A Very Un-Halloween

The Aussie version of Halloween is strange.  It’s here, but not really.  I know that’s a pretty poor description, but it’s the best I can come up with.  I mean, it is Halloween, but not in the same capacity as back home.  The grocery stores advertise for it, in hopes of selling a little extra candy, but that’s really about it.  Jack ‘o Lanterns don’t light up front stoops.  Trick-or-treating isn’t big.  People don’t really dress up.  It’s kind of depressing. I know Americans don’t own Halloween, but we do celebrate it with certain flair.  As much as I love the Aussie way of life, I have to admit I’m more than a little disappointed in their luck-luster treatment of this nothing-but-fun holiday.

So, this Halloween, I was left to live vicariously through Mouse.  As I was getting ready for work this afternoon, he was prepping for his big night out.  And, even though he was merely copying an old costume, I was a little jealous.  I love dressing up.  I also love big nights out.  But instead of joining in the fun, I was readying myself for another afternoon of cleaning poo.  I definitely got the short end of the stick on this one.  (No fair!)  I guess this is one of the prices I am doomed to pay for my Australian adventure.  No Halloween.  Who would have guessed?

The Itch I Had to Scratch

Why Australia?  I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been asked this question over the past year.  Potential employers quizzed me during interviews.  Family and friends queried when I told them our plans.  And everyone (coworkers, patients, everyone) I meet out here asks, often incredulously, stupefied I would leave the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas for sleepy Brisbane.  (Of course I have to remind them living in Vegas isn’t nearly as glamorous as one might imagine.) 

Why did I push for us to come here?  Why was I so determined?  Believe me, I’ve thought long and hard about this.  I’ve wracked my brain trying to figure out exactly what made coming here such a priority in my life.  I know things would be easier if it weren’t so important to me.  Life would be much simpler if I had been happy to continue on as per usual back home.  But that wasn’t enough for me.  I’m not sure why, but it just wasn’t.  Sure, I can cite logical motivations like professional development and life experience, but my need to come out here was driven by much more than any of that.  It started years before I even considered nursing school.  It came from somewhere deep inside, something I can only attribute to an innate restlessness and wanderlust.  Moving to Australia was an itch I absolutely had to scratch.

Maybe it was because Australia sounded so exotic.  Maybe I was taken in by the stereotypical images of sandy beaches and bodacious surfers.  Maybe I was just in love with the idea of it all.  Whatever the reason, coming out here was a priority for me.  I didn’t want to look back on my life and wish I had been brave enough to do something different.  I didn’t want to regret not taking the chance.

As I approach the nine-month mark, I have to wonder if it has been worth all of the stress, expense, and trouble.  Nothing has gone as planned and life out here certainly isn’t what I imagined.  But being here has helped cast a new light on my life.  I’ve learned so much about myself, and my relationship with Mouse.  I’ve learned what it feels like to be a foreigner.  I’ve experienced a different take on nursing.  I’ve formed incredible friendships.  And, most importantly, I’ve had a blast throughout all of it.  So, yes - it was worth it all.

A Much-Needed Victory

I spend a lot of my time as a nurse feeling frustrated.  I get frustrated with the doctors.  I get frustrated with my patients and their families.  I get frustrated with the seemingly never-ending mountains of poo that abound on our ward.  I get doubly frustrated when I don’t see my patients getting better.  Many days, I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle.  With all of this frustration weighing me down, it’s a wonder I have the will to get up in the morning.  But then, along comes a patient who reminds me how miraculous modern medicine can be.  It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling, and a sense of pride in knowing we not only helped save this person’s life, but also preserve its quality.

Her story isn’t necessarily unique.  She is a very average, middle-aged woman who was getting ready for work one morning when she suddenly collapsed.  Her husband found her moments later, unable to speak or move the entire right side of her body.  He rushed her to the Emergency Department, where they determined she had suffered a massive, ischemic stroke.  Believe it or not, she was lucky.  She had been found in time and made it to the E.D. in time to qualify for lysis treatment.  It’s risky, but can also produce miraculous results.  When she came up to our ward, she still couldn’t communicate or move her right limbs.  But as time progressed, so did she.  By midnight, she was chatting with me, telling me about her job, and using both arms as if nothing had ever happened. 

