Nip and Tuck - Part 2 - Our Aussie Adventure

So here we are, all in Australia and finally together after months and months of planning and stress.

As most cats are, they were very cautious at first.  Tuck was always the more outgoing cat, but eventually Nip came around and started to explore her surroundings with more and more confidence.

I was living with Mum and Dad after my arrival and they had a beautiful dog called Jake.  Jake had grown up with cats and was always quite curious about mine.  Because there were pretty much identical, and Nip did not make herself known very much, we were convinced that Jake thought there was only one cat.  One day Nip came out into the living room when Tuck was already there. Jake looked like he was watching a tennis match, his head pivoting back and forth, confusion written all over his furry little face.  He looked at us as if to say 'What?  There's TWO?'.

Guess which was which?

When I moved in with Shawn, Nip and Tuck had to get used to yet another change.  They were pros by this time and took it in their stride.  It took Shawn a bit longer.  He has allergies, but he knew that we were a package deal - who is going to spend a fortune in time and money to fly their cats across the globe only to abandon them? Certainly not me.

Nip, being Nip, never really liked anyone but me.  She had perfected the best 'F... You' look directed at Shawn whenever he walked into the room.  She never did anything to him, just gave him the look (she was a girl, after all, and we are genetically good at those looks!).  Tuck and Shawn formed a fast friendship though, and were definitely buddies.  Tuck was a talker - loud and proud - and I would often hear Shawn having a little conversation with Tuck.  He even fed Tuck from the table, which he swore he would never do.  Cats are like that - manipulative.

'Whatcha eating?

Nip and Tuck got used to the kids coming around and had no problem with it.  And then we got Rover.  Rover was a baby cockatiel and boy, did she rule the roost (again, I'll point out....female!).  The cats didn't know what to make of her, and she used to chase them off their cat food if she wanted to eat some, with the bounce of her little yellow head and a vicious hiss.  Poor cats, it really was quite embarrassing.

'Go away Nip, it's my food.'

This was one of the reasons that we used to call them the 'Ornamental Cats'.  Not only did they never attack the bird, we found a green tree snake in our house one time that they had let slither all the way into the bedroom.  Certainly not like Clawde, who is well-known for his unfortunate snake wrangling talents.  The poor cats never did quite get the hang of being 'cats', and they did not help keep the mouse and rat population down in that house or on our acreage.

Surviving the addition of the bird, we eventually tested them by adopting two older Rhodesian Ridgebacks - Polly and Askhim.  They were the most beautifully natured dogs, and fit into our family immediately like they were meant to be there (and they were).  Nip and Tuck were a bit scared at first, and we kept the dogs out of our bedroom so that the cats had a sanctuary.  Askhim, filled with curiosity, would often be laying outside the bedroom door, hoping to get a glimpse.  Eventually they got used to each other and cohabitated very nicely.  Tuck even became friends with them...Nip not so much.  There were no fights or aggression though, just indifference on her part.

Polly & Nip



Tuck was always a bit of a bastard to his sister - typical brother - and after her death we adopted Clawde from an animal rescue organisation.  Clawde was about 9 months when we got him and full of beans - desperate to play and make friends with Tuck.  I like to think Clawde was a bit of karma for how Tuck used to treat Nip (and in true karma fashion, Clawde ended up with Purrkins - the circle of cat revenge was complete!).

A little bit of karma aka Clawde

The two cats had an affinity for boxes, Tuck especially.  Any box was his haven.  Even if it was much too small for him, he would still squish into it, furry fat rolls hanging over the side as he purred and looked content.  There were always boxes scattered around the house, and always two shoeboxes in the bedroom that they liked to sleep in.  It is my eternal disappointment that Clawde and Purrkins aren't that keen on boxes.

Nip had a favourite toy in Canada - a small stuffed fabric mouse called Miss Mousey.  Nip would carry that toy into whatever room I was in, announcing herself loudly.  This toy was so treasured that I brought it with me to Australia.  She picked up right where she left off and still loved it until the day she died.  There wasn't much left of it after 17 or 18 years - just a bit of grey fabric with no stuffing in it, no ears or eyes and definitely no tail.  We had to be careful that it wasn't mistaken for garbage and thrown out - I'm not sure what she would have done.  It was so special to her that we buried it with her in our back yard.

