You won't hear me complaining much about living in Australia, because it has been truly wonderful and I'm so fortunate to be here, experiencing it all and not having to work somewhere like my last job, full of silly politics and mean-spirited gossip. (Nothing like working full time shelving books while in graduate school for library science and thinking, "is this what it's like?" But that's another story...) Moving to Melbourne has been one of the best things Mark and I have done so far in our life together....however, since I don't have any American friends here to listen to me vent, I'm going to gripe on the blog (and I won't know if you don't listen, but I'll choose to believe you are). It's just a day where I'm letting things get to me. The weather here is driving me crazy lately. It's changing so rapidly I don't know what to expect anymore. The week mom was visiting us was mostly beautiful and fairly warm; last week was awful- cold, bitter wind, and rainy- and today I could be walking around in shorts, flip-flops, and a tanktop. Not knowing that it was 17 outside (that's about 63 degrees for all you Fahrenheit peeps), I put on my winter courderoy peacoat, scarf, and hat to go to the grocery store this afternoon.
Maybe it was the combination of walking home with a bursting backpack plus another heavyweight canvas bag of groceries and this attire that got me so grouchy. I always get more than I can handle (literally) at the store...and even though I know I do it, that apparently isn't enough to stop me. This is the one time during the week I miss having a vehicle. I've developed a few methods of carrying groceries home. One is to bring as many bags with me as I can and then try to balance out the weight so I am carrying lots of bags, but stuff is distributed okay. A bit unwieldy when walking around though. Another method is just to try and buy the minimum and make several trips to the store in one week, but I usually don't like this--I'd rather spend time doing almost anything than dodging other grocery store customers in narrow aisles, trying to find the pinto beans (there usually aren't any).
Mark and I often go together, which is my favorite approach, because he lets me carry the lighter bags despite my occasional protests and we can carry more home as a team than by ourselves. But, like today, when I go solo, I only take two bags with me to the store, looking over my list beforehand, and telling myself I can successfully stuff all of it into these bags when deep down, I know I probably can't. The grocery clerks clearly think I'm a bit off as I say "no, I brought my own bags" taking out my canvas ones and rejecting their advice that I put some produce in their plastic (choke, choke) ones. Sometimes they ignore me entirely (it's the accent, I reckon) so I abruptly transfer my diced tomatoes. muesli and eggplant, bananas, milk and canola oil (etc) to my backpack as soon as they put it in their stupid plastic bag. Once outside the store, I usually hobble over to the nearest bench to "readjust" my load. Today that didn't help-it was just really heavy, and I got grouchier and overheated in my winter garb as I slowly made my way home, past all the sweaty kids riding bikes, past the ducks swimming contentedly on the Yarra River, past young couples licking gelato while taking cute photos of each other, past businessmen having a leisurely beer with lunch at the fancy patios in Southbank, past the BMW sales office and the vast Crown Casino...until I finally get to the lobby of our building and into #285 on the 28th floor, put the groceries away, and sink into the couch. Whew.
Usually there are one or two ingredients that are almost impossible to find. And some things have different names. Skinny milk is skim milk. Tasty cheese is cheddar cheese. (Light & tasty is cheese with less fat). Tomato sauce is ketchup. Capiscums are peppers. When there's something I feel confident I can find, like baking soda, there are about six different kinds and I cannot figure out why you'd pick one over another one and my eyes glaze over as about three other people are trying to get by and I'm thinking, is the banana bread I want to bake really worth all this? (usually out of stubborness, the answer is "yes"). Today at the organic food store as I was waiting for someone to price-check the noodles I was buying, the checkout girl tried to figure out where I was from...or was just being nice, bored, or a mix of both. I don't think about it much anymore but people seem regularly surprised by my American accent and start asking questions. The conversation went like this:
COG: So, how's your day going?
ME: fine, thanks...It's really nice outside.
COG: Yeah, I know. So do you come here often? (I swear she actually said this).
ME: Um, not on a real regular basis, but sometimes.
COG: Oh, are you visiting?
ME: Well, I'm living here for a while, but I'm from the U.S.
COG: (smiles) Oh, okay. That'll be $3.95. Ta!
