I hear the train a comin’

It’s rolling round the bend

And I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when

I’m stuck in Folsom prison, and time keeps draggin’ on

But that train keeps a rollin’ on down to San Antone

…

Well if they freed me from this prison

If that railroad train was mine

I bet I’d move it on a little farther down the line

Far from Folsom prison, that’s where I want to stay

And I’d let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away

Johnny Cash. Folsome Blues

I had a foursome! For the first time in my life! And, guess what –  I loved it! One woman and two guys –  same age, same interests, same values in life. Loved the nervous anticipation, the fun we had during our time together, and the high that stayed with me after we were done. This is to Ash, Eddie, and Dani, my Foursome Blue.

It started back in July while I was waiting for my visa to go to Sydney. Following the Sydney news, I saw an article on Foura – a matchmaking service to help people find mates. Not dates! The concept sounded interesting to me – you fill in your details, answer some questions about your interests and values, and Foura sets you up with three strangers for a night out at a bar – or weekend brunch. No swiping, no endless texting back and forth – you sign up, get matched and meet up.

Once I had arrived in Sydney, I contacted the founder of Foura – Tam – and signed up.

First came the easy questions: name, age, and gender. Are you comfortable with a mixed group? Yes.

Then it got interesting… What do you enjoy doing around Sydney? 

What did I enjoy doing here in Sydney? Sitting on my bench. Watching the sunrise. Drinking coffee. Reading the paper. Reading anything. Running. Writing. I noticed that my interests weren’t very social lately. From a list of fifteen activities, I finally chose: eating, drinking, and wandering around. Option #15 None of the above, made me wonder how you would get matched choosing that. Was there a Foursome for all the “none of the aboves”? Maybe I’ll give it a try one day.

Next came, Which activities do you enjoy in your spare time?

Bench. Book. Beach. Again. Not an option, though. So I picked “Investing in personal development or learning a new skill.” It sounded much more sophisticated than “Binge-watching Netflix” and “Eating chips”. Though I really enjoy those, too!

Activity level – I run. Then followed a few pics you had to choose from – this was beginning to feel a bit like a psych assessment, but I was curious to see where “hiking in the bush” would put me. Wild? Adventurous? Lost?

Next came creative outlets? (writer – duh), other hobbies? what’s your tipple? (had to look that one up:  tipple (noun informal) alcoholic drink. Also, a verb: to drink AND to rain heavily, which seemed appropriate given our current state of nina-all-day rain in Sydney. 

Finally, the all-deciding question in the assessment: What three things are you most passionate about? After all this, I was back to reading, running, and writing. 

Common life experiences – check as many as you want.  Mmmm…. Parent. Have lived outside of Australia. Travelled around the world. Alone.

It was the “alone” part that got me interested in this matchmaking in the first place. Though I would consider myself an outgoing and social person, making friends as an adult isn’t easy. People at work have their families and friends, people in the neighbourhood have their own bubbles, and dating apps are exactly what they say they are – a dating app. Not a mating app, and that’s what I was looking for. Mates. Not dates.

Back to my questionnaire. The questions were getting more complex as I progressed. Which of these values are important to you? 

And this time I was only allowed to choose four!!! I have to admit, I was tempted to put down different values just for the fun of it: Looking attractive. Living a settled and stable life. Making lots of money. 

But for now, I decided to stick to the truth: Intelligence (don’t laugh,, lol!). Having a laugh (ok, go ahead!). Trying new experiences. Growing as a person. 

Ultimately, it was the last value that got me matched with my pod of people. 

What was I hoping to get out of Foura?

I guess I was hoping to meet new people, get out, and try something different. I am generally very curious and interested in meeting new people. And, yes, I admit it. I was tired of being alone, though it was by choice. 

The German author Daniel Schreiber wrote a whole book about being alone, and a lot of his thoughts and ideas resonated with me:

“Sometimes being alone hurts, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes you have to break new ground and come to terms with it, or at least be open to the possibility of new paths. Sometimes you have to dare to venture out onto the lake and into the mountains, face the winter sun and hold on to all those friendly people who accompany you part of the way. To remember that there are different ways to be alone. Different kinds of loneliness.” 

And so I ventured and clicked submit.

