Homesick Earworms

I haven't been active here for a while. I know it, and am sorry, but there's been a reason for that. You see, I've been bitten by the Homesickness Bug and I swear the subsequent disease is in its own way just as annoying as any tick bite. It's certainly just as distracting, and makes it very hard to write light hearted snippets of weirdness in the North whilst having the same snatches of Aussie music playing over and over in your mind.

You see, the way this particular disease showed itself was by way of earworms; songs that wouldn't leave my head or my humming until I actively went and searched them out.

The first manifestation was when I found myself wandering around the house sadly singing, "We love football, meat pies, kangaroos and Holden Cars". It's quite amazing how such a cheesy and upbeat song can be changed into a minor key dirge. "We love football *sniffle*... meat pies... *whimper* ... Kangaroos? *tears start to roll* And ...Holden WAAAAAAAAAHs!"

The Holden is the iconic Australian car, the one home-grown brand which was of course bought out by GM back before I was born. It's also one side of a deadly feud between the old style Hoon - Holden vs Ford. My family were staunch Holdenites, but of course I had to go against that and drive not only a Honda, but two *gasp* Fords. Now we own a Chrysler, so the point is moot.

This also shows off my age quite markedly. Shut ya face. One day you whippersnappers will be all nostalgic about the "Always So Good (for so little)" Swiss Chalet ads or the "Gotta Be Red" Red Rooster ads, just you mark my words. And get off my lawn.

Also, watching that ad back now just makes me cringe. A lot. 

It was about this time I started resenting the greenery here. It's all so green, like fake, plastic tree green. Aussies are used to dusty, understated khaki and brownish brackish greens, but these trees are jelly (that's Jell-O to you North American lot) green. Wow, totally green. Clean and fresh and ARGH!How dare they be so green! It was an affront to the eyes.

I would have given my left (leave it to your imagination) for a eucalyptus tree. Even a bottle of eucalyptus oil would have done. In fact, if anyone has one to spare, I'd accept it - I have some sticky tape residue from the house's previous owners I just can't shift. Ah. Right. Inflammable. *sigh* Silly postal restrictions. Just because the plane might explode and burn in midair doesn't mean I have to be without my scent enhancer.

Then came the absolute need to find obscure 80s Australian music. Well, actually at the time it was mainstream enough for me to hear it constantly on the radio (when gOLD FM started playing the music from my era, I really knew I was old), but it's nigh on unheard of over here. Well, except Crowded House. Or Hunters and Collectors. Or Men at Work. Or... oh shut ya yap, I'm wallowing here!

Anyway, it began with Icehouse, as to be expected given they were my One True Love back in high school.

Copyright 1982 Regular Records

Then it started getting a bit more obscure with the Eurogliders. It's amazing how well these words can be changed into "Can't wait to gooooo home!"

Copyright CBS, 1985

When I woke up singing "da na NA NA nana naaaa naaa OOO WEEE!" I knew it had gone too far.

Copyright Big Time Records, 1986

There's being homesick, and there's being maudlin, and as much as I love the Hoodoo Gurus, I knew it was time to go out and look at the changing leaves and appreciate where I was.

Next week we're headed to Ottawa, and we're hoping to see a moose (from a safe distance) along the way. Perhaps I may even feel stirred enough to write another entry.

There may be whinging about the snow soon, though. It's already brass monkey weather, and the snow hasn't even flown yet.

Don't Fence Me In!

 Oh give me land, lots of land, under starry skies above;
Don't fence me in!
~Bing Crosby

As I look around my adopted neighbourhood, I find myself wondering if the Canadians realise how much ol' Bing captured their way of life in that simple couplet. Perhaps not in the "lots of land" concept as high rise apartments and condensed living are quite apparent, especially in the larger cities such as Toronto and Hamilton, but certainly in the oddity of the neighbourhood fencing.

I live in a small-ish town now - about 30,000 people - and I often find myself thinking of that song as I travel around. It's disconcerting to realise that there more often than not is a lack of privacy between yards.

I currently live in a townhouse, so naturally my backyard is accessible to my neighbours. Yet more than that it's also accessible to the outside street. When I look out my back door, if I didn't have a plethora of greenery, I can see straight out on to the street, and those on my street can see right into my house. During winter when the greenery is gone, I watch the cars dash up and down my snow dusted street with the hope they're too busy concentrating on the potentially icy road than they are on peering into my private domain.

Yet on visits to other Canadian houses I have seen that fences are not what I was accustomed to in Melbourne.

It's a long long fence between you and me, baby.

