There exists a moment, at least twice a week in fact, in which my darling husband asks me how to say something in Spanish. What he’s after varies from, “how do you say ‘my second cousin smells like cheese,'” to ‘what is the name of this episode of ‘Breaking Bad’ in English?” and I can almost never answer his question. The other day, I translated “Caballo sin nombre” to “House without numbers,” instead of “Horse with no name.” Senora Cermak would be ashamed.
Here I sit at my pretty desk, “working”, and bored out of my gourd. If I were Australian, that sentence would probably have something to do with religion, seeing as “gourd” is how many pronounce “God.” The same people pronounce “gosh” as “goursh,” and don’t find it funny when I tell them they sound like Goofy. On days like today, I occupy my nine hour work day by listening to Stephen Fry read Harry Potter books, and picking out furniture for our impending move in September. No more Shoebox. Hellooooooo duplex! At least that’s the hope. Much as I love being in such close quarters with Harli, I’m a wee bit over this chapter of our life.
By the end of the week, I’ll have sent off the supporting evidence for the latest visa decision. The wait time is supposedly three to eight months, but I’m praying to hear back before then. If the answer is “yes,” then I’ll be a Permanent Resident of Oz. If not, then I have to either apply for a Work Visa, or return to my horrendous credit rating in America, sans my husband. I really miss life where groceries aren’t akin to highway robbery, and Christmas is cold, but my life is now in Australia. I drive on the left side of the road, refer to bell peppers as “capsicum,” think of $300,000 houses as “cheap,” and enjoy more public holidays than you can shake a stick at. For real: Good Friday, Easter Monday, Australia Day, the Queen’s birthday, “Gold Coast Show” day (remind me to tell you about the Show in September), National Labor Day, Queensland Labor Day, Brisbane Show Day, and Boxing Day (December 26th), are all public holidays I get to enjoy. Oh, and if any of those days happens to fall on a Saturday or Sunday, they’re gazetted to the closest weekday. Australia loves a long weekend. As we speak, I’m trying to convince Harli to get his boss to give him Easter Saturday off so we can go visit his sisters in NSW. Nothing screams “He is Risen!” like spending the holiday with atheists, right?
We’re heading to Iowa in August for our annual, oh so exciting, visit with my family. We were going to be there in late April, but decided against it for a myriad of reasons, most of which were financial. By going in August, we’ll be able to easily afford the trip, I’ll have enough annual leave to accomodate the time off, and Harli will have the blessing of spending his birthday at the Iowa State Fair. The man wants to spend at least one birthday in his life enjoying various foods on sticks, apparently.