My First Muesli

As much as I would have liked to, I couldn’t stay in bed all day yesterday.  So, after a good amount of lazing around in my fortress of warmth, I finally had to brave the cold of my apartment and do something with myself.  And what better to do on a cold day than bake?  (Twist my arm!)  So, of course, that’s exactly what I did.

Brrrrr!

I don’t want people to get the wrong idea, because the weather is typically amazing here, but today is absolutely miserable.  It’s the most wretched combination of cold, wet, and rain.  And, thanks to the lack of central heat, my apartment could double for a massive walk-in cooler!  It’s thoroughly frigid.  I’m pretty sure I can see my breath.  (No joke!)  To combat said misery, I’ve set up camp in my bedroom, cranked up my mini-radiator, and piled on the few blankets I own.  I have absolutely no motivation to leave this small bastion of warmth.  Besides, if you could see my outfit, you would laugh.  I look like a bag lady!  I didn’t pack many cold-weather clothes, so I’m sporting a multitude of layers, including ski socks and a knitted cap.  I feel ridiculous, but at least I’m warm.  I still haven’t worked out how I’m going to get myself coffee or breakfast without having to brave the cold, which is permeating the rest of my apartment, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out.

The Missing Link

Saturday turned out to be a minor social coup of sorts.  For the first time in a very long time, I actually felt like I had a social life.  It was nothing short of amazing.  Since Mouse’s departure, I’ve either worked or sat home alone on a Saturday night.  (Pitiful, huh?)  Not this weekend, though.  I actually went out, with friends.  (Shocking, I know.)  I dusted off my social skills and ventured upriver, where I met up with a coworker and her partner for a low-key, West End outing.  It was good.  Everything seemed to mesh; the drinks, the food, and the conversation all flowed perfectly.  We drank a little too much and laughed just the right amount.  It was exactly how a Saturday afternoon/evening should be spent.  It was exactly what I’ve been missing.

The Koala Myth

Grrrr…  I have, once again, failed in my ongoing attempt to spot a koala in the wild.  I’ve communed with possums, kangaroos, emus, bush turkeys, and exotic birds, but the koala manages to elude me.  I’m becoming somewhat disillusioned and paranoid, considering that koalas don’t actually exist in the wild.  I’ve started to contemplate the distinct possibility that koalas are, in fact, a mythical creature created by the Aussies to taunt foreign visitors.  Sure, they laze about in zoos and nature sanctuaries, but they don’t really roam the wild.  And until I witness hard evidence to the contrary, I’m going to take this theory and run with it.

I did have a moment of hopeful anticipation this morning, though, as I hiked up the Mt. Warning summit trail.  I tramped through the rainforest, keenly observing my surroundings, spurred on by the online trail descriptions’ promises of abundant native wildlife.  And, after only a few minutes, I heard rustling in the nearby brush.  I held my breath and strained to see what was creating the raucous.  I was convinced it had to be a koala!  I was so excited that I nearly wet myself!  Sadly, it turned out to merely be two joeys playing around.  Humph!  Under normal circumstances, I would be pleased with my kangaroo encounter, but I’m becoming very single-minded.  I’m dying to see a koala!  No such luck today.

Don’t feel too bad for me, though.  Today’s hike was a great day trip.  I ventured south to northern New South Wales, making my way through the vast sugar cane fields to reach Mt. Warning, so named by Captain Cook named in 1770 because it warned approaching vessels of the reef bordering the coastline.  Prior to his arrival, the aboriginals had called it Wollumbin, fighting chief of the mountains.  And, as I approached the looming rock face, it seemed every bit the majestic chief of aboriginal mythology.  Even the overcast weather couldn’t detract from its beauty; the resulting mist that crept up the mountain only added to its mysterious allure.  It turned out to be a really cool way to spend, what could have been, a lonely Sunday.  Anyway, I hope you enjoy the pictures, which are featured in the current slideshow to the right.

Aussie Speak: Part 2

 Australian Urban Dictionary

(aka Aussie speak for Yanks)

Part 2: My Favorite Aussie'isms

·      Cheers!  (ch i(ə)rz)  exclamation, informal: expressing good wishes, used in a myriad of contexts, including “hello”, “good-bye”, “OK”, “no worries”, “too bad”, “sorry”, etc.

e.g. – 1) It was good to see you again.  Cheers!, 2) You didn’t want onions on that?  I’ll send it back.  Cheers!

·      bugger (ˈbəg gə) vulgar slang 1) noun: a contemptible person, 2) exclamation: to express annoyance, 3) phrasal verb: go away (imperative)

e.g. – 1) All right, tell the bugger he can come in.  2) Oh, bugger!  I forgot to lock the front door!  3) You’re annoying me!  Bugger off!

·      heaps (hēps) adverb, informal: a great deal, or a large amount of

e.g. – Be careful!  There are heaps of sharks out there!

·      chockers (ch äk (ə)rz) adjective, informal: to be full beyond capacity, containing or holding as much or as many as possible, at capacity

e.g. – I had to sit on my suitcase to close it!  It was chockers!

