eliza Doolittle before she met Professor Higgins.

Words:
• In America, students take tests. In New Zealand, students sit exams. When you think about it, nobody really "takes" a test. It sounds like you grabbed it off the teacher's desk, stuffed it inside your coat and ran out the door with it. On the other hand, sitting an exam sounds like you put the paper on your chair and sat on it, which makes about as much sense as stealing it. So neither of these verbs are very accurate. Oh well.
• When you do something well in NZ, people say "good on you!" In the US, we would say "good for you." The Kiwi version still sounds funny to my ears, but neither preposition makes much sense when you think about it (and I obviously do). Does it mean the speaker is bestowing some goodness ON you because you did something good? Or that there will be goodness FOR you at a later date ... perhaps in heaven? Who knows.

As you can see, one of the things that I love about living overseas is that there's constantly new things to learn. I guess immigrating wouldn't be such a good idea if you were the type of person who is set in their ways. No, you have to be someone who is willing to adapt. And I truly love noticing all the cultural differences. Perhaps it keeps me young ... well, at least it keeps my mind sharp.

Christmas letter 2006

As you are unwrapping your gifts on Christmas morning, we will be celebrating our one-year anniversary of immigrating to New Zealand. As expected, it’s been a grand adventure:

We arrived last year on Christmas Day and spent the next month or so finding a place to live, buying cars (for driving on the other side of the road) and appliances (with funny-looking plugs), and job-hunting for Curt.

He quickly got a job as a hydropower engineer, which has been an easy-peasey transition from his work in the hydro industry in Oregon. He's still a dam engineer. He likes it. He visits lots of dam job sites and coordinates things with the dam contractors. Really. He also likes to ride his bike to work every day, as long as he doesn’t get a puncture. He eventually resorted to bullet-proof (Kevlar) tyres. Really.

My first job as an intermediate school teacher turned out to be a major dog’s breakfast (if you can’t imagine what this phrase might mean, you’ll find the definition in the next paragraph). For instance, one day a student got angry and chucked a chair through the window and broke it (the window, not the chair). I was absolutely gob-smacked. Well, that job was making me miserable so now I have a different job as a school librarian at a posh private high school for girls. (On a side note, I never imagined myself surrounded by 1500 females, having lived with 2 brothers, then a husband and 4 sons!) Being a librarian is everything I love - books, organising, bulletin board displays, students who want to read, no grading papers and no report cards. It's a dream job. It was a struggle to leave teaching behind, though, and I may still go back to it someday. For now, I'm loving the freedom and the time that comes with NOT being a teacher, which allows me to explore and enjoy New Zealand more.

Throughout the year, we’ve tried to do some traveling around New Zealand and so far we have seen the national capital building (called the Beehive), giant kauri trees, endangered kiwi birds, stinky sulphur geysers in an active volcano area, Maori cultural performances, museums, concerts, bookstores, oodles of sheep, and tonnes of beaches. We’ve learned about ANZAC Day and Guy Fawkes Day, rugby and cricket (well … not so much about cricket). We’ve eaten pavlova (a dessert) and kumara (a sweet potato). We still manage to muck up the pronunciation of both Kiwi/English and Maori words, but we have figured out that taxes are called rates and the mailman is called a postie. We also know that wop-wops is any remote area out in the middle of nowhere, and a dog’s breakfast means a real mess. Living in a different country on the other side of the world is an exhilarating experience, constantly learning new and exciting things.

In July, we went back to visit the familiar world of Bellingham. My dad had suffered a stroke (plus 3 more since then) and I stayed for 2 weeks. For now, he’s unbelievably frail but still hanging on. My mom is a saint and is (of course) coping extraordinarily well with some assistance from hospice care, and from Austin & Nolan who both live in town and help devotedly. In addition, my brother and his family have recently moved back to Bellingham so for the most part, everything is sussed (taken care of).

While we were in Bellingham, we got to see all 4 boys and loads of old friends, which was nice. Nolan graduates from WWU in March, and he & his girlfriend will be coming to stay with us in New Zealand for 2 months. Carlin graduates from Multnomah Bible College in May and is coming out for a while. Boone started the engineering program at UW in the fall, but may change his plans and come to NZ for a while, too. That’s fine with us; we like having them around. The only one who doesn’t have immediate plans to visit is Austin, who is content in Bellingham with a good job and a long-term girlfriend.