I know it wasn’t a really miracle.  I know her recovery was a result of years of medical research and trial and error.  But for me, this was a little miracle.  After a long, hard, frustrating week, I needed a victory.  And there she was, asking me for a glass of water.  It’s ironic how one person’s medical emergency can be another’s epiphany.

My Cure for Night Duty - Pecan Cinnamon-Streusel Bread

Night duty can be hell:  It plays tricks with your body clock, staffing levels drop to a disconcertingly low number, and patients always seem to get worse overnight.  You never know what you’re in for when you walk into the ward.  It may be easy-peezy, but can just as readily turn into a complete nightmare.

One thing I love about night duty, though, is the camaraderie.  Since there aren’t many of us working, we all have to depend upon each other to get through the shift, and we take care of each other.  Working night duty brings a whole new meaning to “team effort.”  Of course, one of the ways we show our love is through food.  (Isn’t that always the case?)  We bring in treats to fuel our sugar cravings and help power us through the inherent exhaustion.

This week, my contribution to our junk-food addiction was a play on the Cinnamon Swirl bread my mom used to bake when I was growing up.  It was always my favorite breakfast treat, so I thought I would play with the recipe and dress it up a little.  What I ended up creating was absolutely delicious… Pecan Cinnamon-Streusel Bread.  It was everything I had hoped it would, and more.  So, see below for the recipe.  I highly recommend you give it a go.  Enjoy!

Pecan Cinnamon-Streusel Bread

 Ingredients:

Bread:

¼ cup butter, melted

1 1/3 cups sugar, divided

1 egg

2 cups all purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

1 cup buttermilk

1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

3/4 cup pecans, roughly chopped

Streusel:

1/4 cup white sugar

¼ cup brown sugar

2/3 cup plus 2 tablespoons all purpose flour

1/8 teaspoon salt

6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, diced

1/4 cup pecans, roughly chopped

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C). 

Make the streusel:  In a food processor, combine sugar, flour, and salt and mix to combine.  Add butter and mix until crumbly and the butter pieces are very small, and the mixture resembles sand.  Add pecans and mix to combine.  (This can also be done by hand by first cubing the butter into small pieces and using a fork to combine the sugar and butter.  Then add flour in small amounts, using your fingers to rub the mixture together.  Continue adding flour until the mixture resembles sand.)

Make the batter:  In a large mixing bowl, beat together butter, 1 cup sugar, and egg.  Combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.  Add the flour mixture to the egg mixture alternately with the buttermilk. 

In a small bowl, combine the cinnamon and remaining 1/3 cup sugar.  Pour a third of the batter into a greased 8X4X2-inch loaf pan.  Sprinkle half of the cinnamon sugar and chopped pecans on top of batter.  Repeat layers twice, sprinkling the top layer with the streusel topping.  

Bake for 45-50 minutes, until a toothpick inserted near the center comes out clean.  (Hint - If the streusel browns too quickly, loosely place a piece of aluminum foil on top to allow the bread to fully cook.)

Hidden Dangers

This week, I finally bit the bullet and got around to organizing and uploading the remainder of the photos from August’s Great Barrier Reef diving excursions.  As expected, it was fun to look through them and reminisce, but it also made me think about how my overall impressions of diving have evolved over the past year. 

When Mouse first suggested we get certified to dive, the only thing I could think about was SHARKS.  Even though the idea of exploring the reef up close and personal was inviting, I couldn’t get the frightening mental image of those snaggle-toothed predators out of my head.  Great White Sharks, Grey Nurse Sharks, Blacktip Reef Sharks, Whitetip Reef Sharks… the thought of running into any one of those bad boys set my stomach in knots and my anxiety levels through the roof.  I was terrified, harboring gruesome images of a sadistic shark noshing on my arm for a mid-afternoon snack.  While I wouldn’t say I was paralyzed with fear, I was pretty obsessed with it.  But after living here for a while, and getting some dives under my belt, I’ve come to learn sharks are the least of my worries.  (Although, the recent death of that kid off the coast of California might appear to contradict that thought.)  In all reality, “death by shark” is a highly unlikely event in the waters of Australia, with only 53 occurring in the last 50 years.  And, quite frankly, the sharks I’ve come across could have cared less about me, happily going about their business as I swam by.