·      How’re you going? greeting: akin to the American phrase, “How are you doing?”

e.g. – G’day!  How’re you going?

·      Good on you!  exclamation: good for you!

e.g. – Hey, mate - I hear you got a promotion yesterday.  Good on you!

·      onya (ôn yə) exclamation: conjunction of “good for you!”

e.g. – Did you really win the office footy pool?  Onya!

·      full-on (foŏl- ôn) adjective: forceful or extreme, intense

e.g. – Hey, mate!  Did you catch the footy match last night? It was full-on!

·      s’arvo (s’ är vō) conjunction, noun: the time from noon or lunchtime until evening

e.g. – Hey, mate!  What are you up to s’arvo?

Big News Day

It’s been a massive news day here in Australia.  First, there was the World Cup.  Team Australia won their match, but didn’t score enough points to advance to the next level.  For a country obsessed with sports, this was a big deal.  The news programs were abuzz with shock and dismay in the wee hours of the morning.

But, just a few hours later, came the big shocker… they had a new Prime Minister!  No election.  No impeachment trial.  No muss or fuss.  The reigning Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd, although emotional, simply made an incredibly gracious announcement that he was resigning office, as per his party’s wishes.  Shortly thereafter, Julia Gillard, the newly appointed Prime Minister, took office, without any pomp and circumstance.  Just like that, in one fell swoop of nonchalance, she became the highest-ranking government official of Australia.

It’s intriguing, watching a country’s history unfold around me, without having any real opinions about it.  I’ve never been a hugely political person, but living here has afforded me a whole new level of detachment.  I listen to my coworkers rant and rave about politics, without the slightest desire or need to enter into the conversation.  I guess that’s one advantage to life as an expat.  I don’t have to concern myself with tax policies or party politics, because none of it really affects me.  I’m just here to live and work.  It’s refreshing - this simple, uncomplicated existence.  I enjoy observing everything from an outsider’s vantage point.  Because, from where I stand, I am able to truly question what all the drama is about.

Shut Down

It’s official.  Our ward has been shut down. We got the call this morning, confirming that yet another patient contracted VRE, bringing the total to seven patients in three weeks.  We were aghast and embarrassed.  (We wash our hands!  Really!)  Before we could blink, Infection Control had swooped in with their menacing signs and stern looks of disapproval.  The doors to the ward were shut.  The patients who had tested positive were whisked away to the infectious disease ward.  The remaining patients must stay put - no campus privileges (Sorry, smokers!) and no transfers, save for a medical emergency.  No new admissions permitted, either.  We were lectured at length on the importance of hand hygiene.  Oh – and everyone working on the ward, doctors included, must wear little plastic aprons.  (Which we don’t change between patients, so how is that is going to prevent the spread of anything?)

The entire situation is mind-boggling.  I’ve never heard of an entire ward shutting down for infection control purposes.  (I haven’t been a nurse too long, though, so maybe this is more common than I realize?)  But, I’m also surprised of this nature hasn’t happened sooner.  The majority of our patients reside in ward-style rooms, each housing four beds.  Private or semi-private rooms are virtually non-existent.  The bathroom is shared.  The shower room is shared.  The vital signs machine is shared, so the BP cuff goes from one patient to the next.  And when one bed is discharged, another one is immediately wheeled in to fill the empty space.  We wipe down the bed and equipment, but the entire room isn’t disinfected.  The floor isn’t mopped.  The curtains aren’t changed.  How does anyone expect germs not to get spread?

But, as far as I’m concerned, the clincher for this entire debacle is the lack of full contact precautions (gown, gloves and mask), once we know a patient is positive. Instead, we are to don the afore-mentioned plastic apron and gloves when entering said patient’s room.  (We can’t even get our hands on the full disposable gowns, as they’re not stocked on our floor!)  How is a little piece of plastic going to do any good?  Maybe full contact precautions (as practiced back home) are a little bit of overkill, but that policy seems to have prevented entire units from closing down.  I realize I’m not an infection control expert and, certainly, am not up to speed on the latest literature, but I’m seriously questioning the current policies.  It’s going to be interesting to see how this entire situation plays out and if it incites any policy changes.  Don’t worry… I will be sure to keep you posted.

My Sticky-Sweet Obsession

OK.  Please forgive the strangeness of this entry.  I realize it has nothing to do with nursing, or living in Australia, or even the on-going struggle with my oven.  (By the way, the score is now 3:2, and I’m in the lead!)  But I simply cannot help myself.  Last night, as I was standing over the stovetop, making caramel for a co-worker’s birthday cake, I had a minor revelation.  I was overcome by how much I truly enjoy making caramel.  Strange, right?  I’m not kidding, though.  I absolutely love everything about it.  Something about making caramel speaks to me.  (I know, I know… I am so weird!)  I love that it starts with nothing more than sugar and water.  I love standing watch over the two elements as they dissolve into each other, eventually morphing into a bubbly, viscous concoction.  It’s entrancing.  I doubly love that it takes more than technical skill to make a good caramel.  It requires a feel for the entire process, an instinct for the right moment to add the cream.  Too soon and the caramel will be runny, lacking depth of flavor.   Too long and it will be nothing more than scorched mess stuck to the bottom of a saucepan.  But when done right, it transforms into a smooth, sweet, silky caramel sauce.  It has to be one of the most satisfying processes ever.  Anyway, see below for my favorite caramel recipe if you’re interested testing my hypothesis.