We also bought a house in September (so we’d have room for the boys to visit) and are all moved in. We were in a small rental house before, so it feels good to be more permanently shifted; to finally unpack everything and to get sorted. (Amazingly, nothing in the container was broken when it was shipped across the ocean.) Even better, we have a real address this year so everyone can post Christmas cards to us!

Meanwhile, we found a nice church home and joined the choir and have made heaps of friends. Last weekend was our church’s big Messiah sing-along: two hundred people singing Halleluiah Chorus + soloists from the opera company + a trumpeter = a flash event. It is a little strange here to have all the Christmas music and Christmas sales going on while it's 75º out and everybody's shopping in jandals (flip-flops). But I’m not complaining.

Curt’s company closes down their entire office for 2 weeks at Christmas time, and my school will be closed for summer holiday by then, so we're flying across the ditch to Sydney Australia for a week. Christmas in Sydney will be pretty cool (actually it'll be pretty hot, but you know what I mean), especially the New Year’s Eve fireworks from the Harbour Bridge.

So while you’re toasting each other with champagne on New Year’s Eve, think of us toasting each other with champagne overlooking the Sydney Opera House. Even though we’ll actually be in Australia at the time, we’ll still be toasting our new life in New Zealand. Ultimately, it’s turned out to be a brilliant year. Cheers!

Antipodean Holidays: Halloween & Guy Fawkes Day

Being in a new country, we have to get used to different holidays. The day after we arrived, it was Boxing Day, which is not celebrated in the US. As the year progressed, we learned about and celebrated Waitangi Day, ANZAC Day, Queen's Birthday, Mother's Day in May but Father's Day in September, and Labour Day in October.
Most recently, we had Halloween on October 31 and Guy Fawkes Day on November 5:

HALLOWEEN -
Sadly, it's not a big holiday here. Many of you know how much I liked dressing up as the Energizer Bunny, wearing pink footy pajamas, and banging my drum all day at school. Good times. Plus there's all that chocolate. Need I say more? I LOVE Halloween. Our own family tradition included the Annual Pumpkin Throwing on November 1st when we lobbed the now-rotten pumpkin off the deck into the wheelie bin below. So I was disappointed to find out that nobody really does anything for Halloween. No pumpkins to carve. Nobody at school dresses up. I had resigned myself to Halloween as a non-event.

Imagine my suprise when trick-or-treaters came to my door about 6:30! Uh oh. I had nothing to give them. There were 4 cute little kids with 2 moms, and all I could do was plead American ignorance; "I was told you didn't celebrate Halloween in NZ. Sorry! I don't have anything to give you." The oldest girl, about 8, responded cheerfully, "That's OK. Thank you! Have a Happy Halloween!" She was so polite and so sincere. I felt like a heel.

After they left, I rummaged through my kitchen and found some chocolate granola bars to give away, in case more kids show up. And they did. Then more. Then I ran out of chocolate granola bars and had to resort to blackberry ones. After 16 kids, and dwindling supplies, I decided to send Curt to the local dairy (convenience store) for lollies (candy). Alas, no more kids arrived, wouldn't you know it. But still, we had more trick-or-treaters here than we had in the US in the last 5 years!

And I'm proud to say that I took the lollies to work the next day to give to student helpers so I wouldn't eat them all myself. (But I did manage to eat a few.)

GUY FAWKES DAY -
I find this holiday quite confusing. Here's what I've learned:
Back in England in 1605, Guy Fawkes and 12 other guys tried to blow up Parliament, which including killing the King and all the Lords. They didn't like the current government because they were Catholics and the government was anti-Catholic. Or something like that. It was supposed to be the beginning of a mass Catholic uprising in England.

Instead, on November 5 Guy Fawkes got caught red-handed with 36 barrels of gunpowder in the basement of the Parliament building. He was arrested and later executed.

So every year on November 5, England celebrates the failed gunpowder plot ... by lighting fireworks, bonfires, and effigies of either Guy Fawkes or the Pope(!).

Here's a few problems I have with this holiday:
1. It's not very clear if the holiday is to celebrate the plotters, or to celebrate the government who thwarted the plot. Some of the English have been known to wonder, in a tongue in cheek kind of way, whether they are celebrating Fawkes' execution or honoring his attempt to do away with the government.

2. By naming the holiday after the "bad guy" they have immortalized his name. It's a little like naming 9/11 Osama Bin Laden Day.