During my first month here in Sydney, I got matched with three other like-minded strangers a few times, but every time I turned down the invitation. I was either sick, tired, or both. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready yet to meet a bunch of new people. 

Until I finally did it and accepted an invitation to Sunday Brunch with three people I had never met, that I knew nothing about, other than that we were of similar age and all interested in philosophical questions and trying new things.

The brunch was to be held at a café in Surry Hills. New to Sydney, I had to google it and discovered that it was over an hour and a half by public transport. But I had committed to it, so I was going to make the trip. Public transport is a bit unreliable here in Sydney, and I arrived way too early. Or maybe I just left home too early, restless and anxious to get there.

Each pod of four was given a colour to find the right table. Our colour was blue and next to me was a table with a white sign. Being the first one to arrive, I wondered what would happen if the other group was way more fun. Would anyone notice if I just switched tables?

But as soon as people started coming, these thoughts were quickly pushed aside. While the white group was a foursome of serious-looking women in their thirties (good thing I didn’t just put myself at that table), my group was a fun mix of different people. Ash from Ireland, Eddie from England, Dani from Australia and myself from… well, wherever it is I am from. Canada, Germany …. Home is where the heart is, they say, and currently, my heart was at brunch with a bunch of lovely strangers. 

What we had in common was wanting to try new things, so Dani talked about becoming a chef, Eddie showed us his beautiful art and Ash was just happy to be there. We talked, laughed, ate, and shared for over three hours (and stayed much longer than the boring white group!)

In the end, we exchanged numbers, and even created a Foursome Blue WhatsApp Group, and went our way. Ash went back to Bondi, Eddie and Dani back to East Sydney, and I started the track back to the Northern Beaches.

I don’t think the Foursome Blue will ever meet again. The WhatsApp group has been very quiet, and an attempt to get together was unsuccessful. Maybe we will get together again, maybe not. But that doesn’t really matter. What mattered was that we put ourselves out there and had a great time while it lasted. For a little while, we all held our faces in the winter sun and enjoyed each other’s company … until it started raining again. 

This is to you, my Foursome Blue. 

Cheers!

I’m so scared of getting older
I’m only good at being young
So I play the numbers game
To find a way to say my life has just begun

Had a talk with my old man
Said, “Help me understand”
He said “Turn 68, oh, you’ll re-negotiate”

“Don’t stop this train
Don’t for a minute change the place you’re in
And don’t think I couldn’t ever understand
I tried my hand
John, honestly, we’ll never stop this train”

Oh, now, once in a while, when it’s good
It’ll feel like it should
And they’re all still around
And you’re still safe and sound
And you don’t miss a thing
‘Til you cry
When you’re driving away in the dark

Singing
Stop this train
I want to get off and go back home again
I can’t take the speed this thing moving in
I know I can’t
‘Cause now I see, I’m never gonna stop this train

Stop this train. John Mayor

A black bird is hard at work in the middle of the bush, hidden behind red gum trees and small grass palms. Scratching, collecting, and racking large amounts of plant debris and dirt into a huge leafy mound. What must have taken the animal weeks to build looks like not much more than a pile of dried leaves. When it is done, however, it will be an oven-like nesting mound with a built-in temperature controller to keep the inside at a perfect 33 degrees. 

May I introduce to you – the Australian brush turkey. Or bush turkey. Also called scrub turkey or Gweela bird. And despite its name, it is not related to the North American turkey. Covered in black feathers, a flat tail, and a bare red head, this bird is quite frankly not very attractive. Hanging from its neck, a bright yellow throat wattle tells us it is a male brush turkey. The female is nowhere to be seen. No wonder she has a reputation as Australia’s worst mom. Right up there with the cute little quokka, who throws its babies at the predators in order to escape. 

When the brush turkey male has finished building the perfect incubator mound, a female will show up to lay her egg inside before she leaves to look for the next perfect male with a mound. And another. And another. And another. In the end, up to 24 eggs from various mothers and fathers will end up in the carefully constructed pile of leaves. And for the next 50 days, the brush turkey father’s job is to control the temperature inside the nest by adding or removing layers of leaves and keeping away any predators. 

Once the brush turkey chick hatches, it is on its own. After two days of scrambling vertically through a metre of dirt and compost to reach the surface, it’ll have to fend for itself. Its parents have little to do with its chicks, and it has to grow up without any adults to protect it or show it the ropes. Like young sea turtles or crocodiles, there is absolutely no parental care. 

