Gobble, gobble...Happy Thanksgiving

I've been off busily preparing for my favourite holiday of the year. One of the few holidays that is truly American. The one day where we get together with friends and family, eat and be thankful for all that we have. No presents, just us. In my family, we are thankful for the people that are with us, and for those that could not be with us on the day. I have no doubt we were remembered as they sat at around the table, and now I was able to offer the same thanks in return. 

We celebrated our first Australian Thanksgiving this weekend. It was amazing. Two turkeys totaling 10 kilos (20 pounds), three kilos of cranberries (about six pounds), and a mashed potato bar with bacon, cheese, sour cream, spring onions/scallions and, of course, the real star, gravy. Mushroom with thyme to be exact. There was even pumpkin pie. 

It couldn't have been a better night with good company, great food, and lots of laughs. I couldn't have done it without MacBoyfriend though. He went to Manly Vale for the three kilos of cranberries and Marrickville for the turkeys. He flipped the turkeys and bought a poinsettia table cloth for the backyard table. So simply, for him, I give thanks

I'll leave you with a bit about the food....sweet dreams.

The Turkey

We brined both turkeys. One was a Martha Stewart recipe with bay and onion brine, and a Penzy's Bicentennial rub (tumeric, pepper, salt, sugar and something else I can't remember right now). The other was a Nigella brine with oranges and star anise, with a maple and butter glaze. They were delicious. 

We had cranberries, stuffing, wild rice, and a cranberry-apple chutney.

But the real star was the mashed potato bar.

This I believe...

Today is incredibly ordinary in Sydney. The sky has remained gray and cloudy, and it is surprisingly cold for a mid-spring day. I forgot my running shoes at home, and didn't realise I needed a light jacket until I was waiting for the train. This all after an epic alarm of the wattle bird at 5 a.m. I was happy it was Hump Day, especially after a weekend full of parties and pork in Melbourne.

I've been at the helm of my career path for a few months now, and have been questioning if I am heading in the right direction. So after this completly ordinary day, I came home and found something extraordinary. Funny how those two words, ordinary and extraordinary, mean polar opposites. I found a list of things I believe in circa October 2005. I remember starting the list based on the NPR program 'This I Believe,'which was often on in the car while tooling around the ghettos of Milwaukee. It was fitting. This was right after the time of Hurricane Katrina, and P-to-the-Earl and I were heading down for Mardi Gras that February. The theme was the Blue Roof Blues. One of the essay's was a social worker from New Orleans, who was writing about the aftermath of the storm.

For those of you that don't know the program, you should have a look. There are essays by American author Amy Tan, boxing legend Muhammad Ali, and 12-year-old Macklin who really likes the Beatles.

My list was started out of this program, and I had forgotten about it until now. Now, I won't keep you guessing, I shall share a few gems with you:


I believe I want to run away to Africa. 

I believe in the imperfections in people. 

I believe someone’s got it worse than me right now, and I should suck it up.

I believe I’m drunk.

I believe I shouldn't have said that.

As it's Veteran's Day this past Sunday in the States, the website for the organisation is doing a feature on stories from the Military Family. I can't do them justice. So many talk about compassion, peace, hope and connection in the talons of war. To be able to find something beautiful among so much destruction.  The ability to every day come across strangers searching for some meaning in their experience, and to help in some small part. To impart hope and reflect bravery. One Vietnam vet, ironically from Wisconsin, tells the story of a young girl giving him a magazine on the flight home. Thirty-six years later, he remembers, and gives her thanks, for this gesture of kindness. That. That is what I have to believe in today. It is in this belief in belief that today, I give thanks for. 

I'm official

Today we are off to Melbourne for a pig roast. That's right, a whole pig roast hosted by our lovely Africa friends. No doubt something good will come out of this weekend. 

Until then, this came in the mail yesterday. I can't for the life of me figure out how to turn the picture, so apologies to those of you that may have neck problems.

It means not much actually changes, expect that if I go back to study I'll get resident rates, and in two years I can apply to be a true-blue Aussie. And then, much to my mother's dismay, I can go to places like Iran and Cuba.