To say I miss them every day is an understatement.  I don't miss them to the point where I can't function, but they do pop into my thoughts or something will remind me of them.  Tuck used to sleep on my pillow above my head, and for years after his death I would reach up in my sleep to touch him.  I like to think he still hangs out there and that Nip is still giving Shawn the 'F... You' look at every opportunity.

Tuck drinking out of the dog water bucket.

Nip - I wonder what she would say to Shawn?

Their deaths were hard - probably the most difficult pet deaths I have had to go through to date.  Nip was tough, but she went first and I still had Tuck.  Tuck was last, and his death hit harder than I could have imagined.  His departure felt like the last thread connecting me to a large part of my former life was broken.  These cats were with me through so many changes in my life - just think how much you change from your 20's to your 40's - and were loving and constant entities.  They literally and figuratively saved my life when I was full of despair and hopeless and gave me joy when I felt there was none.  Everyone that knew me knew Nip and Tuck, and they were my heart.  Time does heal all wounds and we move on.  New pets come into our lives, and the heart has an infinite capacity to love new ones while still honouring the old ones.

Miss you Nip and Tuck.  See you on the other side.

Friday Follies - I'd Change My Mind But I've Lost It.

I had a great idea for today's blog - it came to me in the usual way, while I was doing something mundane like sweeping floors or hanging clothes.  Unfortunately, I have no idea what it was.  No idea.  I've been trying to remember by focussing on what it was, on not focussing what it was, basically giving my mind several chances to redeem itself.  My mind, apparently, has a mind of it's own.  This blog is not about that idea.  I still have can't recall what my brainwave was about.

I'm not sure if it's age, peri-menopause or the zero-care factor, but I've been noticing that my memory is having what I will call 'issues'.  Having a good memory was something I have taken for granted, and now that it seems to be working sporadically, I miss it.  Looking on the positive side, I do miss it - if my memory was really bad, I wouldn't know it was gone, and I wouldn't miss it, so I will take this as a positive.  I have to - the alternative is scaring me.

Misery loves company, and in my discussions with friends and family bemoaning the fact that the old grey matter isn't working quite as well as it used it, I have discovered that my peers are dealing with the same problem. Phew - it's not just me.Just the other day I was in the kitchen, and I thought that I must go into the bedroom to grab the book that I needed to return to Mum.  Knowing my current 'issues' with my memory, I knew I had to act immediately.  Off I toddled to the bedroom, stopping to straighten a throw laying the ottoman on the way.  In the immortal words of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman - "Big Mistake".  The minute that my feet crossed the threshold to the bedroom, I wondered why on earth I went in there in the first place.  Retracing my steps, I returned to the kitchen hoping to tweak my memory.  It worked, and I rushed back to the bedroom, picked up the book and put it on the kitchen counter - right smack dab in the middle - so that I wouldn't forget to take it with me when we left in a couple of hours.  I'm glossing over the fact that I meant to return it to her twice before but forgot.

I'm finding more and more often that I get these great ideas and if I don't write them down immediately, they float off into the ether.  Sometimes they are retrieved, sometimes not. 

Words that used to flow into my speech now trip up on my tongue and are held captive in my brain, triumphantly pouncing out at 2 am or three days later when I wonder why it was so important to remember that particular word or that name of the famous in that movie - you know, the one with that actor that's married with 3 kids?

I'm learning some coping mechanisms or tools, such as reaching for my phone and typing out notes for later use, or setting reminders that pop up on my phone and can't be ignored.  I find the phone reminders particularly useful as one dog needs weekly medication.  Daily medication is really easy to remember, weekly is not.  The 'bing' of my phone has saved my butt many times.  Sticky notes on the bathroom mirror and emails to myself also have a place in my life.  One thing that does not work is asking someone to remind me to do something.  When everyone around you is having the same struggles with their memories, they are not reliable. 

The funny thing about memory is that I can probably tell you heaps of useless celebrity gossip - why can I remember that and not what I need to do tomorrow?

I guess I can still be grateful that I leave for work in the morning with my underwear underneath my pants or skirt, not on top, and that my memory does eventually kick in, even if it is just a bit slow.

Maybe by next Friday I'll remember what I was going to write about today?  If not, I know several ideas will come to me....and leave just as quickly.