For the last ten days, I had my oldest son visit me from Canada, and while you may call me a brush turkey when it comes to parenting, I must have been the proudest and happiest mom in the local bush. I showed him my hood in Newport (which he called a “nice retirement community with a beach”) and took him to Manly Beach for dinner (which he liked much better with its cosmopolitan buzz and relaxed vibe). We took the bus, the ferry, and the train to see the Harbour Bridge and Opera House, walked through Hyde Park and had coffee in Paddington. And finally, we made it to Bondi Beach.

Calvin had been at Bondi before – though he didn’t remember it. Exactly twenty-four years ago, we visited this iconic beach. Back then, I worked at the German-Swiss School in Hongkong, and we went to see friends in Sydney. Obviously, he doesn’t remember this trip, as he wasn’t even a year old then. He doesn’t remember playing at Milson’s Park, feeling the first snow on his face in the Blue Mountains, or sitting in the warm sand at Bondi Beach, getting knocked over by a wave. I remember him not being amused back then. Life isn’t easy, just like the brush turkey chick would say.

The hardest part about moving to Sydney to live and work here is leaving my children behind. There is a lot of guilt connected with it. I try to justify that they are all (almost) adults and have moved out. That their father is still there to look after them (just like the brush turkey man). That I can text and talk to them any time. That they can visit me, and I will be home for Christmas and summer breaks. Yet, the guilt remains. What kind of mother leaves their children to live her dream?

I have come to the point where I know that staying at home with my children would not have made me a good mom, just like going away doesn’t make me a bad one. It’s never black and white when it comes to parenting or love in general. There is a lot of grey area. Going back to Sydney and finishing my dream of living and working abroad will make me a happier person and, thus, a better mom. 

When I was travelling with my son, it was good to show him what I love so much about this beautiful country: the beaches and the ocean, the rainforest and reefs of the North. We snorkelled in crystal clear waters and drove along the windy roads of the Daintree Rainforest. We walked along the beach at night, scared of crocodiles. Had breakfast at the beach, lunch at Maccas, and dinner under the stars. 

Of course, we had some tense moments, too – mostly when I was driving (needless to say, I wasn’t driving for long, and he took over). But overall, we had a great time. A time to remember. Proud momma moments. It was great to show him the school I am working at. As a teacher, he appreciated the uniqueness of the place and the large variety of resources. And it was good to show him that it’s okay to have dreams and to follow them – even if it comes with a dose of guilt.

We heard the rainbow lorikeets and kookaburras screaming in the tree in front of my bedroom window early in the morning. Saw the bin chickens go through the rubbish in Sydney’s Botanical Garden. Watched the cockatoos forage for pine nuts at the beach. Saw warning signs of the dangerous Cassowary bird along the road and laughed about the ancient Demon Duck of Doom. And we said goodbye to the brush turkey following us to our car on the last day of our trip before Calvin had to return to Canada.

It is Canadian Thanksgiving this weekend, and I think that brush turkey is better off staying here in Australia – bad parent or not. Though he may not even be a real turkey and taste rather nasty, people may not know that back home.

I give thanks for having my son visit, spending time with him, and realizing that maybe I am not such a bad mom after all. 

And to Australia for providing us with the most bizarre and entertaining take on the “turkey.” Gobble, gobble! Or Oo-oo-oom!, as the Australian brush turkey would say.

Cheers!

We lean, we learn, we earn, we turn, we burn
We lean, we learn, we earn, we turn, we burn
Then start again
Cause we’re delighted
We go again
Cause we’re delighted

The consequences are yours
The frequencies are yours
The possibilities are yours
Cause the vision is yours

Benjamin Clementine. Delighted

In the thick of the island’s tropical forest, a small wooden bench is dabbled in the sunlight filtering through the dense canopy. On it is a random assortment of seashells, dried seeds, and pieces of dead coral: an ever-changing outdoor collection, tropical style.

Giant clamshells, innocent white cup shells next to deadly cone shells. After lying out in the sun for a while, there is no longer any danger of the cone snail shooting its venomous harpoon and instantly killing us. 