 

Nope – when diving The Great Barrier Reef (or simply frolicking in the waters surrounding it), sharks are definitely not the biggest danger.  The real dangers are much smaller and less apparent.  The problem is, people are lulled into a sense of safety because these creatures lack the flash and panache of a Great White.  They’re sneaky like that.  I’ve come to learn, the waters of northern Queensland are teeming with things just waiting to inflict unimaginable pain and possible death onto unsuspecting victims.

The most infamous of all is probably the Box Jellyfish (better known as a marine stinger around here), which is nearly transparent, has tentacles up to 9.8 feet in length, and packs enough venom to kill six adult humans.  (I’ve heard horror stories about marine stinger victims that make me cringe.)  And then there’s its more diminutive cousin, the Irukandji Jellyfish, which is only the size of a thumbnail, but one sting can send a person into weeks of excruciating pain for which there is no cure.  The Blue-Ringed Octopus boasts a neurotoxin that leads to cardiac and respiratory arrest, as well as motor paralysis.  (There’s no anti-venom for that one, either.)  Even brushing up against a Crown-of-Thorns Starfish results in extreme pain.  (The treatment for which is to stick the affected body part into boiling water in hopes of breaking down the venom.)  Even an innocent looking shell can prove to be deadly, as in the case of the cone shell, which houses a harpoon-like stinger that injects a deadly neurotoxin into the poor soul who innocently picks it up.  (Yikes!)  And if you think you’re safe sticking to the shoreline, think again.  The Stonefish remains hidden in the rocks, with thirteen spikes strong enough to penetrate thick-soled shoes, ready to deliver its highly neurotoxic, and possibly fatal, venom.

 

Knowing all of this, you would think I was crazy to even venture near the Australian waters, let alone go diving in them.  But, it’s really a matter of perspective and taking calculated risks.  Sure, danger is ever-present, but so is beauty.  And, when you consider the statistics, I’m highly unlikely to suffer any injury by any of the above-mentioned seas creatures.  Besides, if I gave into my fear, I would never do anything adventurous or fun.

**Be sure to check out all of my GBR photos in the album shown to the right.  Enjoy!

Who Said You Could Have Fun Without Me?

It’s funny.  Today I was jealous of Mouse.  Here I am in Australia, one of the coolest locales imaginable, and I was jealous of him.  He called at the crack of my dawn, as I was sleepily getting ready for an early shift.  It was his Sunday afternoon, and he was enjoying a day of football and bottomless mimosas with some buddies at the local brewpub.  I could tell he was having a great time.  People were cheering in the background.  He sounded so relaxed and happy.  (A dozen mimosas will do that to you, though.)  And here I was, preparing myself for another day of multiple diaper changes.  No fair!  At that moment, he was having loads of fun and I was jealous.  What burned even more was that he was having all of this fun without me, and I cannot stand feeling left out.  While it was good to hear his voice, it was a slightly irksome way to begin my day.  As I drove to work and started my shift, all I could think about was him having a grand time without me.  Hmph! 

I knew that this was bound to happen.  It’s one of the pitfalls of being in a long-distance relationship.  I don’t really expect him to sit alone at home and pine away for me, just as he wouldn’t expect that of me.  It’s just that I want to be included in all of the fun.  I don’t want to miss out on anything.  But, for now, I have to reconcile with the notion that all of our fun must be had separately.  I also have to remind myself it won’t be like this forever.  So, I just have to suck it up and deal with it.  Besides, football Sundays will be there waiting for me when I finally make my way back home.