Caramel Sauce

½ cup water

2 TBS light corn syrup or honey**

1 cup sugar

1 cup heavy cream

1/8 tsp salt

½ tsp vanilla extract

2 TBS unsalted butter

Place water, corn syrup (or honey), and sugar in a saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat.  Do not stir!  Brush down and sugar crystals that may adhere to the side of the pan with water.

Boil until the mixture is thick and caramel colored – about the color of straw.

Reduce the heat to medium and continue to cook 1-2 minutes until the color of deep amber.

Add the cream and salt.  The mixture will seize and bubble up.  Keep the burner at medium and continue stirring until the sugar is incorporated again and the sauce is smooth.

Remove the heat and add the vanilla and butter.

Cool and refrigerate.

**I added 2 TBS of raw, unprocessed wildflower honey for this last batch and it was AMAZING!  The unique honey flavor really came out, making this caramel wonderfully different.

The Question of the Day

I could kick myself.  I totally came across as a self-righteous, know-it-all, b**** at work today.  I didn’t mean to – I swear.  My stomach is actually a tad sour from the whole thing.  My intent was merely to point out a specific difference in Aussie v. American nursing practice, something that had been bothering me for a while.  I also meant to encourage my coworkers to think about their own practice.  But, how does one do that without sounding “holier than thou”?  I’m fairly certain it’s impossible.  Maybe if I possessed even the slightest amount of tact or finesse…

Hospital life is simply different here -not worse or substandard – just different.  So, I ask a lot of questions.  And I don’t just want to know how they do things, but why they do things. Sadly, my curiosity is often answered with, “That’s the way we were taught in university, so that’s how we do it.”  (Huh?  Isn’t such thinking the exact opposite of evidence-based nursing?)  Thus, I often find myself holding my tongue.  I don’t want to be seen as a negative, critical person.  And I certainly don’t want to be known as a stereotypical, arrogant American.  (I already catch enough flack for being a Yank!)  But, my inquisitive nature prompts me to question the theory behind certain practices.  And then I end up falling into the trap I was vigorously hoping to avoid. 

So, it’s safe to say, I’m still caught in the transition period where I’m learning how to adapt my skills and knowledge to this new environment.  It’s interesting, and I am learning a lot.  I just hope I get through it without alienating myself!

A Beautiful Day in My Neighborhood

At the cost of sounding incredibly Mr. Roger’s-esque, it really is a beautiful day in my neighborhood.  The sun is shining.  The birds are chirping.  It’s gorgeous!  It’s the kind of day that makes you want to grab a good book, head down to the local café, drink coffee on an outdoor patio, and relax.  If I didn’t have to work in a couple of hours, I would do just that.  (Oh – the injustice of it all!) 

Alas, I do have to work, so the café/book idea is a no-go.  Luckily, I have just enough time for a quick entry.  So, I’ve decided to write about my neighborhood.  Lately, I’ve been fostering this massive crush for said neighborhood, almost to the point of total infatuation.  Thus, it only makes sense I spend a little time to gush, and share my newfound love with all of you.

Everyone knows I live in Brisbane, but it’s a large city, with a plethora of diverse neighborhoods (or suburbs, as they say out here).  I live in the suburb of New Farm, only 2km from the city center.  It’s one of the oldest suburbs in Brisbane, and one of the most diverse.  I absolutely love living here.  I love the tree-lined streets.  I love that everything is within walking distance – the grocery store, great restaurants, shopping, even a movie theater.  I love being so close to the river.  I love our park.  I love the diversity of housing, with architectural styles ranging from old Queenslanders to renovated factories to modern apartment buildings.  It’s beautiful!  I truly am having a mini-love affair with this suburb.  (Except for the spiders.  I don’t love them one bit!)  Anyhow, I’ve posted a little slide show so all of you can where I live.  I hope you like it as much as I do!

Aussie Speak: Part 1

Aussie Urban Dictionary

(aka Aussie speak for Yanks)

Part 1: The Basics

·      G’day (ˈgid dā) exclamation: used as a greeting

e.g. – G’day, Fiona!  How was your weekend?

·      mate (māt) noun: anyone and everyone, regardless of age, gender, or social status

e.g. – G’day, mate!

·      Yank (ya ng k) noun: an American, sometimes used in a derogatory manner

e.g. – I hear that Yank accent.  Where are you from?

·      bloke (blōk) noun: a man

e.g. – Hey, mate!  You see that Yank bloke over there?  He’s from Las Vegas!