Drift seeds and nicker nuts, brown and shiny. Among them is the infamous Mucuna bean – or Burny bean. When rubbed hard and fast on a rock, it gets very hot and can burn someone’s leg or arm. A fellow tourist shows use the burn mark on her thigh where a friend showed her “the burning effect” of this seed. We tell her to find new friends!

And finally, a breathtaking variety of dead coral: beehive coral, brain coral, star coral, and tree coral. Broken into pieces and bleached by the water and the sun, they look like the fossilized version of their colourful counterparts in the water. Each one is unique in its shape and size.

A bench of beautiful things, the tour guide calls it—a place where anyone can leave anything they found on the island. No one will take anything from it, as the island has a strict “no taking” policy. As part of the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park, removing any species, including dead shells or coral, is strictly prohibited. Hefty fines apply, if not a jail term, for repeat offenders. “Take only memories, leave only footprints.” Though, I would have killed for a tiny piece of dead coral (pun intended). 

The Great Barrier Reef in Queensland, Australia – we have officially arrived in paradise! What was once nothing more than the topic of my son’s speech in Grade 6 suddenly became a reality. After a couple of fun but rather rainy days in Sydney, we soak up everything this place has to offer: the sun, the heat, the endless white beaches and the crystal clear ocean. The perfect place to dry our Sydney-swamp-feet!

We see little orange Nemo fish hiding in purple anemones and hear coral rubble clinking below our feet as we walk along the deserted beach of Normanby Island. We smell the earthy scent of the rainforest and feel the sun burning on our skin (it could just be my sunburn). We hear the sounds of the ocean waves in front of our bedroom windows when we fall asleep at night and wake up the following day. This is paradise!

As I sit here on the small porch of our beachside villa, the beach and ocean in front of my eyes, the sound of the ceiling fan whirling incessantly above my head, drowned out by the waves crashing ashore, I think that this is a writer’s paradise. And hell. So many things to see and hear and do: walk along the endless beach, go for a swim, wrestle a crocodile…it’s hard not to get distracted. 

At the same time, there is so much to write about that I don’t even know where to start. The crazy colours of the delicious fruits I had for breakfast? The drive along the windy coastal road for every sight of rainforest meets ocean requires a double-take (this can’t be real). Luckily, my son agreed to drive the monster of Chinese Wall Motors SUV, so I could enjoy the view. Or the fact that I swam in the ocean for the first time here in Australia, and I did not get eaten by a shark? Only charmed by a tiny orange fish, looking for his friend Dorie (who must have forgotten the way to the Reef).

Instead, I start my own imaginary bench of beautiful things – things I’m grateful for. And on it, I place the time I get to spend with my son here in Australia. This journey we finally get to make after having waited for over two years (thanks to the pandemic). And a bracelet of red beans I bought at the Palm Cove street market today, which will remind me of my wonderful time here. Until I visit again!

I am delighted!

Sail on, silver girl
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
See how they shine
Oh if you need a friend
I’m sailing right behind

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

Simon and Garfunkel. Bridge Over Troubled Water

It’s a Wednesday afternoon. School is almost over. My class is sitting in a circle on the classroom carpet. Tired faces. All of us exhausted and ready to go home. We have just returned from an all-day excursion to the Sydney Harbour Bridge. A whole day of outdoor fun and sun, wind, and walking. Lots and lots of walking. Five km that felt like fifty at least. Against the wind.

To end the day on a good note, we do a round of “Two stars and a wish” – What did you like about this day? What we could have been better. And finally, something for that you were grateful.

“I had fun playing in the park!”, “I liked walking across the bridge!”, “I liked the gummy worms in my lunch bag!” Sometimes we find happiness in the most simple things. Some children pass as they cannot think of anything positive to say. Maybe they are just too tired. Perhaps they really can’t. We are working on that.

“What did you wish for?” I ask, and plenty of fingers shoot up: That we didn’t have to walk so far (2 km over the bridge and 2 km back), that we didn’t have to walk at all. That others weren’t so mean. That they were more gummies in the lunch bag. Wishing for things seems to be much easier for some students.

And finally, the tough one: What are you grateful for? Many students simply pass, as they can’t think of anything they thought was cool. Exciting. Awesome. It’s kind of sad. “I am grateful for rolling down the hill.” “Thank you for my friends!” and, of course, “Thank you for gummy worms!”

