The Plunge Down Under

Coming Soon to Australia--Reprise

Since the time I first learned that I was banned from Australia for three years, I have noticed all sorts of visa and immigration stories in the news--nearly every day it seems.  No doubt they have been there all along, but just I failed to take them in properly. I have heard stories of husbands separated from wives, of families held in limbo for years waiting for a country's immigration department to (please!) make a decision, of those who have helped Americans in Iraq at the cost of their personal safety, and who now have been denied the promised visa to the United States.  I could list more.

I don't pretend that my own situation equals the frustration and distress of the stories that I hear--it comes nowhere close, but I do think I have an increased sympathy as I listen.  I realize that we have taken for granted the privileges we have in our family as American and Canadian citizens to go almost anywhere we please, to do what we like.  As R put it the day we received the final rejection notice of my first visitor visa application, "I thought I was a citizen of the world, able to go anywhere, do anything."  Instead we found ourselves shut out, facing what felt like a brick wall.  

The Hope of Spring in Our Backyard

 

Last Friday marked the first day of spring in North America.  It was a day we have eagerly anticipated throughout our bitter winter, so you can appreciate our disappointment when we woke up to a fresh layer of snow.  Never mind.  It quickly melted, and in any case, the birds were not fooled.  At the first hint of sunshine, they lifted their voices in song in spite of the reading on the thermometer.    

On Saturday we noticed a flock of newcomers to our backyard.  The Cedar Waxwings had discovered the fruit on our crabapple tree.  Our older son asked for a camera and proceeded to take dozens of photos.  

Winter at McConnells Mill

 If had to sum up the previous three months in one phrase, it would run something like this:  Periods of frantic activity racing children from one event to the next punctuated by snowstorms that suddenly halted everything.  It seems to me that the majority of my winter has been spent chauffeuring, watching the snow fall, shoveling, cooking and, hardest of all, managing the family schedule.  I know that I must not be alone in this.  

Denied

View from our front porch on Tuesday morning

When R first mentioned the word Australia a little over five years ago, I rejected the notion of moving there outright.  Over a bowl of penne pasta at our favorite restaurant, he casually mentioned that his boss wanted him to move to Melbourne.  I took about ten seconds to think about it.  An image of my accountant husband racing from his office to the beach with surfboard in hand flitted across my brain, followed by a handful of kangaroos and koalas.  Then I realized, to my shame, that my knowledge of Australia did not go beyond stereotypes.  I could name neither the capital city nor the prime minister.  

"No, no and no." I replied.  

Craving Red in a Snowy White World

We have been living in a white world for what feels like a lifetime.  I dare not complain too much since others in North America have had it far worse.  Take Fredericton, New Brunswick, for example, home of R's parents, aunt, uncle and cousins.  They have long since exceeded the amount of snowfall for an average winter with no end in sight.  R's aunt posted the following photos the other day, taken in Fredericton's city centre.