Nip and Tuck - Part 1 - The Beginning and the Journey

Why cats don't fly planes

Last week it was seven years since I lost Tuck - well, 'lost' is the nice word for it.  His twin sister, Nip, had been put down about a year earlier.  Both had kidney failure for several years that I managed quite successfully through diet, medication and bi-weekly subcutaneous injections of fluids to ensure that they had a good quality of life.

This is the story of their lives, and my life with them, because I was reminded last week how very much I miss them and what a huge part of my life they were.

Nip and Tuck - little cuties! (Tuck is on the left - I can tell the difference now!)

Nip and Tuck were adopted from the SPCA in Edmonton in 1992.  I was living with a roommate, and been very recently been dumped by a boyfriend that I thought I had loved (in hindsight, I didn't, and as most past relationships go, he probably wasn't worth the emotions that I went through for several months after.  But we all learn, don't we....?).

Feeling raw and bare, and deeply hurt and unlovable, and of course being a massive fan of cats, I dragged Mum along to find some furry creature to fill the perceived hole in my heart.  Well, perception is reality, so I actually did have that hole.

Cats are great when you are single as they take less physical care than a dog, and I did like the idea of getting two so that they could keep each other company.  Mum and I spied two gorgeous, almost identical black and white kittens in a cage and I fell in love.  I fall in love with any kitten after 0.3546 seconds, so this isn't actually remarkable.

Nip and Tuck settled in to my life very quickly and were an absolute joy.  As the saying goes, if you have kittens you don't need a tv, and they were a shining example.  Tuck used to play so hard that he would stop and sit in the middle of the living room and fall asleep, slowly tipping to the side like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, until gravity took over and he either fell over or awoke with a jump.  Nip had an affinity for repeatedly knocking over pot plants.  I barely have a green thumb to start with, so this didn't help the plants' overall health. I gave up on plants in the end.

Nip and Tuck has such similar markings that I had to keep their numbered paper collars on them for as long as possible until I could tell the difference.  Nip had more white on her paws and had white eyebrow whiskers, while Tuck only had one white eyebrow whisker and the rest were black.  Their looks only differed in subtle ways, but their personalities were miles apart.

If I gave them a little smack for being naughty, Tuck would roll over onto his back and present his belly in all of it's cuteness (it worked, by the way).  Nip would turn around and smack me back.  Yes, she was in independent soul.

So tiny!

We lived our lives together, moved out on our own to an apartment, acquired Fred, my parents' cat, bought a townhouse and adopted a couple of guinea pigs (Thelma and Louise) to share our lives with.  They remained indoor cats and were steady constant company through all of my life changes, including jobs, volunteer positions, and a variety of boyfriends.   For 9 years they never failed to make me laugh or feel loved, and on the day that I decided to move to Australia, my decision naturally included them.

I'm a firm believer that pets are not disposable.  And seriously, if any man had stuck with me for 9 years, I would have considered paying for his airfare too!

Nip and Tuck liked to cuddle at my neck.

Moving any animal to Australia is complicated and frustrating.  I understand the need for strict policies - due to it's physical isolation, Australia is free from many diseases that are rampant in the rest of the world.  Therefore the government needed to ensure that my pets were disease free before they would be allowed into the country.

I spent the better part of a year preparing Nip and Tuck for their sojourn across the globe.  Anything that had to be done by my veterinarian, had to be signed off by a government veterinarian, recorded and tracked, and all within certain timelines, depending on the requirement.  Flea treatments (ahem, there are no fleas in Edmonton, that's one thing the cold is good for), worm treatments, and the correct vaccinations including rabies vaccinations.  Being indoor cats, Nip and Tuck had never had the need to be vaccinated against rabies, but as this was a requirement, I had to get it done.  Once the shot was given, their blood had to be tested for their rabies titre levels.  Oddly, there was only one place in North America that conducted these tests, and it was in Texas.  So off their blood went to Texas.  As with all red tape, this all had to be done in certain time frames.  Australian quarantine required a minimum stay of 30 days and a maximum of 6 months.  I didn't want my cats in kennels for 6 months (nor did I want to pay for it, you already get an idea of the amount of coin this was all costing), so I got out a calendar, and my vet and I plotted out when we would have to send the blood away in relation to the cats' departure date so that they would be eligible for the minimum stay in quarantine.