Sometimes I get a bit 'smartin. At a cafe recently the cashier immediately started grinning when he heard me order...he said to us, "You must be from the U.S. I sarcastically said, "Oh, and how'd you guess that?" (smiling so he'd know I was teasing). "I don't know", he replied, smiling back and then asking "whereabouts?" "Oh, west coast, near Seattle" Mark answers (we've learned more people are familiar with Seattle than with Portland). Anyway, having typed all this out and coming home with all the required ingredients to make a tasty batch of banana bread (despite being confused by the baking soda and feeling like an idiot), I'm much better and realizing my life is pretty damn good. Thanks for listening...
Maybe it was the combination of walking home with a bursting backpack plus another heavyweight canvas bag of groceries and this attire that got me so grouchy. I always get more than I can handle (literally) at the store...and even though I know I do it, that apparently isn't enough to stop me. This is the one time during the week I miss having a vehicle. I've developed a few methods of carrying groceries home. One is to bring as many bags with me as I can and then try to balance out the weight so I am carrying lots of bags, but stuff is distributed okay. A bit unwieldy when walking around though. Another method is just to try and buy the minimum and make several trips to the store in one week, but I usually don't like this--I'd rather spend time doing almost anything than dodging other grocery store customers in narrow aisles, trying to find the pinto beans (there usually aren't any).
Mark and I often go together, which is my favorite approach, because he lets me carry the lighter bags despite my occasional protests and we can carry more home as a team than by ourselves. But, like today, when I go solo, I only take two bags with me to the store, looking over my list beforehand, and telling myself I can successfully stuff all of it into these bags when deep down, I know I probably can't. The grocery clerks clearly think I'm a bit off as I say "no, I brought my own bags" taking out my canvas ones and rejecting their advice that I put some produce in their plastic (choke, choke) ones. Sometimes they ignore me entirely (it's the accent, I reckon) so I abruptly transfer my diced tomatoes. muesli and eggplant, bananas, milk and canola oil (etc) to my backpack as soon as they put it in their stupid plastic bag. Once outside the store, I usually hobble over to the nearest bench to "readjust" my load. Today that didn't help-it was just really heavy, and I got grouchier and overheated in my winter garb as I slowly made my way home, past all the sweaty kids riding bikes, past the ducks swimming contentedly on the Yarra River, past young couples licking gelato while taking cute photos of each other, past businessmen having a leisurely beer with lunch at the fancy patios in Southbank, past the BMW sales office and the vast Crown Casino...until I finally get to the lobby of our building and into #285 on the 28th floor, put the groceries away, and sink into the couch. Whew.
Usually there are one or two ingredients that are almost impossible to find. And some things have different names. Skinny milk is skim milk. Tasty cheese is cheddar cheese. (Light & tasty is cheese with less fat). Tomato sauce is ketchup. Capiscums are peppers. When there's something I feel confident I can find, like baking soda, there are about six different kinds and I cannot figure out why you'd pick one over another one and my eyes glaze over as about three other people are trying to get by and I'm thinking, is the banana bread I want to bake really worth all this? (usually out of stubborness, the answer is "yes"). Today at the organic food store as I was waiting for someone to price-check the noodles I was buying, the checkout girl tried to figure out where I was from...or was just being nice, bored, or a mix of both. I don't think about it much anymore but people seem regularly surprised by my American accent and start asking questions. The conversation went like this:
COG: So, how's your day going?
ME: fine, thanks...It's really nice outside.
COG: Yeah, I know. So do you come here often? (I swear she actually said this).
ME: Um, not on a real regular basis, but sometimes.
COG: Oh, are you visiting?
ME: Well, I'm living here for a while, but I'm from the U.S.
COG: (smiles) Oh, okay. That'll be $3.95. Ta!
Sometimes I get a bit 'smartin. At a cafe recently the cashier immediately started grinning when he heard me order...he said to us, "You must be from the U.S. I sarcastically said, "Oh, and how'd you guess that?" (smiling so he'd know I was teasing). "I don't know", he replied, smiling back and then asking "whereabouts?" "Oh, west coast, near Seattle" Mark answers (we've learned more people are familiar with Seattle than with Portland). Anyway, having typed all this out and coming home with all the required ingredients to make a tasty batch of banana bread (despite being confused by the baking soda and feeling like an idiot), I'm much better and realizing my life is pretty damn good. Thanks for listening...
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