The Plunge Down Under

All Puffed Out

My thoughts have been largely with our loved ones in North America today as they prepare for the onslaught of Hurricane Sandy.   When I last heard from my parents they were waiting for the predicted convergence of the hurricane with two winter storms, one from the north and one from the west. We, on the other side of the world, are experiencing sunshine, blue skies, and temperatures that belong to the lazy hot days of summer.  The contrast could not be greater.

There is not much I can do from where I am other than keep myself updated online, however, and so I will carry on with the post I had planned to finish this week from my latest round of language notes. Into the mix I will add iphone photos that I have taken, at my friend Amy's suggestion, of street signs.  I hope you enjoy both the idioms and the pictures.

I read on cnn that the 911 dispatchers in NYC are receiving 10,000 emergency calls per half hour.  It seems appropriate therefore to start with this photo, which didn't really come from a sign, but rather from a police car.  In Melbourne you don't dial 911 in an emergency. Triple zero is the combination you need.  I have been told that in some places in Australia 911 does work as an emergency number because so many are familiar with it from American media.

The other day Ross took James on a bike ride.  Our six-year-old has to pedal hard to keep up with his daddy, and by the time they reached their destination, he was exhausted. James sighed and exclaimed to his father, "I'm all puffed out!"  This gave Ross a laugh because it is clearly an expression our son picked up from school.  The meaning is crystal clear, but it is not a combination of words that we use in North America.

One of my greatest challenges during the week is parking.  I have finally mastered (almost) parallel parking on narrow streets, although I do my best to avoid it.  Determining whether or not I am allowed to park in a particular spot, however, is just as difficult.  Making a mistake generally leads to a hefty fine, so I have been known to leave the kids in the car while I spend a few minutes studying the nearby parking signs.  I'll provide you with a few examples.

First off is a straightforward one.  It gives permission to park in the direction indicated for a maximum period of two hours during the times listed.  Outside of those times there is no restriction.

 

The next few are more complicated.  If in doubt, my rule of thumb is don't park.  If the parking spot seems too easy, it probably is too good to be true and will result in a violation.  All the more reason to walk, take a tram, or just stay home.

The big "C' on the sign above mean that a particular side of the street must be entirely free, or clear, of parked cars for the designated time.  Violation of this rule can mean you could be towed, something we see occurring regularly on the busy street near our house.  This is an expensive mistake that has been made by more than one of my friends.

At least twice in the last month I have inquired of someone as to how things are going and received the answer of cruizy.  I really don't know if I am spelling this correctly.  Whenever I ask for the spelling of a particular slang item, I generally get a quizzical look and the answer, "I don't know.  I never really thought about that."  The first time I noticed cruizy was with an Apple store employee.  He explained that things at the store were pretty cruizy, or slow, or easy, because it was just before the launch of the iphone 5.  

You might remember the expression knackered cream crackered from my previous post.  It seems that the word cracker features regularly in Aussie slang.  Just yesterday another prep mom called back to me as she raced across the playground, "Sammy's cracking it."  That meant he was throwing a tantrum (or a tanty), and thus she couldn't hang around to chat.  If you tell someone that something is "a cracker," that means it's really good.  Interestingly, the food item that we would call a cracker in North America is more commonly called a biscuit in Australia.

Those of us who take ourselves too seriously, or  have the propensity to take things too literally, often set ourselves up to be teased.  This happens to me more often than I would like much as I try to avoid it.  A friend of mine likes to catch me out, and she will explain that she was just having a dig.  This type of teasing is, and I quote, "not hurtful nor harmful, a playful poke, not malicious."  I am learning to have a dig myself from time to time.

Australians are for the most part, or at least I have been told this in my cultural training materials, a rule-following nation.  It is less acceptable to break the rules here than in America, and it is more likely that neighbors will tattle if they discover that you have the audacity to commit a violation.  Instead of the word tattle, however, you usually hear the word dob, as in, "You dobbed on me"---i.e. you gave me away.  Sophie talks about this issue fairly frequently as it is often a matter of great concern for her whether or not to dob on her friends.  She prefers to tell me everything at this stage in her life, whereas they swear her to secrecy over many things, including any infractions of the rules.