Two-stars-and-a-wish is something we practice quite often in class. For giving feedback, self-assessment, and focusing more on the positive in general. It’s a work in progress.

So how about my own two stars and a wish? It’s been a bit of a rough week with parent interviews, being sick in bed with tonsillitis and laryngitis, tired and sore, and a bit lonely. Not really being able to swallow, I had to survive on applesauce and hot tea. I’m not complaining… well, maybe a little. Just like my students, it’s easier to get hung up on the bad stuff. The wishes, the things we would have liked to be different.

Yet, in between painkillers and throat lozenges, there were so many little and big stars that were shining quietly, waiting for me to be discovered.

The friend that came by announced to drop off another load of applesauce. The cozy apartment I am staying in, thanks to the generosity of my boss. My team teacher, who picked up the slack and covered for me at the parent interviews. The memories of Book Week fun at school and the prospect of Spring Break starting soon. The public holiday that got announced to mourn the Queen (albeit three days after her funeral – but I’m not complaining!). Friends near and far checking in on me. All the little stars I am grateful for.

And then there were the big stars – the giants and supergiants. Sparkling and shining brightly, once I felt a bit better and was able to leave my bed again. We went on a trip to a former colleague’s farm two hours from here – a mini girl’s road trip with a bottle of coke from the gas station, two dogs in the trunk, and a rooster in his cage on the back bench. The bird had been banned from school for crowing too much and so we were taking it back to its birthplace. The poor thing looked like it was being shipped off to boarding school. And sure enough, once we dropped him off in the chicken coop with various hens and rooster strutting around, he got attacked by the “big chicks” on the block that started picking at his precious head feathers – chicken coop bullying at its finest. We left the poor bird standing at the mesh wire fence with a look on his face saying: “Wait! Don’t leave me here! I promise I will never ever crow again.” A wish made too late – no more room for improvement in the poor roster’s case.

Dressing up for Book Week, joining a new neighbourhood book club, and of course, our class trip to Sydney Harbour Bridge. A perfect day of being outside with the kids all day, exploring the city, and experiencing what we had learned about bridges in class in real life. My favourite moment – watching my students sit quietly on the grass of Observatory Hill Park, a scrapbook in their labs and a pencil in their small sticky hands, trying to draw this iconic structure. Even after all these years, teaching sometimes still gives me butterflies.

However, my biggest stars – my hypergiants- the thing I am most grateful for are the people around me: my friends.

“When you’re in middle age, which I am, you start to realize how much you need your friends. They are the flora and fauna in life that hasn’t had much diversity because you have been so busy – so relentlessly, stupidly busy – with middle-age things: kids, house, spouse, and everyday life. The more hours you’ve put into this chaotic business of living, the more you crave a quieter, more nurturing third thing. Friendships are the rare kind of relationships that remain forever available to us as we age.”

Jennifer Senior. It’s the friends that break your heart.

Moving back to Australia may have cost me a few friendships. Other friendships are just not the same anymore. But while I was lying in bed, quietly drooling onto my boss’s pillow, I realized that my friends are my two stars and my wish: I like my friends. I wish they were always around. And I am grateful for each one of them. Near and far.

Cheers!

It’s not the same as before
It’s not the same anymore
And it’s fine because

I’ve learned so much from before
Now I’m not sure on advice
There’s no excuses at all
No point in feeling upset

Won’t take my place on my floor
I’ll stand up straight like I’m tall
It’s up to me, no one else
I’m doing this for myself

It’s not the same anymore
It’s better
It got better
It’s not the same anymore
It’s better
Yeah, yeah

Orange Rex County

“Everything has changed, but nothing has changed.” (Mark Hamill)

Grade 1 is now Year 2. I teach in German instead of French. My classroom isn’t a shipping container anymore but a wood-cladded portable. The bush next to the school has turned into a gigantic construction site for a state-of-the-art hospital. I live in my boss’s apartment instead of my little blue house. Drink cappuccino instead of a weird long black. And the Queen is now a man.

Everything has changed, but nothing has changed.

