Up, Up and Away...

...in my beautiful ballooooooooooon!

A fifth anniversary surprise. My only clue, "Wake up at 4 a.m. and dress warmly." Yoikes. But I love surprises and this was a good one. We mustered at the micro-mini aerfield outside of Northam (100 kms out of Perth) and drove out to a sheep farm to set up the balloons. We were in the larger of the two, holds 16 plus a pilot, and everyone was expected to help get it ready or get out of the way-depending on what stage of inflation we were at. The morning was not too cold, the sheep not nervous, all were awed and clicking away on their cameras.

An impressive flame-thrower heated the air inside the balloon. It rose and upturned the basket. We were given careful choreography for our entry into the basket. Yeah, easier said than done unless you're an Olympian high jumper who can drop into a small space. Kev is still laughing at my 1-1/2 gainer move into position. No matter, lift off was effortless, aided by long tongues of fire the pilot would occasionally shoot into the balloon. There is no steering a balloon, a pilot gains & loses altitude to find pockets of cold air to help tack a path. Gentle breezes help propel the craft. We graze tree tops, 'awwww' the new baby lambs, spot kangaroo, admire the green hue that is starting to appear on farmers' lands (thanks to the recent winter rains) and imagine fox running from the hen houses. The Avon Valley is a beautiful sight. The Avon River (home to a popular kayaking event called the Avon Descent) has barely a trickle - clearly we need more winter rain.

The Earth is not as quiet as I thought it might be. We can hear the dogs in Northam town backyards barking at 2000 ft...at 3,400 ft. It all reminded me of the barking scene in Disney's animated "101 Dalmations." Trucks could be heard. I couldn't hear the horse being exercised at the Northam race track but the steed, like everything else, cast a Paul Bunyan sized shadow in the low, rising sun. It was a glorious one hour ride. But all good things must come to an end.

We set down in a horse paddock. The ground team whisked the trailer into position in front of us and the pilot gently lowered the balloon exactly on top of it. A wedding party landed in this same horse field on Wednesday morning and the lucky bridal couple was greeted by a very curious foal and mare checking things out and looking for a few pats. The Welcome Waggers didn't bother to come up to us. We got ourselves busy helping to fold up the balloon and stuff it back into its bag. No mean feat as those who have attempted to repack tents or refold maps can attest.

But wait, there's more. A champagne breakfast at the country pub in Northam. A proper Aussie breakfast: scones, fruit, cheese, egg, tomato, baked beans, bacon, toast, mushrooms, juice and a celebratory flute of champagne. Happy Anniversary, Aeronaut!

Tea with Trev & Tots

Well, you know that glitterati like myself prefer to be seen at all of the premier events in town, especially of those supporting a good cause. It makes us look good and feel good about ourselves while helping the little people. Take today's event, for example. Australia's Biggest Morning Tea. So many groups were having lame-o tea breaks at their work "for the cause" or haus fraus dusting off old tea sets to impress friends or thick-ankled matrons from benevolent societies serving up 'slices' while rattling coin boxes to ensure a Cancer Council donation. Not for this flapper. I went to the only place to be seen this day...

Victoria Park Primary School.
Like, everyone who is anyone was there. Ms May's preprimary
class hosted this classy event on their exclusive property. You know it was exclusive because of the really high fence(the higher the fencing, the higher tone a place, I tell you). Nothing but gold coins accepted by a golden haired boy and our swag bags (and who else got swag bags at their humble shindig?) were individually decorated by artistes. I rubbed shoulders with Trevor Vaughn, Victoria Park's mayor (you may remember I had breakfast with him on Anzac Day) and admired the almost paper-like yellow daffodils growing in their Olympic-sized sandbox. (planted just for the occasion.)

Our teacups were specially chosen to match our different personalities. None of that institutional sameness you'd see at at IKEA (that's so...April. ugh!) Heroes that they are, some of Miss May's troops offered their quality control services at the cookie table. Specially selected for me was a teacup cookie: a clockface cookie (set to the perfect hour of 2pm) with a thin layer of icing on its flat side. Upon which was a white marshmallow with a half Lifesaver frosted to its side. The perfect teacup! (So brilliant it outshines the top photo. You can see the broad shoulders of our fearless mayor in the shot also.)

This curing cancer business is exhausting. I think I'll have a second cuppa.