Toy libraries are a common thing, and a good idea I think, although I have not subscribed to one.  I should have done so when we first arrived.  The cost is around $100 to join, and you can borrow toys, including large items such as plastic slides and riding toys.  Lawn bowling clubs are also quite common, and we get some entertainment from watching the lawn bowling sessions near our house.  The participants are generally of a certain age (retirees).  Last year our local club invited the students from Cameron's school for a free session, hoping I think to attract some younger blood to this sport.

My next item describes well many Aussies that we have met:  They are not backward in coming forward.   In other words, they confidently and freely express opinions.

For my last language entry, I will tell you the name of the team that James barracked for during the Grand Final in September (the Australian equivalent of the Superbowl).  He wanted the Hoarthorn Hooks to win. Actually the name of the team is the Hawthorn Hawks, but since the aw sound is pronounced quite differently here James came away with a different impression.  There was no arguing with him, and he continued to correct my pronunciation until, sadly, his preferred team suffered defeat.

Here he is dressed in the colors of the Hawthorn Hawks, followed by a picture of some of his friends dressed in proper footy attire after a footy birthday party.

Mercifully footy season is over, but that means cricket is now in full swing with four hour matches every Friday evening for Cameron and one or more additional members of the Wilkin family.  No doubt you will be hearing more about the cricket season in a future post. 

Finally, a few more signs, one in particular for our friends the Smiths in North Carolina who have suffered more than their share of big storms in the past three years.  We hope they have not been hit too hard by Sandy.

 

 

Knackered Cream Crackered

It's been a couple of months since my last language post, which I titled mates, cuppas and lucking out. That one was pure fun to compose, and as soon as it was finished, I started a new series of notes for the next one.    The iphone is handy for that, particularly with the latest update that allows me to sync the notes to my laptop.  Even so I have managed to forget a few funny things I was positive I would remember.  My memory is a bit capricious these days, working beautifully one (brief) moment only to fail me utterly the next. 

The other day one of the kids' friends asked me what aspect of the Aussie accent and language differences I found the most fascinating.  I wasn't sure whether to choose the rhyming slang or the propensity to abbreviate.  Nearly every day brings a new example.  The scope for creativity with abbreviations seems endless.  I will start therefore with an example that combines both aspects:  trackie daks.  One afternoon at school recently I heard a mum sigh, "Imi (short for Imogen) please tell me you haven't lost your trackie daks again."  Trackie is short for track pants, and dak is added because it rhymes.  The word dak refers to trousers, or pants, in Australia and NZ, and comes from a brand name.  Katie's trackie daks went missing more than a year ago, but rather than tell me about it and submit herself to a lecture on responsibility, she has chosen to wear shorts and suffer the cold in the winter months.

I found this advertisement (pronounced ad-VERT-is-ment down under as my children frequently remind me) in a shop window recently.  I would guess the dairy company was started by a family with the surname of Jones.

If you ask a child about a task she has completed, you might get the reply, "Easy peasy lemon squeezy."  This one has several variations, and is a favorite of our son James.  "That was easy peasy Japanesey!"  A few weeks ago our sons participated in a lapathon, and I overheard a mum say as she watched her boy sprint around the track, "He is going to be crackered at the end of the day."  I had to think about this one.  It comes from the rhyming slang for a word that is generally unknown in North America, knackered.  Knackered means completely spent, or totally exhausted.  A knacker is a person who renders animals that are no longer useful, particularly horses, or someone who buys old buildings with the intent to destroy them.  I have more often heard the entire phrase knackered cream crackered rather than crackered  by itself.

If you find yourself bewildered or confused, you might reach for the phrase, "I don't know if I'm Martha or Arthur" (and remember, those two names more or less rhyme down under).  When you want to light a fire under a slow-moving child, you can call out, "Quick sticks!"  Rather than "Take your marks, get set, go," you might hear a child yell, "Ready, steady, spaghetti!"  

Here is another example that combines both the diminutive and the rhyme feature:  Are you ridgy didge?  This means, "Are you for real, are you telling the truth?"  Ridgy comes from the now-obsolete ridge, from the Spanish real, which refers to gold---genuine, in other words.  Synonyms include fair dinkum, dinky-die, authentic, honest, fair, or upright.