Land of the free, home of the Brave...Still...

It goes without saying that today was....

And the result was sweet, sweet democracy for another four years. 

I've written and erased about four versions of what I'm trying to say, the result is this: I love my country. I love the opportunities growing up in my country afforded me. I love the diversity that exists in such a large nation. I love that most people don't have passports, because two weeks is just enough time to pile the family in the mini-van and drive to Yellowstone. 

There are daily reminders for how incredibly lucky I am to have lived in not just one, but THREE very wealthy, healthy and safe nations. Most of them come from my clients, mostly fleeing their home countries in pursuit of something better. Many have faced persecution for their beliefs, without ever having done anything wrong. As an ex-colleague put it, in the welfare sector, when do you have a chance to work with single men that haven't committed an offense of some kind? Sadly, the answer is not often. I could go on, but can't imagine my employer would be too chuffed. I am grateful for the opportunity to be a part of this something better. 

In an attempt to educate myself further about Australian history, I am brushing up on my Aboriginal knowledge. For those of you interested, My Place by Sally Morgan is a good beginning. Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence by Doris Pilkington was recommended by MacBoyfriend. These are both incredible Aboriginal stories born out of the European settlement of Australia. My Place made me teary-eyed on the train on more than one occasion, and Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence has taken me under three days to finish. 

Most of the times I fly home, I am greeted at customs with a 'welcome home.' And I'm not ashamed to say that this makes me a little nostalgic. For that passport that is stamped with enthusiasm at each border, I am incredibly thankful.

Gettin' outta Dodge...

Everyone once in awhile I get an an urge to leave Sydney. It creeps up slowly, worming it's way into the monotony of daily commuting on public transport or the inevitable weekly run to the grocery store. Or sometimes it's blatantly staring you straight in the face. Before you know it you're all buckled up in the car without the vaguest idea of which direction you're going. Despite being regularly ranked among the top cities in the world, it leaves a few things to be desired. Such as you ask? Well, in no particular order....

1) Traffic. It's shocking. My favourite is checking out the rear view mirror after sailing through a yellow-turning-red light and seeing three other cars do the same.

2) 'Late night' shopping. You only get one night? I'm American. I'm used to stores staying open til anywhere up to 10 p.m.

3) Fashion. As much as Sydneysiders embrace that easy-breezy-beautiful style, the clothes are getting smaller and smaller. Which means you see more and more of 'what momma gave you.' It's just offensive.

4) Birds. This is oddly one of the things I have a VERY love-hate relationship with at the moment. I love the cockatoos and kookaburra. I love the lorikeets. I DO NOT love the incredibly loud, persistent and consistent bird outside my window at 4.30--5.30 a.m. EVERY. MORNING. I am currently hatching a plan to take this sucker down. I called a bird helpline today (yes, they do exist), and the kind gentlemen sympathized and then told me how he used a pile of rocks to deal with a VERY similar situation. This is definitely numero uno on my list at the moment.

For this and less interesting reasons, we decided to escape to the Hunter Valley, which is wine country 2 hours north of Sydney. It was devine.

We kangroo-spotted and drank some tasty libations. We had a lovely, boozey lunch at little place that just down right stole my heart. Black Creek Farm. If you're in the area, head that way.

We had some tasty Allandale vino, to accompany our starter of mussels with chili and main of salad with braised beef shin. There's a before and after for your viewing pleasure.

It was falling apart delicious. Dessert was tempting, but we decided on a few coffees with a 'tea box' of Lamingtons, biscotti and chocolate truffles. Perfect. We ended the day with a wine tasting at Gundog Estate, which turned into a beer tasting. We hit a few other of the favourite cellar doors and headed home relaxed and stocked up on wine for Thanksgiving!

And I remembered that though there are things Sydney could do better, there's a lot that Australia does quite well. Like wine. Like good, slow-cooked, locally prepared food. Like lazy spring morning. Like a nice latte.

So for the chance to live in this sunburnt country, I am very grateful indeed.