Australia's Space Program

Drats, I missed it. At ten minutes to six this morning, space shuttle Atlantis-attached to the Hubble Telescope in space while performing repairs- flew across the southern Western Australian sky. I was awake, the morning cold, the sky clear but I just wasn't aware it would be there. People on the radio were prattling on and on about the celestial show. OK, I feel left out, so stop already. The best I've ever seen is a meteor shower and an almost-aurora borealis back in Ohio.

Come to think of it, Australian skies seem to be chock-a-block with space craft. NASA has tracking towers here. One lonely WA country post office wound up being a temporary communications central, at least for a short while, between space and ground control because technical failure elsewhere. Decades on, the now mini-museum wears its aeronautical heroism with great pride. Astronauts mention OZ in their transmissions. I suppose being the only large land mass south of the equator for about a kajillion miles is a helpful milepost.

But stuff isn't just whizzing past, rockets are landing here- or at least bits of them. Russian space station Mir was a close miss in 2001. Skylab made a grand appearance in the small fishing village of Esperance in 1979. Big and little bits blazed a path into people's backyards, including part of Skylab's toilet. Proudly on display, the cosmic commode has added a tourism element to the area. Town council wasn't always pleased with the scrap. They sent a ticket to NASA fining them $400 for littering.
It remains unpaid.

On the U.S.-Canadian border

Oh, sometimes an easy question does not have an easy answer.



My parents would ask, "Do you tell people you are of Croatian or German heritage?" That depends. Are they asking about my last name? Croatian. Are they asking about last night's supper of cabbage (with caraway seeds) and potatoes (with caraway seeds), sauerkraut (with caraway seeds) and stollen (no caraway)? Then the answer is German. "Where do you say you're from?" That depends. Lifelong or immediate? I am a Michigander. I live in Ohio.



Now in Australia, people will ask, "Where are you from?" That depends...on a lot. If I say the U.S., I risk a "duh" response. If I say Ohio, I have to assume that this Australian--who has only six states/one territory of his own--will know the difference between Ohio, Iowa & Idaho (which do sound similar to the untrained ear) and the other 47 states they have no particular reason to memorize. And one does occasionally hear the grunts of Aussies being annoyed by that very assumption. I can say Michigan and immediately hold up my hand to demonstrate the easily recognized mitten shape of the state. Again, if they are aware of the geography or topography, it helps. Was the conversation leaning towards accents? The American Midwest...and hope that means something, as well. Sometimes, the answer "Detroit-where all the cars are made" gets a knowing nod in return.



Only one question elicits an answer that sits easily on both of us. "Are you from the U.S. or Canada?" Either the accents don't vary enough in the questioner's ears to distinguish a difference or I sound like Canadians they have heard. They sound hesitant at their lack of cognition. No matter. Each of us, for our own mental comfort, is pleased to say/hear, "I grew up on the U.S.-Canadian border!"

ANZAC Day

The Australian and New Zealand Army Corps landed on the Gallipoli Peninsula on April 25, 1915. A crushing defeat, this day is used not to glorify war but to remember the brave dead, honor veterans and hail current members of the armed forces.

The largest of Perth's ANZAC Day services-which start at dawn-is held at Kings' Park. It is followed by a 'gunfire' breakfast, then a parade and culminating in a commemorative program on the Esplanade. It attracts tens of thousands of people all sardining themselves on the hill to watch the event on a big screen. So there is a big move to have Returned Services League (VFW equivalent) branches hold smaller ceremonies in their community. Our service was at the end of my street at Memorial Garden. All too convenient, even at 6 a.m., to join elected officials, neighborhood vets, a church choir, diligent Scouts and assorted insomniacs for a solemn service. The predawn program goes off without hitch [if you don't count the three Scouts who stood with knees locked for too long and fainted] and even with a bit of humor- a seven year-old girl joined the wreath laying action wearing a lime green robe and red slippers. She was part of the ever-increasing numbers attending ANZAC services everywhere.

Afterwards, it is off to a 'gunfire' breakfast. Normally this would mean rum in the trenches for foot soldiers. Victoria Park attendees were treated to eggs, bacon, tomato and bread at tables set up in the cleanest municipal building loading dock [euphemistically called an undercroft] you have ever sat in. My distinguished table mates included a well-decorated vet who served in Papua New Guinea and the mayor of Vic Park! The conversation was lively and very interesting. Good thing we weren't at the back of the chow line as more people showed up for breakfast than for the service and food was running out. Or does a freebie meal inspire larger self-served portions?