It’s been almost a month since I returned to the Northern Beaches of Sydney, and the strangest thing is that it’s not strange at all. I take the same bus to work, greet the same people (now hidden behind mandatory face masks), and make my way to school, where I am still always the first to arrive. Turn on the light in the staff room and the heat (yup, still chilly in the mornings) and start my day. Get my coffee at the same café across the street, shop at the same shops, buy my bread at the same bakery, and watch the same sun rise in the morning and set at night.

It feels the same, and it doesn’t.

There are new colleagues at school. New people I meet. New friends and old friends. My favourite Italian restaurant is now a falafel shop, and my local coffee place moved to the other end of town. In the morning, it’s the lorikeets that wake me with their ruckus instead of the kookaburra. The only thing that is still the same is my green wooden bench.

The unfamiliar familiar. In teaching, we often try to make the unfamiliar familiar. Using familiar objects to explain new and unfamiliar concepts is the key to constructivist teaching. We explain volcanos by building a volcano model, the time of dinosaurs by displaying dinosaur toys. However, many concepts cannot be made familiar by passing around plastic toys.

I was trying to teach the Creation Story to my Grade 2 Religion class this week (On Day 1, God created…, on Day 2,…) when one of my students – clearly distraught and confused – kept interrupting me by shouting: “But what about the dinosaurs? But what about the dinosaurs?” The concept of God creating ALL animals on the same day was not something that made sense to him. And it doesn’t. Trying desperately to teach an eight-year-old the difference between Creationism and Evolution, my attempt to make the unfamiliar familiar failed miserably.

Or maybe it didn’t. Meaningful learning, so they say, takes place when the learner (my bewildered Year 2 student) tries to make sense of what he or she is being taught by using all the resources they already have available, what is already familiar to them. Only in this case, knowing that dinosaurs lived way before most of the other animals, didn’t make sense to this boy at all. Teaching and learning abstract ideas isn’t always straightforward, I guess.

I finally made it to the sunrise at the beach: no rain, no work, but a familiar display of Nature’s beauty. And while I was sitting on the golden sand, still slightly wet from this week’s heavy downpours, watching the waves roll incessantly towards the shore, I realized that things are different and the same. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

It’s not the same anymore. It gets better.

Cheers!

And teacher

There are things

That I still have to learn

But the one thing I have is my pride

Oh, so I don’t want to learn

How to hold you, touch you

Think that you’re mine

Because there ain’t no joy

For an uptown boy

Who just isn’t willing to try

I’m so cold

Inside

Maybe just one more try.

One more try. George Michael

“Good morning, teacher!”

Picking up my morning coffee at the café across from my school, is how I am greeted daily. No name, no Miss (and thank goodness no Ma’am), just Teacher! Sometimes I get a compliment: Looking good, teacher! You look cool today, Teacher! But usually, I just get a large cappuccino (no more weird long blacks for me. Had to switch it up a bit).

Teacher. A good teacher. A cool teacher. My friend’s daughter calls me “a cool old teacher”. Talking about a backhanded compliment. Or an upside-down one, more like it (sorry, but I had to).

It’s another cold and rainy day here in Sydney. This city is determined to break the record of the wettest year on record. This morning, I was chatting with a coffee shop owner who talked about the past two years in his business. First came the pandemic, and then came “the rain”. While he was closing up his shop due to another day of wet, cold weather, he was telling me that his business wasn’t going so well. He’d seen Fire and Rain, and a global pandemic in between.

I don’t mind the rain. It gives me time to think. To organize my thoughts. To ask questions and try to figure out an answer. And maybe write about it. A German author that I follow put it well in his newsletter this week:

My writing always begins with questions that I feel I really don’t want to ask myself, and more importantly, that we as a society don’t want to ask ourselves. It’s in the nature of these questions that I don’t know beforehand what answers I’ll come across, if I’ll come across any answers at all. I just know that there is something I would like to say or tell. That I have something to tell. If that feeling isn’t there, I don’t write either.

Daniel Schreiber (translated)

And so I have been asking myself: What is a good teacher? What makes a good school? And what am I doing here?

And to answer my own questions right away – I don’t know. But I’d like to find out. And this week, I had plenty of opportunities to discover different kinds of learning and teaching thanks to the girl that calls me ‘the old cool teacher’!

I left a good teaching job back in Canada. Had a nice Grade 1 gig. Had my routine established and great resources collected over the years. Had a great boss, wonderful colleagues. The school was close to home. I had safety and stability. So why did I leave – again?