As you can see, this is a very old picture. In fact, that baby is me. You may suspect that I am some kind of prodigy (and that The Husband is a perv), but you'd be wrong. I'm oooooold now. Yet this is the style of fence common between houses where I am from - 6' tall and solid wood. There are no gaps, and it's a fair climb for a little one to see over. In fact, this fence was later painted in sump oil by our next door neighbour as he tried to keep the wood from rotting. This didn't stop my sister and I from climbing it to talk to the little boy next door, but Mum was never very happy at the mess we made of our clothes in the process.

We were boxed in on three sides, our yards our own domain untainted by the presence of others. Some even boxed themselves in from the front as well to make the box complete. We only had a knee high fence at the front, but it was generally enough to keep people from tromping over our dried out lawn.

Now, contrast my first experience of a Canadian backyard.

Such a pretty backyard!

As you can see, there are gaps between the upright slats on the left side. There is a bit of privacy there, but not as much as I was accustomed to in Australia. And along the back there's only a thigh high cyclone fence! Yet weirdest of all to this privacy conscious Aussie, there are gates between the yards! That fact blew my mind when I spotted them. From the vantage point I took this from, I could actually watch those in the yards behind the house mowed their lawns and puttered about doing their yardly things.

There's a sense of community this promotes that is much more difficult to achieve when we're all separated from one another. Yet it's also nice to have a life apart from these others who simply live in the same geographical area.

This may be an oddity of the smaller town mindset as opposed to the suburban one I hail from, but it's certainly been something to adjust to since coming here. I miss my boxes in boxes.

Exotic Vermin - Thieves in the Night

I'm rapt. I saw my first live raccoon last night!

I know, North Americans are now facepalming at the thought of me bounding around at this annoying and commonplace event. They're little bastards that are everywhere and get into your garbage, but I suspect you don't know quite how awesome they are to someone who hasn't seen them before. All I got to see where I lived were birds. Birds birds sparrows blackbirds starlings Indian mynahs birds crows magpies birds wattle birds galahs cockatoos oh my gods shut up birds. When we went driving, as we were on the outskirts of the city the only wild mammalian creatures we'd see would be rabbits. Damned rabbits should never have come to my country - but that's a rant for another time.

The Husband was on a night shift last night, and as such was leaving for work at ARGH o'clock. He puttered off out the doorway and I moseyed back up here to watch more random stuff on YouTube. Well, it fills in time in the middle of the night. Don't judge me!

Yet before I'd even plonked myself back down on this couch, I heard the front door open again.

"That was fast." I said, wondering what he'd forgotten.

"There's a bunch of raccoons out here!" came the breathless reply.

I don't think my little town was quite prepared for the visual I presented in my short pyjamas and lily white legs. Thankfully the only things moving around at that time of night were the family of raccoons peering beadily at me from across our mews.

One one was out in full view, little bandit mask barely visible in the gloom as he studied me. He was scared, but I was fascinated. These things look a lot like Tasmanian Devils in the way they're shaped. They have a funny humped back and a long bushy tail, and they're so determined as they sniff about looking for rubbish.

Even The Husband was fascinated by them. Perhaps it's been too long since he'd seen evidence of them, and had never dealt with them as an adult property owner before he moved to Australia, but he was really pleased, saying, "I've never seen them this close before."

The one watching me sauntered away. You'd never have guessed he was scared save that he was trying to saunter as fast as he could. It was almost like, "Yeah, ya caught me, copper, but ya can't prove nuthin!"

Funny little buggers. Thank goodness we keep our rubbish in the basement, because those masks they wear aren't just for show. I think some human once made the correlation between how they looked and what they did, decided to become a thief and put on a mask. Coz that's what they are.

I hope I see them again. It's fascinating to see a whole world of animals that live around the humans without really interacting with us. We don't really have that in the cities in Australia. Our native wildlife is too fragile to live amongst our feral pets, and the thought of more introduced species messing things up is quite frankly unbearable.

I have no pictures of my encounter as my iPhone camera has no flash. You'll have to make do with David Attenborough.

Life of Mammals - ©BBC.

One day I may relate the story of my father-in-law and his encounter with what he thought was a raccoon in his garbage, but was in fact a whole lot larger.

I wonder when I'll see my first bear?

Sweets For the Sweet

I don't know if you're aware of it, Canada, but your food is really sweet.

Cookies and milk for breakfast, anyone?

It's not only the obvious, though there are a lot of sweet options on offer here. It's not just cereals or the soft drinks and cookies, but even to barbeque meats and sauces. Ribs are an iconic food here in North America, yet the marinade they've been put in is sometimes so sweet that it overpowers the flavour of the meat (given I'm not a fan of pork, I sometimes wonder if that was the point).

