Australian Outback Spectacular!!!

First night in Australia, Surfer's Paradise, the most commercial town in Australia, led us to the most commercial activity we could find. The Australian Outback SPECTACULAR!!!

Frankly, I was expecting it to be horrible after all the criticism I read about it online. We arrived, got our "outback hats". Hmmm, pretty nice, made of straw, not the paper hats we were betting on. We even got to be on the red team, much to Guy's joy and happiness. It was red vs. yellow, and we all know we don't wanna be yellow!!!

So we get to our seats, pretty cool, second row and it's stadium style so I won't miss one embarassingly cheesey moment. The waitress comes and offers me wine, beer or lemonade. I took the wine. It was fabulous! I might like this place!

I figured I should drink slowly as I am quite sure you only get one glass for the 70 bucks or so that we spent on each ticket. Salad is served, and it's 5 star quality!! I mentioned to the waitress that Guy is allergic to peanuts and tree nuts, and she swiftly snapped up Guy's salad and came back with a nut free, egg free salad. The first one simply might have been contaminated, but she did not want to take a chance. Guy actually even ate some of it.

So the show starts and it's pretty entertaining. There's the fun stuff, like the guy's riding horses standing up, and guys and chicks are racing in various ways and dancing australian country music (believe it or not, it's really good). I was thoroughly enjoying myself and then a guy comes around with MORE WINE. How great is this place???

Excellent steak and sides and Guy's dish again was brought without my asking, and the waitress placed it down and said, Egg and Nut free!!! An allergy mom's Heaven for sure. They DON'T forget, even though there are a thousand customers to serve. They brought him a special dessert as well since we got some Aussie dessert made entirely of eggs and sugar.

And in between those flashy, catchy entertaining moments, the MC guy was telling us stories about Aussie legends: The Man From Snowy River - I thought it was just a movie! It's real!! How they lived in the Outback, the history of their country. It was great. And it was patriotic.

I don't care how tacky commercial is. When you put together a bang up entertaining show like this one and add 3 rounds of drinks and a 5 star meal, you surpass commercial. You are The Bomb. And that is what the Australian Outback Spectacular is. it's The Bomb. And a damn good one at that!

The Spirit In The Sky

So much for a vacation being relaxing. I thought it was going to go great, got packed way on time, got to the airport, loaded the plane and even took off on time. We met up with Tyler in San Francisco and off we went to Australia.

We even got our own row, every other person in a seat. How often does that happen anymore!!! So, the flight leaves at 11:30 pm, Guy drops off to sleep almost immediately. Chloe does too, and Tyler spread out on the three seats in our row as I gave him my extra seat.

I even fell asleep for a while. Then I woke up, and on the giant screens all over the plane was a map with our plane over……nothing. There was ocean, ocean, ocean. It stated that we were 4,000 miles from the good old USA. And about 6 billion miles from Australia. Great progress, you say? Not me. All I thought about was if our airplane crashed, nobody was going to get there to pick us up until well after we were dinner for some giant sea creature.

That’s when the fun started. Yes, my favorite and yours, turbulence. It sounds like a disease, and really, it should be considered a plague. Our gigantic plane was so long that it bounced on the airstrip while driving. During turbulence, it bounced and felt like it was about to snap. I was the sole awake soul on the plane, and not a rosary was in sight. What’s a girl to do? DWELL. I dwelled on the idea that, if the plane snapped in half, we were in the back half and therefore would likely hit the water with much less force than the front half of the plane. Some of us might actually survive a 30,000 foot fall. Right? But then again, I admitted that perhaps falling that far might make us go SO deep into the ocean that we would not be able to swim back up. Ok, Mary – Dead. John – Dead. I can’t continue.

Then I consoled myself with the thought that perhaps we would all pass out from the rapid decline in height, and would never know we were dead until we floated up to Heaven, or somewhere else in my case. That might be livable.

But I found myself hoping that, if we were doomed, we would just suddenly blow up. That seemed to be the least aware I could be of impending death. So after a few hours of this cheerful, “we’re going on vacation to the land of deadliest creatures” imagery dancing through my head, I made a big decision. I ordered a vodka & tonic. This despite the fact that I was well aware they did not have any lime slices. It was a big move. I had my drink, and fell into a restless nap. I had some weird dreams, but I will share that story another day.