3. Speaking of names, it's crazy that Guy Fawkes got the holiday named after him, because he wasn't even the leader of the group! He was just the one who was caught first. The ringleader probably thought it was pretty unfair that the holiday wasn't named after him, but was named after one of his underlings instead. Of course, he was dead by then, but still.

4. Why blow things up when celebrating that you didn't get blown up? It lacks logic. It's like celebrating the day you almost died from e coli by going out and eating undercooked hamburger. I don't get it.

5. This is New Zealand. Nobody tried to blow up our Parliament in 1605. We didn't have a Paliament in 1605. This place was inhabited solely by Maoris in 1605. Australia doesn't celebrate Guy Fawkes Day. Why does NZ?

6. Mostly, this holiday appears to be an excuse to set off lots of fireworks - accidentally starting fires, causing injuries, and scaring animals. This year, the city council debated whether to ban private fireworks because the firefighters and police and hospitals are so overworked that night. This did NOT turn out to be a very popular idea!

So the fireworks continue. That's OK, I guess.
I now know a little more about Guy Fawkes. That's fine.
And I didn't singlehandedly eat bags and bags of M&Ms and Hersheys and Reeses and Almond Joys ....
That's probably good, too.

Megan

A series of unfortunate events

I feel like we've been bragging and gloating too much lately about our nice new house and cool jobs. So I thought I should share with you a few of the minor snafus we've experienced lately, just so you don't think we're living in utopia here.

1. No parking
Our choir was supposed to go to Pitt St. Methodist Church for a rehearsal with their choir one Saturday morning. It's located downtown, and we couldn't find anywhere to park. We drove around the block a few times (actually 3 blocks when you factor in the one-way streets) and finally found a place on Pitt St, only to discover that a) we didn't have any change for the parking meter and b) the parking meter takes credit cards but not debit cards ... and we didn't have the credit card with us. The parking warden stopped and talked to us and recommended a few other locations. So we got back in the car and drove arond the blocks a few more times. Finally on our 4th time around, we accidentally ended up in a turn-only lane which forced us on the motorway headed south. So we gave up and went home. So much for choir practice.

2. Getting Lost
Our choir was supposed to sing for a church member at her nursing home because she was turning 106(!). Curt and I arrived at the nursing home, which is a campus of 10 buildings and we didn't know where the singing was supposed to be. All the doors were locked and there was no office or infomation desk in sight. We didn't see anyone from choir. We didn't hear any singing. They must have been there somewhere, but we couldn't find them. After a while, we gave up and left. (Do I sense a pattern here?)
The regular choir practice was going to take place back at the church about 45 minutes later, and we had some time to kill, so we headed to the electronics store ... which was closed. Another wasted trip. (Uh oh. There's definitely a pattern happening.)
So we gave up and headed back to choir practice. We were the first ones there (everyone else was still at the nursing home having tea and cookies) and we debated whether to confess that we'd been there or to just act like we never intended to go there in the first place. I ended up confessing and getting loads of symathy, especially since it was the second time we'd missed an event recently.

3. Getting towed
Normally, I have to be at work every morning at 7:30 so it's easy to find a place to park on the street out by the school's front gate. I've never had to search for parking options on any other streets because I'm the first one to arrive every day.
Well, one day I offered to work from 12 to 7 because the usual librarian was unavailable. When I arrived at school just before noon, there were no parking places to be seen. Eventually I saw someone pulling out of a spot along the side of the school where there were 20 other cars. So I parked there and went to work.
At 7:00, I came out and my car was GONE! (as were all the other 20 cars) Had my car been stolen? I found the school security guard and we figured out that it must have been towed. Apparently the space along the side of the school was a bus zone between 2-4. Oops.
The next problem was to find out which towing company had my car. While the security guy searched for that bit of information, I went back in the library and called Curt to come and get me. All I can say is it's a good thing we have 2 cars.
I felt like crying. I was so frustrated for doing something dumb and expensive and it had been a long day. Besides, why didn't the school just call me to move my car? They have the license plates of both our cars on record just for this reason. (At least with this reasoning, I could act like it wasn't entirely my fault.)
Anyway, Curt came to get me and I finally got home about 8:00. The next morning, he took me to work, one of the other librarians (bless her heart) drove me to the tow yard, and I retrieved my car. It cost me $112 NZ = $72 US : (

In spite of these recent snafus, we still feel like we're pretty lucky - and very happy - to be living here. Let's face it, we DO have cool jobs and we DO have a nice house. Most of all, we live on a tropical island in the South Pacific!! ... Even though I probably shouldn't brag about it. Sorry.