·      partner (pärtnər) noun: a member of an established couple, male or female (not indicative of heterosexuality or homosexuality, as in the U.S.)

e.g. – Alice and her partner, Gary, drove down to the Gold Coast for a relaxing weekend.

·      footy (ˈfoŏtē) noun: any Australian sport in which kicking a ball is involved; soccer, Australian Rules Football, Rugby League, and Rugby Union are all referred to as footy (only slightly confusing!)

e.g. – Hey, mate!  Did you catch the footy match last night?

·      barbie (bärbē) noun: a barbeque

e.g. – Let’s meet at the park at noon.  Bring some steak fillets (pronounced fill-its) for the barbie!

·      prawns (prôns) noun: a shrimp

e.g. – Look at all those prawns, I reckon we should throw some on the barbie!

A Tog by Any Other Name...

“So what do you call togs?” asked one of my coworkers, innocently enough.  It was approximately 4:00am and we were closing in on the final hours of our night shift.  We had been lucky.  It had been a calm night.  All of our patients were asleep and our paperwork was done.  So, we were chatting to kill time and stay awake.  The conversation had turned to the differences between Aussie English and American English. 

I attempted to process the question.  A what?  Togs?  That word didn’t even register in the deepest recesses of my vocabulary.  I was convinced I had heard her wrong, that my sleep-deprived brain was playing tricks on me.  I asked her to repeat the question.  “What do you call togs?” she repeated, straight-faced.  I must have given her the most clueless, blank look possible.  “You know, togs!  What is the American word for togs?” she prompted, as if repeating this absolutely foreign word would help.  There was no recognition on my end.  I was drawing a complete blank.  She must have thought I was incredibly daft. 

“OK.  You’re going to have to help me out,” I replied.  “I have no idea what that word refers to.  Can you, at least, describe it?”  She narrowed her eyes and looked at me like I was the slowest human being on the face of the earth.  I could almost hear the dismissive thoughts in her head.  She paused for a moment, and then continued.  “You know, togs.  It’s like a bathing suit, but it’s two pieces.”

“Like a bikini?” I asked.

“Yeah – they’re the same thing.  So, what do Americans call togs?”

“We call them bikinis.”

“Oh.”  She was absolutely deflated.  I had thoroughly disappointed her with my boring answer. 

But, that seems to be how things work.  Australian English has developed out of this great, quirky slang.  American English is much less creative and much more proper.  Learning the slang is one of my greatest sources of joy since moving here.  I have a good laugh, at least once a day, thanks to Aussie language.

So, I have decided to share my findings with you.  I am going to start an “Aussie Urban Dictionary” of sorts.  Each week, I will post new vocabulary or slang terms that I come across.  I hope it will be both educational and humorous.  Look for the first installment tomorrow.

Hanging by a Thread

“You fool!” yelled Thelma*, stomping her feet.  “You don’t know anything!”  I had been at work for less than five minutes and was already being berated by one of my patients.  It was my seventh shift straight; I had walked into the hospital with a fried brain and shot nerves.  This was definitely not how I had hoped to begin my day. 

Thelma may have looked like a sweet, little old lady, but she had a ferocious mean streak.  Her dementia, coupled with hospital-induced frustration, made her incredibly difficult to deal with.  So, here I was, kneeling on the bathroom floor, trying to maintain my cool and goad her into putting on underwear after an episode of incontinence.  Apparently, she wasn’t pleased with this proposition, hence the foot stomping and spittle on my face.  Just breathe, I thought, stay calm.  I tried to reason with her, to explain the situation, but she just wouldn’t (or couldn’t) process what I was saying.  It was futile.  My sanity was hanging by a thread.  I just wanted to get her clothed and back to bed – if only it were that easy.  Ugh!  Welcome to life on a neuroscience ward.

It’s been an interesting transition, going from the ICU setting to something less acute.  Some days, I enjoy it.  The opportunity to interact and bond with patients has (mostly) been a nice change of pace.  And, since our ward takes all of the non-ventilated, post-op neuro patients, I’m able to utilize my skills.  But, days like today are tough.  I can’t lie – I don’t enjoy chasing around after old, incontinent ladies.  It just isn’t my cup of tea.  But, these scenarios do provide me with lessons in patience, humility, and understanding - all of which I could probably use.  And, if nothing else, I do come home with great stories.  So, overall, this is proving to be a good work experience, which is all I can really hope for.

*The patient’s name has been changed to maintain her privacy.

More than a Run

I did it.  Just as I promised, I laced up my running shoes this morning, shrugged off my fears, and headed out the door.  I was determined not to let that punk affect my life in any permanent way, and this was my opportunity to prove it.  I didn’t follow the same route as Monday, but that doesn’t matter.  I still ran and faced my fears.  Running has always been a form of catharsis for me, but today it was so much more.  It was a statement, an act of defiance.  And, despite some lingering soreness from yesterday’s swim, it felt good.  As I stretched my legs and lengthened my pace, my determination and confidence came rushing back.  I felt stronger with every step.  By the time I had completed my loop and arrived home, I felt like a new person – emboldened and revived.  Who knew a simple morning run could prove to be so empowering?