The Bedpan Diaries

I swear - if I have to change another adult diaper or spend another day fetching bedpans at five-minute increments for little old ladies with teeny-tiny bladders, I am going to scream.  After today’s patient load, I have had my fill.  I don’t know as if I can even look at another bedpan without feeling a sense of dread.  But, of course, tomorrow will be more of the same.  I can’t get out of it.  Our patient population makes such undesirable, annoying exercises a constant necessity.  And, of course, I can’t really scream, as doing so would be unprofessional.  Nope – I just have to smile, be kind, and continue on with the menial tasks I have come to loathe, all the while wondering if this is really what I worked so hard for. 

Part of my frustration simply stems from working on a ward again.  Less acute patients require a different type of care than critical patients.  And, while I have appreciated taking a step back and working with more stable patients, I am beginning to miss the challenge of the ICU. 

The other part of my frustration stems from Australian nursing as a whole.  As I’ve alluded to in past entries, Aussie nursing is vastly different from American nursing.  The Australian nursing model seems determined to keep nurses functioning at a more domesticated, less medicalized level.  It’s what I imagine American nursing to have been ten (even twenty) years ago. 

Aussie nurses don’t collect patient’s medical histories or complete head-to-toe exams.  They don’t draw blood or start IVs, unless specially certified to do so.  And they have to double-check almost everything.  The lack of autonomy is often astonishing (and maddening).  From my perspective, they simply don’t oversee and organize their patients’ care to the same extent as their American counterparts.  Instead, they are obligated to focus on the very basics of care:  bathing, changing the linens, fetching bedpans, and dozens of other tasks, which could easily be carried out by aids.  To my American sensibilities, it seems like a waste of nursing education and resources.  (More importantly, it seems like a waste of my nursing education and skill set.)

Maybe I would feel different if I were working in an ICU right now.  Maybe I would feel less like a cross between a pill-pusher and pooper-scooper and more like a real nurse.  Please don’t misunderstand me, I do enjoy my job and I am loving this experience; I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  But I would really love to go an entire day without changing diapers!

Let the Sun Shine!

Just when I had given up on the sun and relinquished myself to the constant rainfall… I woke up to a bright and shiny morning.  Hallelujah!  Sure, the wind was howling and it was quite nippy for a spring day, but the sun was out.  Quite frankly, at this point, I refuse to complain; I will take whatever bits of blue sky Mother Nature sees fit to toss us.  After more than three weeks of rain, anything is better than another overcast day.  I’ll gladly take the wind and chill if it gives me a chance to dry out.  It felt like a minor miracle to wake and see that the grey clouds and never-ending drizzle had finally dissipated.  (Yes – this is how thoroughly depressing the weather has been.)  This was the first day in a very long time I was actually excited to get out of bed.  More importantly, it was the first day in a long time I actually felt like I had a reason to get out of bed.  

Over the past few weeks, the rain had systematically sucked the life out of me.  Being cooped up in my little apartment for so many weeks left me feeling claustrophobic and despondent.  But today, I had energy.  Today, I jumped out of bed, slammed my coffee, and immediately headed across town to the West End Markets.  The wind made the open-air shopping a little tricky, but that didn’t matter.  It was still great to be outside and feel the sun on my face.  After that, I hit up the Valley Markets and a couple of new neighborhood boutiques I had been dying to check out.  I know none of it was exciting or flashy, but all I needed was a little bit of sunshine to make for a great Saturday.