The gorgeous Nip as a kitten - oh, the attitude.

Long story short, it all worked out.  I had to buy special cat carriers that then had to be modified and I had to arrange transportation.  Due to the length of flights and changeovers, it was decided to fly them to Vancouver to be picked up and kennelled overnight at a pet transport company, and then put on the plane for the flight to Sydney via Honolulu.  A seal was put over the door of the cages by a government official, and if that seal was broken on arrival at Sydney Airport, a six month quarantine would be required.  Sheesh.  Just to add to the stress, this was just over a month after 9/11, so airports and customs were still on edge and hyper vigilant.

The drive to the airport wasn't one of my top 5 days.  The staff at the airline counter did look at me oddly as I dropped off their cages and paperwork, tears streaming down my face and snot running from my nose.  I could barely speak between the sobs - was I doing the right thing?  Was I needlessly torturing my cats?  The cats weren't impressed and screamed at me the whole drive there, which didn't help my mental state.

The cats arrived in Sydney and were picked up by customs (charged to me times two), transported to Eastern Creek Quarantine Station (charged to me times two) and quarantined for 30 days (charged to my times two).  They got to be in the same kennel, and we were able to visit them when we were in Sydney for a wedding.  The facility was fantastic, the cats were assigned one main carer and you could call every day to find out how they were doing.

The very exciting day came when I could pick them up.  Again, my face wasn't pretty as they handed me my gorgeous feline family that I had missed terribly.  Nip was quite thin and Tuck quite fat, so I'm guessing there were some sibling issues during those 30 days stuck together.

Nip and Tuck had arrived in Brisbane - I couldn't have been happier and I knew then that it was all worth it.

Say tuned for Part 2 - Our Aussie Adventure in one weeks time.

These two had a serious love of boxes.

Friday Follies - 70's Décor- Who Threw Up a Rainbow?

Harvest gold and avocado green appliances, carpets disguised as psychedelic, colourful acid trips and patterned wallpaper.  Bell bottoms, synthetic fabrics, crocheted tops and daring miniskirts.   The are the basic ingredients you needed in the 1970's, the decade fashion and style took a questionable turn.

Not my room, but wow!

Looking back on old photos is always good for a giggle.  I love the photos of our old houses with their crazy wallpaper (Mum loved to put up wallpaper), colourful appliances and bathroom fittings, and wildly coloured carpets.  You immediately know what era the photos are taken by the style of furnishings. 

Red shag carpet, and foil wallpaper in the background.
And the gorgeous dog Dofor.

No matter where we lived, we seemed to end up in a house that had at least one room with red or red-patterned carpet - usually shag.  One house had this crazy red/gold patterned carpet in the family room that would not have been out of place in a casino.  On the upside, these carpets were great for hiding a multitude of sins - a dropped morsel would be gone from sight forever.  Also good for cats that yack up hairballs!  One apartment that I lived in when I was in my late 20's had the gold/yellow shag carpet that had not been changed since that crazy decade.  At first I hated it - the whole apartment was dated, with avocado green stove and fridge, and horrible dark wood veneer kitchen cabinets. But it was big and got lots of sunlight, and that's why I loved it.  The shag carpet became a very positive feature over time.  I had two cats, and then three when Mum and Dad moved overseas and I was bequeathed Fred, and I can tell you that no hairball vomit or knocked over plant could defeat that carpet.  It just didn't stain - or if it did, you couldn't see it.  I spilled full glasses of coke (okay, rum and coke) and red wine.  Once it was cleaned up - no stains!  I grew to see the advantages of shag carpet and knew why it was so persistent in North American households.

Note 'casino' style carpet

Another 70's carpet style factor was having different coloured carpets in each room.  Each bedroom and living area would be it's own unique colour.  None of today's consistency and colour unification - too boring for the swinging 70's.

Shagadelic

As I said, Mum loved wallpaper.  When I look back at some of the kitschy wallpapers, flocked wallpapers, floral wallpapers and foil wallpapers we had over the years, I can see how she stretched her interior decorator wings and flew close to the sun. Not that I ever, ever want wallpaper in my house again.  The kitchens always had kitchen-themed patterns, of course, and my bedrooms had striped floral patterns.  If you were really lucky, the Sears catalogue would sell matching wallpaper, bedspreads and curtains.  Oh, those were the days, surrounded by busy, busy patterns.  I'm surprised we could sleep!