The Irony of It All

OK.  It’s been a day.  I’ve had some time to process the event.  And, more than anything else, I’m angry.  I’m angry some random person, through one random act of aggression, has been able to affect my life in any way.  I hate that my stomach is still in knots.  I hate that I’m frightened.  I hate that I’ve started looking over my shoulder when I’m walking somewhere, suspicious of those around me.  It’s not fair.  One jerk, with no regard for others, shouldn’t be allowed to alter my outlook on life.  He shouldn’t have the power to change me, to shatter my sense of security.  But, like it or not, that is exactly what he’s done.  This incident has altered my view of the world, making me feel more vulnerable.  But, ironically, it’s also made me feel stronger, more confident in myself.  I had often wondered how I would react if I were ever attacked.  Now I know.  I reacted exactly as I had hoped.  I instinctively stood up for myself and fought back.  I didn’t let him get the upper hand (or my iPod).  Now I just need to work up the confidence to get out and run again, as I refuse to let him take that pleasure away.  I refuse to let him have any more influence over my life.  So, tomorrow morning, I will lace up my trusty running shoes and hit the pavement.  I may be a little more leery of others, but I will be out there, doing what I love.

Unexpected Incident

I had a great, lighthearted entry planned for today.  I was going to joke about it being another public holiday.  It was going to be witty and provide further insight into life out here.  I was working through it during my morning run.  I jogged along the River Walk, playing with words, contemplating lines, formulating quips.  It distracted me, preventing me from fully noticing my surroundings.

I saw him coming toward me, though.  He was young, dressed in a white tracksuit jacket and slouching shorts.  He looked like a typical, teenage (early 20s at best), wannabe-gangsta-thug – no one of concern.  He approached me, entering my personal space, as if to ask a question.  I ignored him and continued running.  From my peripheral vision, I noticed him jogging behind me, as if to catch up.  I remember thinking he was annoyingly persistent.  Then he lunged. 

The physical contact snapped me into reality, made me realize what was taking place.  He was attacking me.  This can’t be happening, I thought.  It’s broad daylight.  There are people around.  After that, there was no time to think, only to react.  I turned to face him.  Got in his face.  I fought back and shoved.  I screamed at the top of my lungs.  Shocked, he stumbled backwards and ran off.

He hadn’t hurt me, hadn’t even been able to steal my iPod (which is what I’m sure he was after), but I was trembling, shaken to my core.  A strange mixture of adrenaline, anger, and fear pulsated through me.  People stopped to help, to make sure I was OK.  Someone offered me his phone.  I called the police and gave a full report of the incident.  Other witnesses called, too.  I ran home to meet the police.  They took down my details and instructed me to pick out chins, noses, and hairstyles out of a book.  Someone will fingerprint my iPod tomorrow.

It’s all so strange, so surreal.  I moved to a city with a significantly lower crime rate than most places I’ve lived and this happens.  Everyone at work was shocked.  I was in such a safe place.  The whole situation is so unexpected and random.  But that’s life.  Just when you think you’re perfectly safe, that nothing bad can happen, life teaches you a lesson.  I’m thankful I’m OK, with no real harm was done.  My nerves are shot, but I will survive.  I just need to work up the courage to run again, because I will not let that jerk affect my life for one more moment.

Oven Wars, Part 2

Yes!  A cake victory!  It’s a good day!  Today, I have succeeded in making an oatmeal cake with broiled coconut/pecan frosting.  Mmmm… This simple oatmeal cake has been a much-needed confidence booster.
Those reading my blog since the beginning are well aware of the hate-hate relationship I have with my convection oven.  My first baking attempts weren’t pretty, nearly reducing me to a pool of sugary tears.  I seriously doubted my baking abilities.  (Who would have thought that could ever happen?)  But, things are changing.  I’ve now had TWO successful baking projects.  Woo hoo!  Thus, in the on-going Stacey vs. Oven battle, I’m declaring the score 2 to 2.  And, without sounding too cocky, I predict I’m well on my way to dominating that stupid convection oven.  Never mind we’re technically tied (minor details); the momentum has shifted.  I now possess the proper tricks to outsmart that evil contraption.  I’m beginning to feel like my old bad-a**, baking self again.  Anyhow, if you’re interested in making this yummy cake, see below for the recipe.

**Oh – I do need to credit my new favorite blog Eat, Run, Read for providing me with this recipe.  Thanks much!  I only made a couple of minor changes to suit my tastes.