When I have mentioned the rhyming examples to Aussie friends and acquaintances, I have been told it comes from the Cockney Rhyming Slang that began somewhere around the 1840s in East London.  The primary feature of CRS is the substituion of a rhyming word or phrase for a noun (wife becomes trouble and strife), and then the elimination of the rhyming word itself (wife is referred to merely as trouble).   It has become part of the culture in Australia, and pommy is often cited as an example.  A pom refers, not all that kindly, to a British immigrant, although no one knows exactly why.  Wikipedia says it might come from pomegranate which loosely rhymes with immigrant.  You might hear someone explain, as if that is all that needs to be said, "Well, he's a pom."  I have also heard British immigrants refer to themselves that way several times:  "Not bad for a pom!," for example.  That came from a vendor who was proud of his ability to raise money for a scouting group by selling hot donuts

The following examples of rhyming slang I have not personally witnessed in everyday conversation, but they have been offered to me for my notes:

1.  Hit the frog and toad:  hit the road

2.  Bag of fruit:  a suit, as in, Tomorrow you will have to wear your bag of fruit.

3.  Plate of meat:  your feet

4.  Soldiers bold:  cold

5.  Charlie blot:  hot

I am only halfway through my notes, but I'll end this post with one last example of rhyming words.  It has recently come to my attention that at the moment the most popular brand of swimwear, a serious matter in Australia to be sure, is called Funky Trunks.  

Funky trunks offer slightly more coverage than the ubiquitous speedos, but still I would suspect that the majority of our American friends would hesitate to purchase a pair.   

 

Red Revisited

As it happens, shortly after completing my post on the color red, I discovered that our son Cameron would be decked out in that very color for his school's performance Masquerade, a musical written by Melbourne music teachers for primary schools based on Mark Twain's The Prince and the Pauper. Cameron had been keeping most of the details of his role a secret from me, although I did manage to learn that he was to play the role of Cardinal Mozzarella opposite the character Duke Fettucine.  

A character named after food, created with the intent to draw laughs from the audience, that spends the majority of his onstage time arguing with his female counterpart ("The land is mine!"  "Is so!" "Is not!" "Is so!" "Is not!" ... you get the picture) was pretty much perfect for our food-loving son, who has certainly had no shortage of practice arguing with his sisters. 

No photography was permitted on the actual performance nights, so I snapped this picture from the photo board, and then on the second night, the school principal allowed me in for a brief second before the show.

James also performed the second night, and what a pleasure it was to watch his delighted smile as he sang, danced, and paraded around the stage with his fellow classmates,.  Toward the end, when both of our sons were on stage during the final two numbers, I felt a lump in my throat and experienced that pride that parents get on these special occasions.  I decided that watching them was far better than having the opportunity to perform myself.

And now Cameron would like to have a word or two:

I loved the role of Cardinal Mozzarella. It was great having the audience laughing at the the duke and me.  At the start, when I first learned what my role was, I was disapointed at what I thought was a small role in the play. Now I wouldn't trade it for any of the other ones. At the very end, when we were bowing, I had an idea to get one more laugh from the audience.   I made a very deep bow, causing my large hat to fall off, after which point I hurled it into the the audence.  It was great fun, and one of my primary school experiences that I will never forget.

Seeing Red

I have not been able to get away from the color red today.  It is, truth be told, my favorite color of all time, but unfortunately most of the red in front of me today has been a seemingly endless series of brake lights, traffic lights, and the dreaded boom gates at railway tracks.  It has been one of those frustrating days behind the wheel, starting with a late arrival at the doctor's office due to bad traffic and slow moving trains, followed by a blood test for Katie (more unwanted red,), and then, of all things, a massive crowd of protestors wearing red shirts that closed down the road I needed to take to get her to school.  We did eventually get around them, but I was not in the best frame of mind by the time I arrived, late again, at the moms' group where I volunteer on Tuesday mornings.  

Somewhere in the course of the morning my perspective changed.  There is nothing like cradling a sweetly sleeping newborn to help soothe the nerves.  The little guy I had the privilege to hold today helped to give me the idea of looking for the positive side to the color red.  Perhaps it was his rosy cheeks and red lips that did it, but whatever the reason, it was a good thing I opted to look for the beautiful and interesting reds in my life, because there were still plenty of brake lights and traffic lights to be endured, right up until 9pm this evening.

Here are a few of the things I found, some of them in my iphone camera roll from previous weeks, but a few from today itself during the brief moments I spent outside of the car.  The first I snapped as I walked from the car to pick up Sophie from school.