Just in case you were curious, I am writing this to you from Surfer’s Paradise in Australia. It’s on the Gold Coast. Surfer’s Paradise is considered to be the most crudely commercialistic location in all of Australia. So I am wondering, maybe THIS is Heaven and we just aren’t really aware of it yet. Makes you wonder, hmmmm?

Sometimes they get it right

I was at cub scout daycamp tonight getting information on how camp will be run this week, and one of my scouts' mom, who is my friend, mentioned to me that her son is going to be mainstreamed this year in school. I burst out with joy, and then I started to cry. I am so happy and so proud of Zane, he's a great person and I love to have him over to play with Guy. Guy loves him too, and I am just so thrilled that the school - who often does not go out on a limb for a kid - made a decision to do this without the insistance of the parent. Zane will do well, and I am now probably going to spend more time in school to watch him succeed.

Zane is austistic. I love talking to him and he has a wonderful brother and a little sister who thinks my daughter is the be-all end-all in life. And the parents are really nice too.

The mom is the person who gave me a little "feet" pin a few months ago at the tax day protest. It is an exact replica of a baby's feet at 10 weeks old in the womb. I wear it all the time and even though they have gone through the laundry a few times, they are holding up great. The feet mean a lot to me, probably a tangible symbol of my feelings toward pro choice options. It is hard to look at the feet and say it's okay, it really is.

I saw those feet once, when Chloe was 10 weeks old and I had an internal sonogram. An internal sonogram means they essentially took a bat with a camera in it, and stuck it where the sun don't shine. But I saw, and I realized that they are people way before we realize it. And it makes it very difficult to think about what happens to them sometimes.

I say this because Zane is a kid I would have chosen to have if I were his mother. He's different, but he is fun and sweet and smart. He is a child I would be proud of. I just love him and his family and I am so glad he is progressing.

This is what life is all about. It doesn't get better than moments like today. I have the best husband in the world, wonderful children, and have surrounded myself with incredible people who care for their children. It's a wonderful life.

Better Off Dead

The title of one of my favorite movies now seems to be an ironic punch line to my feelings about life.

I am coming to terms with the comments and feelings of people I know and love concerning the right to life and where that line lies. I guess this has come to mind again this week because I have had a few chats with a very Catholic guy I knew in high school. We didn't even come close to discussing that topic, we just talked about everyday things. But he was someone who seemed to hold himself to the higher standard, and I admired him for that despite the fact that I did not see the need to even go to church.

What disturbs me is a comment by an old friend last year. She's a dear friend from college, and she has always been pro-choice. We both were. She asked me to be her bus leader partner on one pro choice march on Washington, and I did it happily. She got a degree in speech pathology, I believe, and she started working for the school system placing kids exiting special education in jobs in their communities. I thought it was a noble job. I still do.

But last Fall, she expressed deep concern that Sarah Palin intentionally had a Downs Syndrome baby. She essentially said she worked with so many special needs kids who were miserable that they would have been better off had they never been born. I was really freaked out by that. It pretty much defined my entire ululating wail throughout the entire election. Sarah Palin's choice to keep her child should not have become a political issue, yet it did. And I admire her for her choice. Not because I would have made that same choice, today I would make it but 10 or 15 years ago, I don't know that I would have handled the choice very well.

But it is a really a harsh thing to say that a kid is better off dead when you are trying to help them. I know and work with children who are autistic, downs, selective mutism, airborn food allergies, and just plain screwed up that my friend might classify as better off dead. She might have classified me that way when I was a senior in high school. It scares me, because I take such joy in many children that I cannot imagine making such a harsh judgement. My cousin had a downs baby about 20 years ago, and she was not prepared before birth, they didn't know. She flipped and wanted to put the baby up for adoption. But within a few days, she realized this was her child and she was going to take responsibility and raise her, and love her. And that is exactly what she did. My cousin has raised a very happy, funny, energetic girl who may face some rejection from the idiot population, but the world is a better place now due to my cousin and her daughter. A friend from high school chose to have her son after she found out he was Downs. It is sad that so many people shake their heads and say that kind of child would be better off dead when they don't have a clue to the joys of real parenthood.