Oatmeal Cake with Broiled Frosting

Cake Ingredients:


1 cup (3 ounces) quick-cooking oats

3/4 cup water , room temperature


3/4 cup (3 3/4 ounces) unbleached all-purpose flour


1/2 teaspoon baking soda


1/2 teaspoon baking powder


1/2 teaspoon salt


1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon


1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg


4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, softened


1/2 cup (3 1/2 ounces) granulated sugar


1/2 cup packed (3 1/2 ounces) light brown sugar


1 large egg, room temperature


1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract



½ cup shredded coconut

2-3 tablespoons milk

Broiled Icing Ingredients:


1/4 cup packed (1 3/4 ounces) light brown sugar


3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled


3 tablespoons milk


3/4 cup shredded coconut


1/2 cup (2 1/2 ounces) pecans, chopped


Directions:


FOR THE CAKE: 

1. Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350 degrees. Cut two 16-inch lengths aluminum foil and fold both lengthwise to 5-inch widths. Spray 8- by 8-inch metal baking dish with nonstick cooking spray. Create a foil sling for the pan: cut two 16-inch lengths of foil and fold them to widths of 5 inches each. Fit foil pieces into baking dish, one overlapping the other, pushing them into corners and up sides of pan; allow excess to overhang pan edges. This creates a sling that will help you remove the cake after baking and cooling. Spray foil lightly with nonstick cooking spray.

2. Combine oats and water in medium bowl and let sit until water is absorbed, about 5 minutes. In another medium bowl, whisk flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg together.



3. In bowl of standing mixer, beat butter and sugars on medium speed until combined and mixture has consistency of damp sand (2 to 4 minutes), scraping down bowl with rubber spatula halfway through mixing. Add egg and vanilla; beat until combined. Add flour mixture in 2 additions, mixing until incorporated. Add soaked oats. Mix until combined.



4. Transfer batter to prepared pan. Lightly tap against counter 3- 4 times to dislodge any large air bubbles; smooth surface with spatula. Bake cake until toothpick inserted into center comes out with few crumbs attached, 30 to 35 minutes (careful: mine only took 28 minutes), rotating pan halfway through baking. Let cake cool slightly in pan, at least 10 minutes.



FOR THE BROILED ICING:

While cake cools, adjust oven rack about 9 inches from broiler element and heat broiler. In medium bowl, whisk brown sugar, melted butter, and milk together; stir in coconut and pecans. Spread mixture evenly over warm cake. Broil until topping is bubbling and golden, 3 to 5 minutes.

**If you are baking with a convection oven, decrease oven temperature by 25 degrees and bake slightly longer.  (My cake took 45 minutes.)

It's All in the Details

Australia… it sounds like such an exotic locale.  I have to admit, when making our plans, I allowed myself to get caught up in all of the hype and stereotypes.  I didn’t imagine kangaroos jumping down the streets, but I did expect to be blown away by how different it was from the states.  Even though I knew better, I expected something more akin to the movies.  I expected more surfboards, more outback.  (Could I be more oxymoronic?)  Silly, I know.  Quite honestly, I simply didn’t expect this - something so normal, so a-stereotypical.  Don’t get me wrong – life is different here, but the differences aren’t always so obvious.  There aren’t sun-kissed surfers roaming the streets or “Crocodile Dundee” look-alikes hanging out in the local pubs. (Duh!)  It’s all much subtler than that.  The differences are in the details. 

On any given night, as I walk home from the grocery store, I could mistake my neighborhood for one in Denver, with the quaint houses and tree-lined streets.  The local restaurants aren’t even that different - BBQ, Thai, Indian, and pizza all nearby.  But the illusion quickly dissipates when I stop to take note of my surroundings: the cars driving on the wrong side of the street, the palm trees intermingled with the less-exotic varieties, my neighbors’ tell-tale accent.  It’s the little things that remind me I’m not at home.  McDonald’s is Mackers.  Burger King is Hungry Jack’s.  Vegemite is the toast-topping of choice.  People take “morning tea”, rather than a coffee break.  Oh – and then there’s the spiders and lizards; they definitely remind me I’m not at home.  So, although Aussie life has proven vastly different from my expectations, it’s been (and continues to be) an incredible learning experience, a break from my norm.  And, if I think about it, isn’t that what I was searching for?

It's Not as Easy as it Looks

When I first began formulating my plan to live and nurse in Australia, I had no idea where to begin.  I was naïve and, admittedly, pretty arrogant; certain the process couldn’t be too difficult. After all, I was an American, with a solid American education and training.  Who wouldn’t jump at the chance to hire me?  It didn’t take long to knock me off that self-important pedestal.  I quickly learned being American wasn’t much of an advantage.  Obtaining a foreign license and finding work proved to be a much more lengthy, difficult, and humbling experience than I could have imagined.

My first hurdle was finding information.  I tried researching online, but was unable to find much useful information.  I located numerous agencies dedicated to helping foreign nurses find positions in America, but not vice versa.  The agencies that did specialize in New Zealand or Australian placements catered to nurses from Canada, the United Kingdom, and Ireland.  I sent resumes and email queries to countless agencies without receiving any response.  I began feeling like my efforts were futile.  I was frustrated before I had even begun.   But, eventually, an agency did show interest in me and walked me through the basics.  Regrettably, they didn’t land me my current position, but they did provide a wealth of information.