Choices, choices. At this point, one can bus downtown for the parade or head home and watch it on TV. I love a parade, any parade, all parades. Clap, clap, clap, woo hoo, clap, clap, oh yeah, clap, clap. Is that a 99 year-old man walking the parade? And another? Gee, can we cut these oldies some slack?

It is rather ironic that ANZAC Day, of all days in the year, has alcohol sale restrictions on it. The pubs and casino close from 3 a.m. to noon- not out of respect and patriotism-but because it is one of the very few times it is not legal to sell booze. So it is always a bit of a contest each year to see which RSL Hall (full of thirsty vets) gets sprung by law enforcement for tapping a vein before 12 o'clock. I'll settle for an Anzac (oatmeal) cookie, instead.

Fowler-Vacola

Being a long-time food preserver and Ohio State Fair blue ribbon winner, I was eager to start canning here in WA. As it was impractical to ship my complete kit, I planned on picking up a used set here right away and immediately start taking advantage of the long growing season. Canning is cheap therapy for this gal.

Easier said than done. After months of searching every possible corner of the city, I managed to score a set that is nearly 50 years old, 31 bottles, not all the accoutrement and considered myself lucky. Ancient, peeling paint and all evidence of having been well used, the Fowler Sterilizer is certainly not the Mason system. A holed platform is hinged at the bottom. Round jars, rubber gasket at the neck, and full lid clamped on top, are put into the pot, cold water is poured up to 3/4 the height of the jars. The water is supposed to take one hour to get to the desired temperature--which may be anywhere from 150 to 200F. And then kept at that 170F for two and a half hours or however long the directions require for the particular produce being preserved. Newer versions are electric; put in jars, water, plug in, set the thermometer and you're finished. No one was selling one of those for $30.

Second issue was the produce. U-Pick places are almost nonexistent. Double drats. Picking is part of the therapy for me. So I get my produce from farmers markets. Blue ribbons in mind, I measure the width of the peaches, sort the tomatoes by size (all to odd looks from the proprietors.) It's difficult to manage the sub-boiling temp on an electric stove. The peaches, shy of perfect, was my first attempt, also not perfect. Better luck with my tomatoes...a possible ribbon winner in the batch.

The pictures are a bit off. My Hannah Montana cam has a 'viewfinder' but not a captured image screen. I have no idea of the exact picture taken until I upload it into my camera. But still you can see the sun shining off the stainless steel lids atop the Vacola jars, the whole tomatoes in the left jar (my potential winner) and the old pot on our easy-bake-oven sized stove. I have a meat thermometer in the side water well.

The jars are stored in the cupboard under the stairs. I've put the kit up in the spare room but it is a very short distance to retrieve should another canning opportunity present itself.

April 14

April 14, 2009. Today marks the first anniversary of my arrival here in Australia. So many thoughts rushing through my head, so few rushing to my lips or fingertips.

I guess the disappointments are obvious. The economic boom in Western Australia was bust for me before I even got here. And now that the global economy is a bit weak in the knees, my prospects are no brighter.

I really have enjoyed touring about on weekend or day trips. WA is more than red desert and hopping kangaroo. As Kev always travelled abroad rather than interstate, I'm thinking he has experienced more of WA than his home state of Victoria. I thought the same way for a long time-- old people with kids vacationed up the road or in Florida, I want to go far, far away. Mom would say, "But there is so much here in this country..." and eventually I did go on a drive-about or two in the U.S. It is quite easy to be a tourist in one's own state. Now Kev & I "go walk-about" as often as possible to discover exactly what is at the farthest end of Earth. (Insert shameless plug for blog entries which report my findings ;-p )

I'm also rather glad we live so close Perth's Central Business District. A city slicker like myself wouldn't last very long at a sheep station (ranch) in the outback. Glamorize it in song & poem, but it is still a very solitary existence. I am very glad to have found some rewarding volunteer opportunities. I get to learn about the area and stretch some creative muscle in preparing my radio show, "What's On Where" No pay. It's considered community radio.
A few Aussie phrases creep into the vocabulary, but don't look for any Crocodile Dundee type twangy accent.

Don't know what to expect in my book of tomorrows, I'll just have to wait and see...