I talked a mom I am friends with into letting her son, who is autistic, into my cub scout den. It took a year, they tried another pack first but eventually he ended up in my den. This is a boy I have known for 3 or 4 years, and he is such a doll. He is smart, and attentive, and creative, and my son loves him. So do I. He deserves to be treated as well as any other boy in my den (I have 10, and those in the know realize that is a huge den). He deserves the chance to learn knife safety, play games, and even help younger boys without prejudiced adults and children blocking his way. And with the fiercely viscious Mary behind, he will do just that. He's going to daycamp, last summer they put him in a lower unit because he was austistic. This year he is mine and with my boys because I think he can do it all. And he can, his parents know it and I do too.

Please, please, never write anyone off. Back in High School, I don't think my Catholic friend wrote me off, as serious and judgemental as he was. He left a small bit of room for reasoning. He was a smart guy. No one is better off dead. I am sure people said it about me once, special needs or just plain misguided. I know it's hard to work with teens who are wretched and "wish" they were dead, but many teens are like that, not just special needs kids. Don't write them off. Give them a chance, and teach your children to do the same. You might easily find a place in heaven on Earth if you do.

Uncle Paul

I just got an email from my uncle tonight informing me that my couse Kelley is graduating from high school. Thanks to the internet, he was able to attach a sample of Kelley's poetry and writings to impress the recipients. The biggest problem is, for an 18 year old girl, she is damn good. For me, that's a great problem to have.

For me, the greatest tradgedy is that I do not know my younger cousins the way I should. I grew up going to my grandparent's house at least once a week with the rest of the family. My dad was one of 8 kids and one of the oldest, so the older group of cousins was realy tight. I felt I had an incredible family life growing up, in spite of the fact that my parents did not come to my softball games, my cheerleading, those kinds of things.

I realized at some point that I have no concept of who my younger cousins are. I never saw them enough and I never had an adult to teach me how to interact with such young kids. I know how now that I've had children. Evidentally I know how to interact with them really well as lots of friends and acquaitances children flock to me as though I was Mother Goose. But I feel like a failure in the cousins department because I truly do not know my younger cousins to this day.

Yes, I live on the West Coast. But even when I lived on the East Coast I did not see nor interact with them. I had a great relationship with all of my ex's nieces and nephews, it was actually painful to not see them and still shocks me because they are so grown up and I have no clue.

At any rate, my Uncle Paul, who is a great guy and has overcome more mountains than anyone I know, deserves to have a niece, a goddaughter, who knows his girls and pays attention to them. I have neglected them and I am not so sure how one can make up for that these days.

Any suggestions are more than welcome.

I Wanna Be Sedated....or maybe I already am...

I was driving home from the Seattle Sleep Disorders Clinic tonight and suddenly was overcome with the desire to hear I Wanna Be Sedated. I switched radio stations at least 500 times while dangerously leaning over in a drunk-sleeping tilted sort of way to continue the search. But alas, it did not happen. The closest I got was Paradise City by Guns n Roses about a block from home. I would have been happier with Welcome to the Jungle, but it was good enough.



Why, you ask, was I coming home from the sleep center BEFORE I got to sleep? Well, there's a really good explanation for that. I blame it on Deryck Fritz. You see, my sister Cathy has been SCREAMING at me online, every post I made, to write a book. She eventually shortened it to BOOK!. And yet, I felt the negative response. Other people have expressed great joy in my twisted mind and oddball adventures in life. Yet still, I did not want to write. Frankly, I still don't. Not for me. But today Deryck, a college friend, sucker punched me big time. He said that if I couldn't write for my own dreams, that I needed to write for my friend's dreams. How unfair is that!!!!! VERY. But he knew exactly how to guilt me into picking up my blog writing and thinking about the future.