The short answer would be…because I am curious. I want to learn. I want to see how things are done in other schools. In other places. In other countries.

The German International School in Sydney is one of over 140 German Schools abroad. I teach the Grade 2 class in German. Well, in theory, I do. In reality, I teach a mix of German and English. Sometimes a French word slips out. The kids don’t seem to mind. My class has 23 students in my class and I teach German, Math, Science, Art, Religion, and Ethics.

The classroom is one of several wooden portables that were built this year. Wood on the outside, wood and felt covered walls on the inside. Cushion-covered window seats, large classroom windows with a view of the green bush around the building. Shelves and cupboards full of teaching materials and resources – which reminds me that I have to organize the room and swipe the floors and wipe the tables! But that’s for another day. Students have a 5-minute break between classes to play outside in the yard or the forest. Five minutes sometimes turn into 10, but they always return. So far!

There’s an open library before school and during lunch. Afternoon activities where we go on excursions to the beach or the park. Four chickens roam the school grounds. And my own workspace with a desktop in a roomy staff room. It’s the little things I get excited about!

And just like any school, other things are missing. Being a small, independent school, it cannot offer what large public school boards can provide. Or with a lot of personal commitment by teachers and staff. And resources !

And so I was very excited and fortunate to experience two fantastic Public School Events this week that helped me to get yet another impression of Education in Australia.

The first one was the “Metro-North Dancesport Confidence Gala Event”. A ballroom dancing event for over 600 students in Grade 5 and up. Taking place at the Olympic Park, 11 schools from the area had sent their Grade 5 students to participate in a showcase event, presenting the Salsa, Tango, Cha Cha, and Jive dancing skills they had learned at school. While it was fun and impressive to see hundreds of eleven-year-olds dance, alone or with a partner, the educational concept behind the event impressed me.

Intended to promote student wellbeing, the goal of the event was to nurture self-confidence, connections between students and staff, and collaboration within the schools and the community. The glittery costumes and quirky dance judges were a nice cherry on top of an ice-cream-sundae kind of event.

Two days later, it was time to go to the city to attend a concert at the Sydney Opera House. And not just any concert, but THE MIMOSA CONCERT! Not sure why a public school event would have the name of an alcoholic beverage, but it was short for The NSW Department of Education Festival of Instrumental Music. Five hundred students playing the recorder (what could possibly go wrong?) and 220 violinists from all over the State of New South Wales gathered in the beautiful, newly renovated Sydney Opera House to play together. And it was perfect (and I am not a biased parent, obviously). Not a single tone was out of place. I was very impressed by the organization of the event and the scale of it. Some students had travelled by car, plane, or bus for hours to make it to Sydney and perform with their student peers. Impressive soloists like the ten-year-old boy playing the piano, the harmonica and singing Billy Joel’s Piano Man, a girl playing the Mongolian flute, and others made this concert very special.

Like many other countries in the world, Australia’s Public Education System has its struggles and challenges. An article in today’s Australian newspaper read: One million left behind – Inequality has become alarmingly entrenched in Australian Education System. And I will not pretend that I am an expert in the local Education system, public or private. But attending these events showed that all schools and Boards have something unique to offer. No school is perfect, and there is always room for improvement – indeed, often there is a bitter need for it. Being able to experience different teaching styles and school forms, education systems, and methods allows me to take the best, and leave the rest, and maybe take a few of these great new ideas home with me.

So to come back to my question, what is a good teacher? What is a good school? In my eyes, one that doesn’t stop learning, that doesn’t stand still.

And one that has a good heating system is this cold, windy Sydney weather.

Cheers!

A million lights are dancing and there you are, a shooting star.

Olivia Newton-John. Xanadu

I grew up in an age without internet and mobile phones, music apps, or playlists. I grew up in a time when culture was passed along through objects: tapes, records, comic books, and books. They were interesting because we could live among them. We could pick them up and hold them. Collect them. And remember them…even decades later.

One of the first music tapes I owned was the soundtrack to the movie Grease. Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta. I can close my eyes and see myself in Grade 4, the quiet school hallway, my old tape recorder sitting on the grey linoleum floor. And I can still recall every damn word of each song on that soundtrack. 