Sticking Out Like a Sore Thumb

Tonight was another good girls’ night out.  Nothing extravagant - just a bunch of us out for dinner and drinks.  But what struck me, as I sat and observed everyone conversing around the table, was that I couldn’t understand a bit of the conversation.  Sure, I could catch a word here and there, but I couldn’t follow the overall conversation.  The accents were just too thick and the slang too prevalent for me to be able to follow along.  It was slightly mortifying.  After eight months, my ears should be trained.  I should be able to understand Aussie.  And there I was, feeling totally lost.  To be fair, most of the time, I have no problem processing the Aussie accent.  If someone speaks directly to me, I rarely have trouble understanding.  I may get hung up on the occasional slang term, but am usually able to put it into context and keep the conversation moving.  But, apparently, when you mix alcohol with gossiping women, I’m lost.  The conversation swirled around me, leaving me unable to absorb the majority of it.  Ugh!  So there I sat, feeling like a sore thumb sticking out amongst the others.  I felt so un-hip, so very American.  I was convinced everyone could see the look of stupor on my face, or, at least, notice my dumb silence.  Thankfully, if anyone did, they were gracious enough not to call me out on it.  But this experience makes me wonder when I will begin to feel like I fit in.  When will all of this feel less foreign?  I guess, as with everything else in life, only time will tell.

Eight Months and Counting

I’ve been gone for eight months.  EIGHT MONTHS!!!  It’s kind of surreal.   Eight months away from everything (and everyone) I know and love.  Most days, I’m fine with it.  But there are definitely moments of weakness when I succumb to my homesickness.  These are the day I miss home.  These are the days I actually think about what I’m missing out on.

After eight months, I miss…

Good Mexican food

Goldfish crackers

String Cheese

Ben & Jerry’s

Bagel Sandwiches

Anthropologie

J Crew

Victoria’s Secret

My friends

My family

Training for triathlons (I can’t afford a bike out here)

Cheap drinks

Good microbrew beer

A nice, big, California Cabernet Sauvignon

Driving on the right side of the road

American nursing

Mouse (even though it’s only been 6 weeks since I’ve seen him)

The Rocky Mountains

The Sierra Nevada Mountains

Zion National Park

Mt. Charleston

Red Rocks

The American Southwest

Canyoneering

Climbing

Hiking a 14-er

Target (the Aussie version is a pale comparison)

Whole Foods Market

Please don’t misunderstand; my life out here is good.  Being out here has been (and continues to be) an amazing experience, but I do miss home.  I miss the creature comforts and familiarity of it all.  I miss a sense of belonging.  But that’s what this adventure has been about: broadening my horizons, venturing into the unknown, and going outside of my comfort zone.  I’m proud of myself for doing all of that.  But, right about now, I would give anything for a pint of Chunky Monkey.

So Over It

Ugh.  Another day of rain.  Considering I was over this never-ending wetness a couple of weeks ago, I’m beyond over it now.  It is seriously beginning to affect my mood and motivation.  Where is this awesome Aussie spring I’ve heard so much about?  I’m sick of being stuck indoors, but even more sick of getting soaked every time I venture outdoors.  Even running in the rain is beginning to lose its charm.  My only consolation is that I’m in the midst of working my obligatory overnight shifts and these grey skies make for great sleeping weather.  Still, it’s fairly depressing to wake up to nothing but damp gloom, day after day.  This dreary weather is sucking every last bit of energy out of me, making it nearly impossible to pull myself out of bed.  All I want to do is throw the blankets over my head and burrow deeper into sleep.  I would give anything for a slice of blue sky at this point.  But all I can do is hope and pray that Mother Nature will show Brisbane a little mercy and grace us with clear skies soon.  (Or, at least by the time I have my days off.  I would really like some nice weather for my weekend!)

Some Time to Myself

This may seem strange, especially considering how often I mention missing him, but I’m beginning to have fun being out here on my own.  Don’t get me wrong, I do miss him, but I’m starting to appreciate soloing it for a while.  Without him, my life out here is a whole new experience.  I’m a single girl again (kind of) and get to do all of the fun, girly things I miss when I’m part of a couple.  Sure, my nights are lonely, but I’m discovering there are benefits to this single-ish life.  I can watch chick flicks, grab drinks with the girls, and go clothes shopping without catching any grief.  I can eat gelato for breakfast and cereal for dinner.  (And don’t forget the pumpkin!  I have been the queen of pumpkin-eaters since his departure!)  I get to be selfish and spend my time exactly how I want to.  After living as a couple for so long, it’s kind of refreshing to have this freedom.  It’s nice to be able to make some of this experience solely about me.  Of course, I have days when no amount of freedom or gelato can make up for his absence.  Those are the days I have a hole in my heart the size of the Outback.  But those days are becoming less frequent.  The loneliness is slowly dissipating and is giving way to happiness.  I may not feel this way if our separation was indefinite, but it’s not.  So, for now, I can see the good in this experience and be thankful for the little joys it brings me.  I can enjoy my cocktails, shopping, and cereal, knowing this time is special and won’t last forever.  Because, before I know it, I’ll have to stop thinking like a me and go back to being a part of we.