One of our kitchens

Other part of the same kitchen

No matter what your décor, there was always a macramé plant hanger and string art somewhere in the house, and normally the basement room walls were lined with fake wood panelling.  Lots of fake wood panelling.  And it looked fake.  I think that was on purpose.

So knotty

Owls seemed to be popular in the 70's.

Oh, look at all of that wood.

 

I think they have ticked everything on the checklist.

The 70's were colourful and innovative.  Everything was big and over the top.  Television was coming into it's own, and music was breaking all of the rules.  Women were fighting for their rights, people were protesting the war in Vietnam - social upheaval was in the air.  For those of us that grew up in the 70's, our thoughts turn to bright geometric colours and décor that was larger than life.  But the thing that I remember most from the 70's was that our house was full of love.  Big, crazy, rainbow-filled love.

This would have been very chic in its day.

It looks like Snuffleupagus died here.

A Storm in a Teacup



We have started storm season here in Queensland.  Normally I enjoy storms - the drama of the thunder and lighting, as well as the sound of rain playing a symphony on the roof.  Unfortunately, I have some pets that dislike storms, and one that intensely dislikes storms, and this now makes storms unpleasant for everyone.

Young and unafraid

A young Chamois used to ignore the rumbles in the sky, looking nonchalant and brave as the rain pelted down and the Gods rattled the sky.  Not any more.  Now the panic sets in and she will do pretty much anything to find a safe place to wait it out.  She can also sense the storm coming at least an hour before we know about it, and starts annoying us while the sky is still blue.  We call it our early storm warning system.
If we are home, she becomes a professional shadow, hanging out with us wherever we are.  Not just beside us, usually under our feet - she would get into our skin if we would let her.  Her brows furrow in worry and fear, she stares at us, panting, with droplets of drool falling soundlessly onto my freshly washed floors.  Not only is this a little bit disgusting, it is quite dangerous if you happen to skid on the slippery saliva.  Yuck.  Getting mad at her and shooing her away accomplishes nothing and just increases her stress levels.

In our quest to make things better for her, we have invested in a Thundershirt (http://www.thundershirt.com.au/) and after several attempts to get the right size, we have one.  To be honest, it only makes a little bit of difference to her anxiety levels, hugging her tightly as she quivers on the floor, but any little bit of help we can get, we'll take.  We have to be home to put the shirt on her though as I do not like leaving it on her on a hot and humid day in case she overheats.

Hanging out in the corner sporting her
fashionable Thundershirt.

We have spoken to the vet about her storm phobia, and they said that the best thing that can happen is that she goes deaf.  Well, that's great news, isn't it?  They have also prescribed a drug that is basically Xanax, but it takes 20 minutes to kick in (and again, I need to be home, not at work).  To be truthful, it works pretty well and she gets quite a goofy look on her face.  She's too young to remember Fast Times at Ridgemont High or Cheech and Chong, but I reckon she'd fit right in. 

If Chamois was human....

Heaven forbid if we are at work and an unexpected storm looms in on the horizon, which is usually what happens. 

Our first sign that Chamois had an issue with storms was when we got home from work and discovered her missing.  It seems that despite the fence being topped with barbed wire, she can still clear it and head for the hills - literally.  Once the farmer behind us told us that he saw her go over the fence and just run through his paddocks up towards the hills, past the cows, ponies, goats and alpacas that she usually loves to bark at.  Thankfully she came home on her own eventually, looking very dirty and sorry for herself.

She no longer runs away, which is a blessing, probably due to the fact that titanium parts now encased in her knee have ended her jumping days. The intense fear is still there though, and definitely worse than before.

One day I came home from work and there was no sign of either dog.  I wasn't sure if part of the fence had been knocked down or if they had simply escaped, but I frantically searched for them, running from the car to the house, calling their names over and over.  I found them - inside, all cozy and safe, surprised that I had worked myself into such a state.  Chamois had found her way into the corner of our closet, shoes shoved aside to wriggle into the smallest corner that she could. 