Ross spotted this old-fashioned Holden last weekend.  It looks to be even older than the massive station wagon from my childhood, the one that embarrassed us as it swung around to pick us up from school every afternoon.

This photo is from earlier in the spring, when the leaves first started popping out.

Next we have a few photos from a treasured moment two Saturdays ago when Ross and I enjoyed afternoon tea in the Dandenongs.  The homemade scones with homemade plum preserves and plenty of cream proved to be a decadent treat.  We savored every mouthful as we lingered over tea, watching the crimson rosellas and galahs just outside the window next to our table.

I return to photos from today, first with a brake light that I at least encountered while I was walking rather than driving.

I found a bit of vibrant red life in an otherwise grim area outside of the gym where Sophie has basketball training on a Tuesday afternoon.  I assume this plant is from the Banksia genus.

Just outside the gymnasium, I found this sign:

In spite of my determination to stay focused on pretty reds, I could not help but take this photo as I drove to my parent committee meeting.  If you look carefully, you should be able to just make out the red and white boom gates in the distance preparing to lower for yet another train.

I can't close on that note, however.  Instead, here is our beautiful daughter, who just so happened to be wearing a red raincoat when I picked her up this afternoon.  With a smile like this to greet me, how can I be anything but cheerful?

You can read more about the color red here.  I became side-tracked reading this article when I should have been putting the finishing touches on dinner.

Finally, I would just like to express my appreciation for all of the comments and feedback from my post Springing Through the Fence.  Comments are lots of fun to receive, mostly, I think, because it makes blogging feel more like a conversation.  Secondly it is interesting to discover just who is reading along. I appreciate each and every one, and wish each reader a day full of joyful reds.

My Double Bass (by Cameron)

For a about one year I have wanted to play the double bass.  Ever since seeing a person from the Melborne Symphony Orchestra playing the double bass at our holiday club last October, I've wanted to try somthing different than piano.  My mom, however, informed me that I needed to continue studying piano for a while first.  Finally she relented, and hired a half bass for me eight weeks ago. When I held it for the first time I was amazed at how big it was. 

I have had six lessons so far. On my first lesson I found that I needed to make it taller.  I am about the same height as my teacher, but she is stronger from having played the double bass for so many years.

There are two ways to play the double bass:  bowing, and plucking the strings (also called pizzicato).  

I have found it challenging to transport my double bass. Imagine if you can carrying a huge fragile suitcase with no wheels.

Supporting the double bass while playing it is also difficult.  For now I am learning to play standing. Later I will learn to play while seated.  It's hard to hold with your left hand because you have to keep your elbow up and away from your body. I can't play for long before my arm starts hurting and my fingers have imprints on them. While practicing my left arm gets very tired so I have to shake it frequently.  My leg also hurts from getting used to the bass leaning on my body.   My teacher has recommended that whenever I watch television, I stand holding my bass and so develop the muscles that I need.

Another tip she has given me is to practice in front of a full-length mirror so that I can make sure I am holding the bow properly.  It needs to stay parallel to the floor as much as possible.

There are two types of bows:  French and German.  I was told to get a German bow.  It took me much of the first lesson to learn how to hold it.

During my last lesson I spent half of the time learning how to tune my double bass.  What you do is go to the harmonic E on the double bass, and then use the E key on the piano to tune.  It is pretty hard to for me to do at this stage.  Later in the lesson, when I was going through some exercises with my teacher, something clicked, and all of the sudden I was able to sight read.  This means I will be able to get a piece of music to play at my next lesson, so I am excited about that.  It will probably be something simple, but that's okay.  I find the bowing exercises and scales a bit tedious, and at times I get frustrated, so it will be good to finally play something else.

It's been a great experience so far learning to play the double bass.  I am grateful to my mom for helping to fulfill my dream by driving me each week to my lesson when she would normally be cooking dinner and helping my siblings with their homework.  I am also grateful to her for helping me to finally finish this post.

Springing Through the Fence

I am not sure exactly when this fascination began, but sometime in August I started snapping photos of flowers poking their heads through fence posts during my daily walks.  It may have had something to do with losing my walking partner to the classroom.  It is certainly true that when I am walking alone I am more observant of my surroundings.  At any rate this little game has gone on for several weeks.  The rules I made for myself are the following:  1.  I have used only my iphone camera. 2.  The flowers must come from plants that originate on the other side of the fence. 3.  I have made very few adjustments other than occasionally cropping a photo.