College held perhaps the most productive and hilarious years of my life. I discovered that I could have friends who truly enjoyed my "interesting person" magnet and my ability to wander into every odd corner imaginable. I realized - thanks to the demands of my department Chair, that I have plenty of talent and no true selfish desire to use it. I went to college in New York City, and it was the finest place on Earth for me. No frats (I am sorry, you are not a fraternity if you do not have a house in my book - just my book, you can have your own book so get over it). There was one dormitory with 400 kids and many were from other countries. Having adopted the Puerto Rican lifestyle when my stepfather taught me the true meaning of joy (FOOD), I spent many hours sneaking up on students in the kitchen (yes, in NYC you get to cook your own food, or we did at the time!) and learning about that particular person's food. It was so entertaining and interesting, and I always got a few bones thrown my way to eat! Sometimes LOTS of them! I beleive the only negative attitude I might have shown was when a cockroach appeared in my life. I would immediately scream throughout the dorms, "WHO IS FROM THE BRONX?" and someone would run out and say "ME!" and I would hand them a newspaper and ask them to go kill the roach. You know what? They ALWAYS killed it (even if they whacked me with the newspaper first). I love the Bronx. And I love anyone who grew up there!



So, back to whatever the heck I was talking about. Hmmm...Bronx, cockroaches, food, college! I was talking about college. I entered Pace thinking I could never survive one semester there, and I probably didn't realize how wrong I was until I graduated. Each semester, after finishing all my exams and handing in all my papers ON TIME (a first for me, teachers in HS always let me hand them in up to a month late), I would go out to the local deli with Brenda (my roommate for those who don't know) and get two big big cans of Foster's beer. Then we would drink them through a straw. That's two each, not one. Small Foster's cans never taste as good as the big ones. It was a quiet celebration and recognition of another freaking awesome few months.



So, needless to say, Deryck, who travels all over the world for the UN to help other people have fair democratic elections, skewered me with wanting me to at least give it a go for the troops from Pace. How cruel of him. He somehow knows that my life blossomed due to the entire experience at Pace. And he knows I owe Pace, NYC, and my long list of friends from college at least a true effort.



I told Deryck that I would think about all this tonight at the sleep center. And I got my little bag packed, with a snack and caffeine free diet coke, a good book, jammies and a bottle of water. I drove up to Seattle and got there early, so I decided to sit in the empty sleep clinic. Sitting there, enjoying that I was going to have a night of reading with no interuptions and no thoughts of writing, a guy came in and asked me if I was there for the sleep clinic. I said yes, although I pointed out I was 30 minutes early and he could wait to check me in. This guy was super smart. He asked my name, I gave it to him. And he said he did not have me listed for that night.



So.....instead of freaking out, I went up to the counter, reluctantly put away my book, and got out my papers. I said, "OH, you're right. I am supposed to be here in 2 weeks!" He was so happy. And I drove home. It occured to me that somehow this was not working to my advantage. I gave up my narcolepsy meds for 2 weeks, thus driving my poor sweet husband insane, and now I will have to go another 2 weeks. Then I thought about not reading my book and figured it was a sign that I need to at the very least start my blog again.



So here it is. From your buddy who at times is so intelligent, and at times is the Village Idiot. But either way, I am having a ball!

Luke

I am sure you all know about dog farts. Or at least most of you do. But my dog Luke has the most disgusting, offensive farts of any dog or beast that walks the Earth. You are sitting there and suddenly you are ambushed, a FOG of stench so repulsive has surrounded you. And you cannot get rid of it, it clings to you, to the air, to everything. You cannot walk away, it will follow you and repulse you for at least half an hour.

Luke's farts are more like a plague. Kind of like swine flu. Eveyone is fine and happy, and suddenly people are dropping dead all over the place. I remember swine flu when I was a kid, and it was killing tons of people, and the lines for the swine flu shot were miles long even though the shot could kill you. My parents took it seriously after it didn't disappear after a few weeks, and one day we all got in the car and drove over to city hall where they were giving swine flu shots. We drove by and my dad asked if we should get on line (he hated lines so we went to six flags on weekdays that it rained and left at 6am for the beach and joined a private ski resort so we did not have to wait on lines). My dad reminded us we could die. I was insanely afriad of needles of any kind back then, so I immediately suggested we wait another week to see what happened. My father immediately agreed and we went home.

I will never know if he was worried about his children dying or if he just didn't want to wait on line for it. I like to think he didn't want anything bad to happen to us due to a panic over a disease, but I can't be sure, ever. Either way, it doesn't really matter much. I didn't have to suffer the painful, death causing shot. And I am still thankful!