Since I’ve been out here, a few people have contacted me, querying about the licensing and job-placement process.  So, I thought it might be helpful if I dedicated a page to outline what I learned.  By no means do I consider myself an expert, but I have learned quite a bit over the past year and a half and am more than happy to share the wealth.  If you are interested in learning more, please check out the new page tab, located at the top, “So You Want to be an Aussie Nurse?”

Day Trip

I was right – a good night’s sleep did me a world of good.  I woke up refreshed, determined not to slip back into yesterday’s funk.  I wasn’t delusional, though, fully aware that sitting around the apartment was a bad idea.  To ward off a relapse, I needed a strong defense.  I needed a plan.  A day trip was in order.  More specifically, I required quality time with nature.  So, I geared up and headed 90-minutes southwest to Cunningham’s Gap, in the Scenic Rim region, for a hike. (Better known as  bushwalking to the Aussies.)

This was my first venture inland, and the scenery was breathtaking.  As soon as I passed the city limits, I entered an entirely new (and decidedly rural) world.  Any signs of city life had long since faded, giving way to a pastoral backdrop.  Now, open plains, rolling hills, and cattle herds dominated the landscape.  And, looming in the far horizon, were the mountains* I would be hiking.

Soon, I found myself in Main Range National Park, at the trailhead for the Mt. Cordeaux track.  The first portion taking me through rainforest, canopied with massive trees.  I could have been in Jurassic Park or The Land Before Time.  It was awe-inspiring.  As I continued, the rainforest gave way to open eucalyptus forest, then to grassland spotted with tropical bushes.  At the summit, I could see for miles, the land below an earth-toned patchwork quilt.

Even though the hike wasn’t particularly challenging, and I didn’t see any koalas or echidnas, as the guidebook had promised, I was happy.  I had gotten the nature-fix I craved. So, everything considered, it was a good day.

 

*Please note I use the term “mountains” quite loosely, as the mediocre elevation gain of these landmasses should hardly qualify them as such.  Alas, they are considered mountains out here.

A Serious Funk

Ugh.  Today is definitely a “blah” day for me.  I’m lacking the motivation to do anything.  Walking to the grocery store even seems like too much trouble right now.  I just want to curl up on the couch and zone out. 

This sluggish mental state is due, in part, to the fact that I just finished a stretch of overnights at the hospital.  I like working the graves, but they take a toll on my body.  It’s tough to flip back to a normal schedule.  And, not wanting to waste my entire first day off, I only took a short nap this morning.  So, here I am, feeling somewhat zombie-like, wondering if I can survive on the wilted lettuce and old bean sprouts stashed in the bottom drawer of the fridge.

I can only blame so much of this funk on sleep deprivation, though.  I can thank Mouse’s departure for the rest.  His absence hit hard this morning when I came home to an empty apartment – a first since living in Brisbane.  He wasn’t here to greet me or complain how my arrival was interrupting his sleep.  I’m not used to such deafening silence.  Right now, I’d gladly take his complaints over my loneliness.

I know this will get better.  To start, I need a good meal and a good night’s sleep.  After that, everything else will fall into place.  I will get used to his absence.  It will get easier to come home to an empty apartment.  And who knows – I may even end up enjoying this brief stint of independence.

Empty Nest

I woke up from my nap to an empty apartment this afternoon.  It was silent without Mouse here to grumble about my backwards schedule.  Instead, he’s somewhere over the Pacific, headed back to Vegas for a stretch.  His absence doesn’t feel right.  It’s strange and lonely.  This newfound solitude permeates every corner of our apartment, lingering in the air, reminding me of how acutely I miss him.  It’s only been a few hours.  How will I feel in a few days or weeks?  These pangs make me feel vulnerable and weak, so unlike the independent person I am.  But, after months of being around each other nonstop, this physical distance is disconcerting.

Ironically, his return to Vegas was my suggestion.  It made sense.  We’ve been unable to travel much, thanks to my busy work schedule and his injury.  He’s been going stir-crazy, just sitting idly around the apartment.  So, when the insurance company offered to fly him home and some business opportunities materialized, we decided upon this new plan.  He can work in Vegas for a stretch, while I continue to work here.  When he returns, we will be able to travel and explore Australia as we initially planned.  But, despite the sound logic of this plan, I look around my empty apartment wonder if this was the right decision.  The gravity of my loneliness weighs heavily on me.  The concept of living on opposite sides of the globe, even for a short time, is overwhelming. 

I imagine I will eventually adjust.  I will become accustomed to this independence.  The next several weeks are likely to fly by.  I’m scheduled to work non-stop.  Before I can blink, late July will have arrived and I will be picking him up at the Brisbane Airport.  Then, with his ankle healed and some vacation time at my disposal, we can embark upon the adventures of our dreams.