It has been surprisingly hard to come up with photos that make me happy, but following are a few out of the dozens and dozens (hundreds?) that I have attempted.  I"ll start with my favorite, and then post those not assigned to the trash bin in more or less chronological order.

August 13

August 29

This spring has been particularly lush, as evidenced by the following fence I found completely overtaken by a profusion of plants and flowers.

The next photo doesn't strictly contain flowers, but I liked the pattern of the leaves against the white fence.

My motivation level for walking has wavered since I wrote in praise of this undervalued form of physical exercise, but this little project has helped somewhat. The change of seasons should be an additional boost.  I simply don't have the heart to seek out another walking friend, but have instead been alternating between Charles Dickens (Bleak House) and Tim Keller for listening material.  Both of those sources should keep me going for the remainder of the calendar year.

If you have a favorite among the pictures I posted, please let me know, and also, if you have an idea for another series of things to photograph while I am walking, I would very much welcome your input.

I will close with the ten or so photos I took most recently.  I hope you enjoy the colors and beauty of of spring as much as I have.  

 

September from the iphone

Another month has come and gone, and with it, the changes that a new season brings.  Winter is well and truly over, in spite of the chilly temperatures thrust upon us yesterday and throughout the day today. Much as I look forward to warm weather and more constant sunshine, I will miss the coziness of evenings around the fire, and I will most certainly miss the relaxed schedule we enjoyed over the winter season with no children involved in sports other than swimming. Both of the girls plan to play basketball this spring, Cameron begins cricket, and a certain someone is convinced that the time is long past due for him to join an organized activity of some kind or another.

With all this in mind, and feeling a bit nostalgic, I had a look at the collection of photos that have accumulated on my iphone during the past month.  None of them individually merits a post of its own, but together they contain a few memories I felt were worth preserving.

It seems hard to believe now, but at the beginning of last month, the trees were just beginning to leaf out.  I read recently that the word spring comes from the spring of the leaf, an expression that came into use along with the fall of the leaf  in the 16th century.  Both were then shortened to spring and fall. I enjoyed watching and photographing the springing of the leaves this past September:

September also brought the milestone of purchasing a musical instrument for a child for the first time. S's violin teacher recommended that we buy one rather than rent, and so we visited a violin shop one Saturday morning.  S played ten or so different violins in the shop, took home two, and then with the help of her teacher chose one to keep.  Now to get her to practice more consistently ...

The girls had an extra week of holidays for their spring break.  One rainy day after the boys went to school, they helped me look after the babies and toddlers from the mothers group where I help each Tuesday morning, and then we drove up into the Dandenongs and splurged on a special afternoon tea.

My last series of photos I took with my brother and sister-in-law in mind.  Last July we sampled the very popular frozen yogurt at their shop in Ohio, Sweet Frog.  When I came across a similar concept not too far from our house here in Melbourne, I felt that duty required us to visit it on their behalf and report back.  The children were only to happy to join me.  The concept is the same:  self-serve yogurt in various flavors combined with a variety of possible mix-ins, all of which are weighed at the end.  This particular store is called Yo-Chi, and I would say it is making the attempt to appeal to the health-conscious consumer.  The mix-ins were quite different, very Aussie I thought, but the yogurt itself tasted exactly the same to me as that served by Sweet Frog---delicious.

I really can't imagine the fruit compote, stewed apple, or kiwi puree being very popular in Ohio.  I chose the cantaloupe and strawberry pieces over raspberry and original tart yogurt topped by something called "crumble."  Predictably the children eschewed the healthy stuff and went for the oreos and mini M&Ms.

R thinks we need to make at least one more trip, next time with him.  If it ever warms up again, we may do just that.

 

Spring Staycation

When I think about the spring breaks of my childhood, two or three things come immediately to mind: The motorhome that took us faithfully to Florida and back every year, and the mobile home park where my grandparents lived in Dunedin, not too far from Clearwater Beach.  How wonderful it was after several months of winter to head south and somewhere just past the Florida state line, to clamber out of the lumbering but comfortable beast of a vehicle, and breathe in deeply the warm, sweet citrus air.  