Running in the Rain

I know I’ve been whining about the weather quite a bit lately.  I’m sorry.  It’s just that all of the drizzle and wetness is getting to me.   This nonstop rain is quite possibly rotting my brain.  I’m somewhat convinced being constantly damp has resulted in some form of exotic mold planting roots in the sulci of my frontal lobe and sending me into a minor depression.  I hate this weather.  I dream of the sun and it’s elusive warmth.   I long for clear, blue skies.  But, if I were pressed to find a silver lining in these charcoal grey cumulous clouds, I have to admit this has been great running weather. 

There is something soothing and relaxing about running in the rain.  It forces me to leave my iPod behind and listen to the cadence of my own breath.  It demands awareness of my surroundings, lest I slip and fall.  The feel of the raindrops on my face is refreshing and comforting, as if they are encouraging me to forge on, begging me not to stop.  This is the only time I don’t mind the wetness.  In fact, I relish it.  Somehow, it makes me feel like more of a runner, like someone so dedicated to my craft that no amount of poor weather could deter me from my goal.  I feel stronger, more alive.  I see the river churn and the pedestrians dash for cover, but I am happy to continue on, rain be damned.  So, while I pine for brighter days, at least I can take solace in these runs.

A Little Slice of Heaven (aka Honey-Caramel Macadamia Blondies)

I did it!  I succeeded in baking a small slice of heaven!  (At least, that’s what my coworkers told me.)  After feeling somewhat crushed and demoralized by one of my patient’s family members, I needed a little confidence boost.  So, I decided to bake.  And, since I had some heavy cream in the refrigerator, I knew I needed to make something incorporating caramel.  (What else was I going to do with that heavy cream?)  Besides, after a rough evening at work, making a batch of caramel is the best way to de-stress.  Caramel is kind that way.  It’s such a precise, all-consuming project, my mind doesn’t have time to wander or worry about other things.  (And, believe me, I needed to be fully distracted from what had happened at work.)  The only problem was figuring out what would go well with the caramel.  So, after careful consideration, I decided to make Honey-Caramel Macadamia Blondies.  They’re rich, but absolutely delicious.  They melt in your mouth like any good caramel treat should.  But, most importantly, baking them helped me feel a little better about myself again.  Thank heavens for baking therapy!

Honey-Caramel Macadamia Blondie Recipe

Not All Rules Are Meant To Be Broken

It’s funny.  In my everyday life, I’m not a big fan of rules.  As far as I’m concerned, rules exist for the sole purpose of being broken.  I like being unconventional.  I like living my life in the land of “what if”.  But as a nurse, I thrive on rules.  I see them as a necessary means of protecting our patients, their families, and even us nurses.  A hospital cannot function without rules.  Our patients’ treatments and outcomes could easily be compromised without them.  The rules may not always be popular or fun, but they are a must in the hospital setting.  Even the most inane rule has a purpose.  

As staff nurses, we are required to follow these rules and enforce them.  And it never fails to astound me when patients and their families somehow think they are exempt.  We post signs.  We provide explanations.  And yet, these people look right through us, as if we don’t exist, as if the words coming out of our mouths are unintelligible.  Even worse, they become hostile, calling us names, questioning our competency, and making threats.  And this doesn’t just happen here; it’s the same in the states.  