Night Owl

Ahhh!  I’m finally back in my element!  I’m back to working overnights – at least for this week.  I’m in the midst of my monthly four-night stretch of overnights and I love it.  My coworkers think I’m insane; no one understands why I would actually want to work an overnight shift.  They all view it as some type of medieval torture inflicted upon them once a month.  I, on the other hand, look forward to these shifts.  The hospital is typically much more quiet at night.  Peace isn’t guaranteed, of course, things can go awry, but I’m usually able to settle into a nice routine without the usual interruptions that plague me during the day; no medical rounds, doctors stealing my charts, or countless phone calls.  And, most importantly, working all night gives me a great excuse to sleep in as late as I desire.  Mouse might hate tip-toeing around the apartment while I snooze, but this really is a great shift.  So, I’m off to work in a few hours.  I hope all of you have a great night! (Or day, I guess, if you’re reading this in the states.)

To Market, To Market

I really hate being on a tight budget.  Seriously, I loathe pinching pennies.  I realize this makes me sound a spoiled brat, but I can’t help it.  I work hard for my money and like spending it as I see fit.  (And spending almost half of my income on rent makes me feel like I’m being robbed on a bi-weekly basis!)  Feel free to roll your eyes at me.  It’s OK – I know I’m being whiny.  It’s just that I’ve finally discovered all of these really cool weekend markets that make me want to shop.  Stall after stall, local vendors peddle their wares and I want them.  Mostly, it’s the clothes I’m yearning for.  Retail clothing is stupidly expensive out here.  ($180 for a pair of Wrangler jeans?  Aren’t they $20 at WalMart?)  In contrast, the weekend markets are filled with new, local designers selling their frocks at a fraction of the cost.  I’m in love!!!  But, thanks to the high cost of living in Brisbane, I have to severely limit my expenditures.  (Grrrr!)  Last week, I snagged a bright pink seventies-inspired sundress.  This week, a rust-colored satiny tank top.  Great finds, but I’m lusting after several more items I simply cannot justify right now, so I’m pouting.  (Thanks for breaking down yesterday, Mr. Kia!)

Anyway, the point of this entry isn’t actually to complain.  I’m miffed about having to pass on some great clothes, but I’ll get over it.  The real point of all of this is that I’m really beginning to like living in Brisbane.  I’m enjoying exploring the fun little secrets hidden in each neighborhood.  The river, the farmer’s markets, the weekend markets, and everything in between are starting to draw me in.  In short, I’m actually enjoying myself again.  Don’t fret too much - Brisbane still doesn’t feel like home, but it’s becoming an interesting replacement.

Our Great Sandy Adventure

This morning started out perfectly.  We woke to the waves gently rolling onto the beach, the water amazingly close to our oceanside campsite.  We were somewhere along the north shore of Great Sandy National Park and loving life.  It was one of those existential mornings when the surrounding natural beauty inspires you to be thankful for life.  We ate our bagels while basking in the morning sun.  I was already thinking of what to write, excited to describe our excursion.  I was beyond pleased with our brief getaway; grateful that fate and the weather pattern had finally smiled upon us.  We really had been lucky, having headed up the coast Wednesday evening, right after I left work.  We found a beachside caravan park that night, drinking red wine and cooking pasta over our miniature camp stove.  Thursday, emboldened by the inviting surf and sun, we grew brave, driving more than 20km down the beach to a remote campsite where we kicked back and relaxed.  This is where we found ourselves this morning – at a beautiful place, just far enough away from civilization. 

But, of course, nothing can ever remain perfect.  Something always has to give.  For us, this moment came when we attempted the drive back.  We just couldn’t get enough power to get the car out of the soft sand.  Luckily, a weathered Aussie gentleman was nearby, happy to tow us down to the hard, drivable sand.  Even more luckily, some good-natured Aussie blokes were willing to tow us up the ramp leading from the beach to the paved road.  From there, we found a mechanic’s shop, who informed us we had blown the coil on one of the cylinders, forcing us to spend the remainder of our mini-vacation waiting for its repair. 

 

We’re home now, exhausted from the drama of the day.  And, although I’m disappointed with the car situation, I’m ecstatic we were able to get out and experience more of the coastline.  Trips like this are why we came out here.  So, I’m going to focus on the good.  The scenery was amazing.  We had so much fun just hanging out.  Overall, I'm deeming our adventure a success.

One More Day...

Another early morning.  Ick!  So, here I am, tip-toeing around the apartment, trying not to wake Mouse.  He gets to sleep in while I head off to the hospital.  I have to admit, I’m a little jealous.  This role-reversal thing is taking some getting used to.  Even though I worked full-time in the states, I crammed all of my hours into three days, so I was the one with more free-time.  Now, he’s the one with his days free.  Oh well…

At least I’m off early today.  Undeterred by our last camping flop, we have decided to head up to the Sunshine Coast to spend a couple of days in the wilderness of Great Sandy National Park.  We’re keeping our fingers crossed that the weather holds out and our little Kia is able to handle the rough roads.  I will give a full report when we return.