Megan

Moving up in the World

We are now proud residents of Meadowbank: Curt got everything moved into our new house on Friday and finished by 1:30 (except the grand piano which didn't get moved until Sat). I was at work all day Friday and Curt had 3 furniture movers and a big truck. I think it was just as well that I wasn't there. That way I didn't have to watch, and I'm not much help carrying big stuff anyway. So by the time I got home from work, the bed was assembled and the living room furniture was in place. We also had the telephone & broadband guy and the cable guy at the new house on Friday so everything was hooked up and worked! That night, we went out to celebrate at an Italian restaurant on the corner which may become our favourite place. Mmmm mmmm. In Portland, we used to go to Da Vinci's restaurant. Carlin and Boone will remember it. Now it looks like we'll go to Portofino's. They do takeout food, too. Watch out.

Saturday I unpacked lots while Curt cleaned everything at the old house and supervised the piano movers. Our Samoan neighbours gave us a big bag of lemons off their tree as a farewell gift. I think we'll make fresh lemonade! As he left, Curt also grabbed the last of the grapefruits from our tree so he can make grapefruit juice one last time. In the new house, the piano fit nicely into a nook designed for a formal dining room table. It's the perfect spot. So elegant and inviting. Once the piano was all set up, Curt put all the paintings up on the walls. For most people, the paintings on the walls are the last thing done, and it's usually a symbol of completion. But for us, paintings are a much higher priority so they go up first! At least we have enough wall space in this house. Hanging the paintings makes it look like home already.

On Sunday morning I started to have problems: it was time to go to church but I couldn't find my choir music. Uh oh. I'd packed it with the other music from the piano bench and wrote MUSIC on the box because I knew I'd need it. We both looked all over the house, through the garage and everywhere and couldn't locate any box labeled MUSIC. So we headed off to church anyway. The second problem was that we hadn't been grocery shopping for a few days so there was nothing to eat Sunday morning. No bread, no milk, no cereal, no fruit. When we got to church the choir conductor's wife (who is 8 months pregnant) had baked us muffins as a housewarming gift ... and they were still hot! We opened them on the spot and pigged out. It was just what we needed until we could stop at the grocery store on the way home.

After church, Curt's main job was to get the washer and dryer hooked up.
Mounting the dryer on the wall above the washer was no easy task, and Curt requested my help – not because he thought I could contribute much muscle power, but because he needed someone to swear at while he grunted and whinged (that's a Kiwi word for whining). I dutifully provided moral support and encouragement while he practiced his potty-mouth. Next, Curt got to rest, sitting on the deck drinking coffee in the sunshine, while we started catching up on 5 days' worth of laundry. Overall, it's hard to complain much.

We've never had a kitchen this big or this nice. Remember, our house in Bellingham was big (6+ bedrooms) but the kitchen was tiny. And the kitchen in Portland was old with little counter space. Our galley kitchen in the rental house in Avondale was even smaller. But we finally have a nice, big, newer, pretty kitchen. Hurray! It's good to finally unpack china and things that I packed with Portland newspapers dated October 23, 2005 (one year ago). And nothing is broken. Amazing.

We've never had 3 bathrooms before either. Or a walk-in closet. I feel like I'm finally all grown up. And it only took 49 years.

Where we live, there's 4 houses all facing the same courtyard of driveways and I met one of the neighbours yesterday, a wonderful lady about 40, who is a hospital administrator, and moved here from Germany 18 years ago. New Zealand sure is an international place. Our 4 houses are located on what used to be train right-of-way. There's a commuter train line that runs through the gully behind our house. Apparently the train company owned 300 feet on each side of the tracks and later decided they only needed 150 feet on each side. Somebody bought the excess land and these 4 houses were added behind the existing houses that face the street. As a result, we're really tucked away from the street which is nice and quiet, but it is hard to find our address. I also love the sound of the trains going by. Listening to the choo choo trains was always my favourite part of going to a Mariners game at Safeco field. But my trains don't toot their whistle here. They're short – only 4 cars long – and quieter than freight trains. I like it.

So we're settling in. We survived another move without any major injuries to people or belongings. Oh, except we can't find our big rolling garbage can (a.k.a rubbish bin) assigned to this address. If that's the worst glitch so far, I figure we're in pretty good shape. All I need to do now is find my choir music before next Sunday.

Megan