Yet the thing I've had to accustom myself to are things like bread. It might be that we simply haven't found the right brand yet, however so far the multigrain bread I've tried has tasted more like cake than what I considered bread. In fact, multigrain here isn't quite what I'd call multigrain - it seems to be closer to what I'd call "brown", which this six year old in a thirty-nine year old body has never liked. As an analogy to my Australian readers, often these breads taste like croissants.

However I thought I was imagining things, or alone in this opinion until I presented myself to my new doctor for a first consultation. It was more of a "get to know you" session than an actual medical consult, so there was a lot of chatter involved.

One of the things that came up through this conversation was that he had lived in Australia for a few months as a part of an exchange program, and so he immediately declared "Yes!" the moment I said, "The bread here is sweet." He expounded on this, adding that he's only aware of it having been exposed to something different, and we wondered if it might be because of the corn syrup that often comes up as an ingredient in these products.

I don't know, but I find myself wishing for more savoury savoury foods. I think I am beginning to see the attraction for bacon doughnuts. Blargh.

Hot Enough For Ya Brass Monkeys?

I write a lot about food here, I've realised. Pork, lamb, chocolate covered bacon, takeaways and take out; all these things and more have been covered in this blog. I do this because food is a commonality both Australia and North America can immediately recognise, yet with such a broad scope of differences it's a prime topic for discussion.

However despite the temptation to address it once more (and I do have some new ground to broach with it), this triumphant return to the blogging world instead will address another thing we have in common - the weather.

It's hardly fair of me to deride or mock either North America for the heat wave they're currently going through, nor Victorians for the wet and chilly weather happening there. It's got up to 39 degrees Celcius here in the last day or two - hardly insignificant in the grand scheme of things - and when you add humidity to the mix things are really sticky here. To me this is hot weather, yet when I came from a city that got to 48 degrees in the last summer I was there, it's still not the hottest I've ever been.

Nights are the worst, though. I have always been what my mother called a "Hottentot". I get very hot when I sleep. I sleep next to a bit of a cold fish, whose lower extremities I have long refered to as "Undead Feet".  I swear they couldn't get much colder if I actually did stick them in a freezer! Brr! However this is negated by the fact the cats love to swamp me. Cue me waking up at about 5am overheated and grumpy, gasping for air and clawing my way out from under the pile of cat fur.

This is a godsend in winter, though. I can go to bed freezing, and still wake up needing to throw off the blankets and chill for a while. Yes, even in the -28 degree weather I have to do this. And I know the Undead Feet appreciate my inability to regulate my body temperature, at least when the snow is falling.

There's the crux of this matter. I used to gripe a bit about the chill back home, but as we were by the ocean we never got far below zero, and usually then only at night. And there was certainly no snow. Sometimes the grass was whitened by frost, and sometimes there was a bit of rime on the windows, but nothing like I've seen here.

Yet my fellow Australians dress exactly the same for their approximately zero degree weather as the Canadians around me now dress for the depths of these bleak white winters. On the other hand, I have seen the people around me shed their clothes as soon the sun shows itself; the wools and thick, dark fabrics quickly being discarded for the thin cottons and light colours that I equate with only the hottest of days. I feel like a big black bat as I swoop around this town in my black lace, black long skirts and black long sleeved blouses amongst all these pastel and white donned sweaty Canadians.

These things amuse and enthrall me, and it makes me smile to think of how the human creature adapts to its environment. Aussies who are wondering at how Canadians can live here in the "eternal freezing cold" - you'd adapt, and it's not cold all the time despite what you might believe. In fact, it does get quite hot here. And Canucks, it's not sunny and warm all the time in Australia, though for the first winter or so I suspect you'd do as I now do, and chuckle every time they complain about the chill. You'd each get your own back every time the seasons change, trust me.

Fireworks

Here in Canada, this last weekend was a long weekend, celebrating Victoria Day. What this mostly means is that it's the beginning of the warm weather and there are lots of fireworks displays.

When I was a child, fireworks were the most amazing, "sickest", thing ever. We didn't get to see them very often as my parents didn't like the idea of bottle rockets, and even sparklers were a source of burns, but I do remember one spectacular failure.

The youngest of my three brothers was known for his defiance of authority, and one day when I was very young, he brought home a bottle rocket. These were tiny little fireworks that had a long stick so you could prop them up in a glass milk bottle - hence, "bottle rocket" - so you could light the fuse and have it go up without much risk of burning yourself.

There was an overlap in the nights my parents worked - Sundays. When my older brothers headed off to university or into the Army, this youngest brother was left looking after my little sister and I. As a result, events such as the Great Bottle Rocket Launch happened when my parents weren't around.