Those were the days before ipods and personal dvd players, but also before strict seatbelt and carseat regulations.  The trip to Florida from Ohio took somewhere close to twenty hours, but we had the freedom to move around from front to back, to stretch out for a nap, or to use the convenient on board facilities.  Most years we traveled down with our cousins, adding to the fun.  The motorhome could just barely sleep the nine of us.  My bed was a piece of plywood stretched between the two front seats.  My brother Greg slept on the floor underneath me, while Andy slept in a cubby next to the large bed that hung over the front of the vehicle.  I loved to travel in that overhead bed, tucked in with a book, alternately reading and gazing out the window.

Perhaps my favorite memory of those trips to Florida was the year that my mom and my Aunt Nancy read out loud to us a book about a family that traveled to Oregon by covered wagon.  The family became separated from the other wagons in the train, and one by one the parents died, leaving seven children to fend for themselves.  How we wept over the tragedies and trials those children faced.  The final blow came when the younger siblings rejected the oldest son after they eventually reached Oregon.  He had found it necessary to be almost cruel to them in his attempts to keep them alive and to guide them to safety before the winter blizzards.  They did not appreciate what he had done for them however, and I thought my heart would break in two at the end of the book when they rejected him. I remember the tears streaming down my Aunt Nancy's face as she read this part  in the final chapter.

I wonder if when it comes to vacations, my own children will have any memories that are similar to mine.  How can the many movies they watch on their personal players (and believe me, I am grateful for them) possibly compete with the experience of listening to a good book in the back of a motorhome next to cousins? Part of me wants them to have the same experiences as I did, traveling to the same location year after year for spring break, but that is not likely to happen.  Instead, we have moved them to the other side of the world and turned their lives upside down.

I have been thinking about all of this because we are in the middle of spring break as I type.  The girls have been off for more than two weeks, while the boys are starting their second week of holidays.  Due to Ross's unfortunate work schedule, we have not been able to travel, but instead have stayed at home while he took a quick business trip to Los Angeles and Pittsburgh.  

Sometime last week Katie remarked that it seemed as if we were in fact on vacation, except that we were staying in our house.  I responded that a word has been coined for that very experience, a staycation.  I am not sure that I entirely agree with her, perhaps because the work of the household has continued for me, but I have made a few attempts to turn the past few days into a holiday.  Our good friends the Browns lent a helping hand with this goal, and certainly did their part to chase away our blues while Ross was away.  We took a couple of daytrips last week, choosing the days with the best weather forecast.

First was a trip to Badgers Weir, a small dam near Healesville Sanctuary with a curious name, I thought, since there are no badgers in Australia.  According to Wikipedia it is named after wombats which must have reminded someone of badgers, although why that would be I cannot imagine.  No matter.  The nature walk was a lovely one, the temperature just about perfect for a walk in the rainforest.

The next few photos come courtesy of Gillian's iphone:

Two days later we headed in a different direction, this time to Point Nepean and Sorrento Beach. Again it was a weather-perfect day, so warm in fact that four of the children actually went for a swim in the frigid ocean waters in the late afternoon.  The rest of us watched from afar, preferring to cool down with ice cream.

James decided his stomach was too sore to walk at the beginning of what was to be a nearly 6km round trip hike.  David and Fergus gamely carried him at first, but eventually three of us stayed behind leaving the others to make it all the way to Fort Nepean.  We hung out at Fort Pearce instead, first cooling down in the shade of the abandoned fort, and then enjoying the ocean views under the warm sun.

We spent some time at the Harold Holt memorial, marveling at the disappearance at sea of a man who was prime minister of Australia at the time.  The Harold Holt swim center has been a constant in our lives for more than two years.  One or more of the children has been swimming there regularly ever since our arrival in Melbourne.

 

The Sorrento Back Beach was splendid in the afternoon sun.  To our surprise four of our children jumped from a conviently-located rock into a tidal pool, including James.  In the pictures below you can see Harriet holding James's hand and helping him to jump, Cameron waiting in the water below to make sure James makes it to safety, and Sophie mid-air in her flight from rock to water.  James's sore tummy was miraculously healed in time for this swim, and for the ice cream store visit that followed.

With the rainforest in one direction, and a stunning beach in another, I can only conlude that Melbourne is not such a bad city for a staycation.