I know it isn’t easy having a loved one in the hospital.  I’ve been there and know they’re scared.  But I can’t do my job when I’m constantly running into roadblocks.  I can’t concentrate on my patients when I’m wasting time fighting the families.  It’s frustrating and nerve-wracking.  It makes me want to give up.  I just wish these people could see I’m on their side.  Just because I’m not telling them what they want to hear, doesn’t mean I don’t have their best interest at heart.  My intent is to provide the best possible care for all of my patients.  I wish they could see the big picture and comprehend the clinical rationale behind my words and actions.  I know it’s a lot to ask, but I wish they would just try to understand.

Flying Solo

It’s October.  October 4^th, to be exact.  I can barely believe it.  October means I’ve been gone for eight months now.  October also means that Mouse has been away from me for a full month, leaving me to continue this Aussie experience solo.  There are moments, even entire days, when I miss him so acutely it hurts.  These are the times I ache for him and wish with every bit of my being that he could magically appear, even if only for a moment.  After living together for so many years and being a part of each other’s everyday lives, it’s strange to wake up to an empty bed and come home to a silent house.  I miss his smell.  I miss his voice.  I miss all the intimate details that are so easily taken for granted when you’re with a person day in and day out.  But then I have good days.  These are the days when the loneliness dulls, allowing the rest of my life to brighten.  These are the days when I can appreciate my surroundings and see the value in having this time to myself.  These are the days when I truly feel happy.  My time in Oz won’t last forever, and neither will our separation.  Soon enough, life will return to normal and all of this will become a faded memory.  In the meantime, I need to be mindful to be thankful for the present and all of the amazing experiences it's providing, despite his absence.  Because, believe me, I am having fun.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

It has been raining non-stop for over a week now.  I’m not kidding.  It’s possible we may have been granted the occasional break in cloud cover, but not for long.  Mostly, it’s been a variation between grey and drizzly or grey and pouring down sheets of rain.  I’m trying to remember the last time I actually saw the sun, but am having a difficult time doing so.  The weather has been dreary and abysmal for so long, I’m beginning to forget what it’s like to feel the sun on my face.  It’s supposed to be spring, but all we’re getting is constant wet, and this weather is taking its toll on everyone.  We’re growing grumpy, claustrophobic, and restless. 

Today, a few of us girls couldn’t take being shut-in any longer, so we made the two-hour trek down the coast to the Byron Bay markets, hoping for a slight reprieve from the rain.  No such luck.  We arrived to find ourselves in a torrential downpour so persistently vindictive that it had shut down the markets for the day.  We were crushed.  We stuck around to browse the shops around town, but just ended up feeling like drown rats.  Yuck!  As much as I enjoy shopping, it’s tough to have fun while being accosted by raindrops the size of marbles.  This weather sure knows how to suck the pleasure out of everything.  So, I’m back to taking shelter in my apartment, watching the rain put a damper on the outside world.  I’m trying to stay positive by dreaming of better weather, but the forecast doesn’t look too promising.  Bummer.

There Goes My Grammar

Uh oh.  I did it.  Yesterday, in the midst of a perfectly normal conversation, I caught myself saying, “I reckon.”  I didn’t mean to.  It just slipped out.  As soon as I said it, I caught myself and looked up, just waiting for my coworker to call me out. But, of course, she didn’t, as this is nothing out of the ordinary for her.  So, the conversation continued, without any acknowledgement of my error.  Even still, I felt silly, especially considering I give all of my Aussie friends such a hard time for the blatant overuse of this term.  I’m not joking, every sentence either starts or ends with “I reckon.”  It can be maddening.  “I reckon” has become my least favorite of all Aussie slang.  It’s like a tick in their language that just won’t go away.  And there I was, just dropping it into the conversation like it was a normal part of my vernacular.  To make matters worse, I’ve caught myself saying, “Good on you!” a couple of times.  Ack!  What’s happening to me?  Am I losing all sense of grammatical propriety?  The next thing I know, I’ll be saying things like “fair dinkum” and “Bob’s your Uncle.”  I shudder just thinking about it.  I need help.  But, considering I’m surrounded by Aussies and only have access to a handful of American television reruns, I might be in serious trouble.