So with great fanfare this brother produced a bottle from one of the empties set out for the milkman, grandly placed the little firework into the bottle, and gleefully called his little sisters out to come be naughty with him. If there's one thing corruption loves, it's an innocent audience.

With a flourish he lit the fuse. My sister and I waited with baited, excited breath. It sparked a bit, there was a bit of smoke. We leaned further forward in order to better see the magic as it happened...

Then nothing. The bloody thing just sat there. It was a dud, a fizzer that in later days came to represent that brother in my mind. Lots of promise, no spark.

Later in my life there were sparklers on cakes, and those were always a thrill for me. However, things changed in Victoria after one spectacular fireworks show in Melbourne. As I recall, though research hasn't allowed me to find the actual reference yet, the last straw was when one of the grandstands at one of our big and at the time new sporting arenas caught fire from a professional fireworks display. It was a very hot summer, and a stray spark melted the seats. Fireworks were banned in Victoria soon after, with only New Year's one of the few days that you could see fireworks at all. You certainly weren't allowed to buy them for yourself anymore. Not that we were when I was living with my parents, but that never stopped my stupid brother.

I used to love going to SkyShow near Albert Park Lake on Australia Day. I think I only went twice and the crowds were horrendous, but it was a fantastic show. They'd do firework displays to music they played over the supporting radio station, EON FM (which is now Triple M and I am really showing my age here). Even when I didn't go I'd still listen in on my little radio. Ahh, the innocence of youth. Now I suppose I'd stream it online, or wait for the podcast, watching simulated fireworks on my PC.*

It's a different story in Canada, and I suppose that all this time without them in Australia has turned me into a fearful spoil-sport. When I walked into my local grocery store and saw ranks upon ranks of fireworks for sale, my first thought was not the joyful "Oh boy oh boy! FIREWORKS!" I once would have felt, but instead it was more like "OH GODS, WE'RE SURROUNDED BY TREES AND ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!" Too many Total Fire Ban Days, I suspect.

There were ranks and ranks of 'em.

RAAAAAAAANKS!

Ranks and ranks and ranks of 'em. RAAAAANKS.

The Husband and I did go to a professional pyrotechnics show over the weekend, though, down in a teeny town some ways from here. It was a small show, but lovely, set in the middle of forests and on the shores of a large lake. The setting was idyllic and the fireworks glorious. Alas, I cried through it thinking about all the cute little animals I'd seen there and what would happen to them should there be a misplaced spark.

My friends, I have become that most scary of creatures, The Old Fart. That's right. Get off my lawn.

* The end of this piece was going to be a chuckle at the expense of Australia's capital city, Canberra, which was the one place fireworks were still legal. Alas, research for this piece has found that after the last big bushfires there, Canberra too has outlawed the sale of fireworks. Ah well, at least you can still legally make your hardcore porn there. Gotta love our pollies.

Spring Sprung Sproing

Spring is sprung, the grass is riz.
I wonder where the birdies is?

Spring has arrived in this Great White North, and it's been rather a noticable change. Gone are the banks of endless white, replaced by shy buds of greenery. There is, contrary to popular outside-of-Canada belief, sunshine. Ooooh.

The difference in the seasons here is a bit of a shock to someone who is used to the Victorian climate. We fool ourselves into believing that we have four seasons, but according to our stereotype Melbournians have to carry umbrellas and coats with us on even the brightest of sunny days as those changes happen within an hour or two.

Here the seasons are quite distinct from each other, and it's fun to actually see it as we move from one to another. Victoria in comparison really only has two seasons - "Hot and Dry" or "Cold and Wet", without the (cold) extremes that happen here.

I keep getting told about how Canadians have coats for everything, and it's true. Winter coats, Fall coats, Rain coats, Spring coats. I'm sure there's a Summer coat in there as well. That being said, the moment there's even a touch of warmer weather, all coats are off and out come the lighter clothes. Weather that would make the average Victorian shiver and reach for the heater has many Canadians out and about in T-shirts and shorts. People are even barbequing in the rain.

One of the things I have discovered since being here is that zero degrees Celcius really isn't as cold as you think when you're coming back up from the deep minuses. One looks forward to it through the depths of a white winter, and even starts refering to it as a "heat wave" when it happens with tongue only partially in cheek. When zero is only the halfway point on the great journey of the seasons, it's bloody cold going down, but nice and warm coming back up. I suppose it's all relative.

We're still being asked why the hell we came back, though. These cold inured Canadians just can't imagine why we'd have left the supposed paradise of Aussieland. I should be facetious and say that it's because Doctor Who comes out a week later back home. That'd fix it.