Unfortunately our back patio security screen door wasn't unscathed. That sucker had been ripped out of it's tracks and lay on the ground like Shawn's discarded underwear - a little bit sad and definitely not where it belonged.  It had been locked too, but she must have pawed and pawed at it until the lock pulled apart and the lip of the frame was bent back enough for it to come loose.  Judging by the muddy paw marks all over the locked glass door, she just kept going at it until that lock jiggled undone.  Fortunately she didn't hurt herself, but it took a bit of manoeuvring to get the screen door back in place.

Another time we came home during a storm and both dogs were still outside.  Chamois hadn't managed to get the door open this time as it must fit differently since it's last 'adjustment'.  It was still locked, but the bottom half of the security screen door was bent up and the door shape resembled a banana.  It took more than a bit of manoeuvring to get that door back to where it should be. 

Miraculously, she didn't hurt herself that time either.

So our outside doors have taken a battering, and one time she couldn't slide the closet door open and had clawed at it in desperation, ripping the wooden framing off.  We've decided not to fix anything properly while she is still with us as it is a losing battle.  We just accept that she will break into the house during storms and live with the consequences.

The other animals don't appear to be as affected, although as Clawde gets older, I notice that if it's a particularly loud storm, he wants to be close.  He also has an uncanny ability to know that Chamois is scared, and follows her around the house, comforting her with lots of head licks and rubs.  Chamois seems to appreciate it and will accept Clawde's nursing willingly.

 

In the meantime, storm season at our house is not be enjoyed but to be endured. Uh oh, here comes another one.....

Brisbane storm season

Friday Follies - My Sweet Sixteen Aussieversary

Sorry, this is a long one.

I arrived in Australia on 16th October 2001 which means that on Monday I will have been here 16 years.  Technically I left Canada on the 15th October, but there is that dateline thing to contend with.  I once travelled to Australia from Canada the day prior to my birthday, missed my birthday and arrived the next day.  I asked if my birthday still counted....they said yes.  Very disappointing indeed.  I could be a year younger now if I could just find someone to back me up on that one.
In celebration of the anniversary, I thought it might be nice to share 16 things that have happened or that I have learned since I moved overseas.

1.  Learning the language.  Moving between English speaking countries has it's challenges.  I still sometimes don't understand the slang or say something that I realise is 'Canadian' and get blank stares.  I had to learn to slow down my speech.  I'm not sure if I was a fast talker in Canada, but I had enough comments here that I had to slow down how speak to be understood.  I can tell you some Aussies speak really fast too!  The other big downside to moving countries was that I lost my ability to be 'anonymous'.  Not only handy for practical jokes on the phone, sounding like everyone else is also good when you have to call a business with what is considered to be a stupid question.  I can still ask my stupid question, but I can never call back because they will recognise my accent.

2.   Driving.  Driving on the opposite side of the road is not as bad as you imagine.  The hardest things to conquer are getting in the correct side of the car (yes, sometimes I still go to the wrong door), and turning on your windshield wipers instead of your turn signals.  However I STILL have the odd panic moment driving down the highway - my heart speeds up as I get the feelingthat I am indeed on the wrong side of the road and we are all going to die.  Palpitations anyone?  Surprisingly, the easiest part was switching hands to change gears in a manual car - that was easy, and I was expecting it to be difficult.

3.  Different Date Structure. Not a big thing, but in Canada it is month/day/year, and in Australia it's day/month/year.  You would be surprised how often that trips you up when you are asked for your birth date for identification purposes.

</ 4.  Different Financial Year.  In Canada, the financial year runs from January to December.  In Australia it is July to June the following year.  I still can't get it straight. 

Crazy Canadian Box Cats

5.  Moving Pets.  Naturally, the decision to move to Australia involved moving my cats.  Pets are not disposable, so I had to be sure that I could get Nip and Tuck into the country with all of the quarantine laws.  It was a very involved and expensive process (x 2 cats, or course), but possible.  As I am an Australian citizen, I had to do no immigration preparation to move here.  The cats were another story.  It took slightly less than a year of paper work, vet visits (which needed to be signed off by government vets), blood tests and the organisation of transport and quarantine.  We got through it in the end, and I had 9 more wonderful years with them.  For all of my anxiety, they adapted well to the whole thing and had a happy, rich and spoiled life.  It was the part of the move that caused me the most anxiety, and also the thing that I am most glad I did.  RIP Nip and Tuck, you were great Canadian/Australian cats.

6.  Different Seasons.  With summer at a time when I was used to winter, and vice versa, it is still odd to have Christmas when it is stinking hot outside.  A white Christmas is probably one of the things that I miss most.  The cats had an adjustment period too.  Even though they were indoor cats in Canada, both got thick winter coats.  Their first summer in Australia, the got their thick winter coats.  Poor things!  Their bodies seemed to sort themselves out the next year, and all was good.

How it should be

7.  Gain Some Confidence, Lose Some Confidence.  Nothing will give your ego a boost more than planning and executing a move overseas by yourself.  Fortunately I had my parents here so that I wasn't venturing into the complete unknown.  On the opposite side of the same coin, nothing makes you lose your confidence more than giving up almost everything that you are used to - jobs, house, social life, friends and routine.

8.  Getting Rid of Possessions.  A move overseas and the deep intake of breath that accompanies the quote for moving your prized possessions is great motivation to cull almost everything you own.  It was a great time to clean out, and the cull became more vicious as time progressed.  And as happens in life, I have more stuff than ever...it's surprising how quick the void fills up.  Shockingly (and embarrassingly), I still have some clothes/jackets that I moved down with....sigh.

9.  Sense of Belonging.  Even as a kid, every time we flew into Australia when I was growing up, I had this overwhelming sense of belonging, like I had come home.  I still feel like that.

10.  Treasuring Friendships.  As with possessions, a move overseas will clean up any social 'clutter' in your life.  True friends will still be true friends no matter where you are, and the ones that weren't are shed like yesterday's undies.  And thank goodness for things like Facebook, which make keeping in touch easy and fun.

11. Appreciating the Climate.  What can I say, moving from the Frozen North to Tropical Queensland has been amazing.  After 16 years, I still do not take the weather for granted.  Despite droughts, floods, storm season and blistering heat, I love it all and cannot imagine having to deal with the bitter cold every again.

12.  You Can Never Go Back.  Well, you can go back, and when I was hyperventilating prior to my move, I did have to remind myself that nothing was permanent, and I could always go back.  But in reality, I have been back twice, and while I miss the people, my life is here now and I would never move back to Canada.

13.  Learning to Deal with Loneliness.  I'm not someone that tends to get lonely, I'm sure I was a hermit in a previous life.  I like being alone and don't need a lot of social contact.  However, moving to somewhere that you have no friends will be a challenge in even the best of loners.  You quickly realise that at an older age, it is much, much harder to make friends than when you were a child.  Of course, you get friends in the end, and you realise that you don't need many, and that some friends will come and go, and that's okay too.

Ahhh, clover.

14.  Missing Some Things.  Things I thought I wouldn't miss or actually never gave a thought to, I miss more fiercely than I expected.  It's mostly the little things, like the crunch of fresh snow underfoot, the special quiet that envelopes the world after a big snow storm, everything covered in pillows of white sparkles, or the smell of the autumn leaves on the ground.  On one trip back to Alberta, the smell of clover in the field knocked me off my feet and almost brought a tear to my eye.  I never really noticed it when I lived there, but wow, it's a part of my psyche. 

15.  Time with my Parents.  One of my big motivations for moving to Australia (other than escaping the cold while the rest of my family basked in the warmth of their home countries) was that I actually enjoyed the company of my parents.  It was important to me to spend time with them.  I like to think we are very close, and to be honest, all of this time with them that I wouldn't have had otherwise is very precious to me.  Besides the fact that they are great pet sitters and that Mum regularly pops homemade meals into our fridge!  And definitely not least of all, I had so much extra time with my last living grandparent.  I made some great memories with Grandma and feel very blessed to have known her as an adult rather than just as a grandchild.

16.  The Husband.  Well, what can I say, I met the man that I am going to spend the rest of my life with (unless I kill him first or he kills me first....it's still all a bit up in the air and depends on the day) after I had been here for only 6 months.  What they say is true - when you aren't looking for love, that's when it happens.  For better or for worse, my ever-suffering husband is stuck with this crazy Canuck.

So Happy Aussieversary to me!