We go together

Like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong

Remembered forever

As shoo-bop sha wadda wadda yippity boom de boom

Chang chang changitty chang sha-bop

That’s the way it should be

Wah-oooh, yeah!

We go together. Grease Soundtrack.

I was such a big fan of these two that I had written their names in black permanent marker on my yellow bedroom wall: Olivia & John.

I watched Xanadu in the movie theatre in Grade 5 and had to get myself a pair of rollerblades to look like Olivia at the roller disco. Sadly, I never made it there. I tried rollerblading to school the next day in my brand new, very tight jeans – tripped, fell, and tore the knees of my pants, which was the end of my rollerblading career. 

Once a month, my dad would take us to the record store in the city. Five dollars for a vinyl single record, and there she was: Olivia with her terry headband, stretching in the soft ocean surf (I never questioned why she would be sitting in the water in her aerobic outfit).

The first time I danced with my soon-to-be husband was at a uni party to the tunes of “You’re the one that I want” (until I went to the washroom only to find him dancing with another girl when I returned). The song became our wedding song two years later.

We watched Grease at a campground’s open-air movie theatre with our kids. And while we were busy covering our young children’s ears and eyes, as this movie was definitely not age-appropriate, a tree limb came crashing down on our campsite and destroyed our van. I like to think that it was Olivia who watched out for us.

And then Olivia Newton-John suddenly died. And with her, a part of the memories and emotions that I connected with her and her music, died as well. I learned that she had been a great Australian icon, which I thought was interesting because here I was, sitting in Canada, waiting for my visa to Australia.

Two days after her passing, my work permit arrived, and I could finally start the process of moving to Sydney, Australia. I booked a flight, said my goodbyes for the hundredth time, and got on the plane. I have to admit, it felt a bit like Olivia was sending me a sign. 

Suddenly the wheels are in motion

And I, I’m ready to sail any ocean

Suddenly I don’t need the answers

‘Cause I, I’m ready to take all my chances with you

Suddenly. Olivia Newton-John

It’s already been a week since I arrived, and what a week it has been! 

I started teaching on Monday, and I am trying hard to remember all the names, timetables, procedures, and resources at school. Some of it is still familiar, but a lot is very new to me. The fuzzy brain from being jet-lagged doesn’t help. To make things worse, my teeth decided to act up, so I had to see the dentist twice since my arrival to have a root canal done and a large filling replaced. Needless to say, my travel insurance does not cover the expenses. A trip to the dentist instead of the Sunshine Coast.

But then there is the familiar, the beauty, the magic of this place that I remember so well: my bench at the beach, the kookaburra calling in the early morning hours, the sunrise over the ocean. My friends at the pub on a Friday night, my colleagues at school welcoming me back, and even the people on the bus to school are still the same. 

The strange thing about being back here in Australia is that it isn’t strange at all. It feels almost like I never left – familiar but still fun. Of course, some things have changed: I no longer live in my little blue house but in a colleague’s empty apartment, Covid has left its mark with some people wearing masks on the bus or at school, and the weather seems much, much colder than I remember (I even have considered wearing gloves in the morning, but I refuse to do so. This is Australia, after all!)

But no matter how familiar everything seems, this place is still very magical to me. And while I’m sitting on my green bench at the beach, sipping my weird long black, I think I can see Olivia stretching in the far distance in the soft ocean surf, gently singing to me.

Building your dream has to start now

There’s no other road to take

You won’t make a mistake

I’ll be guiding you

You have to believe we are magic

Nothin’ can stand in our way

You have to believe we are magic

Don’t let your aim ever stray

And if all your hopes survive

Destiny will arrive

I’ll bring all your dreams alive

For you.

Magic. Olivia Newton-John

Sitting here in Limbo

But I know it won’t be long

Sitting here in Limbo

Like a bird without a song.

Well, they’re putting up a resistance,

But I know that my faith will lead me on.

Sitting here in Limbo

Waiting for the dice to roll.

Yeah, now, sitting here in Limbo,

Got some time to search my soul.

Well, they’re putting up a resistance,

But I know that my faith will lead me on.

I don’t know where life will take me,

But I know where I have been.

I don’t know what life will show me,

But I know what I have seen.

Tried my hand at love and friendship,

That is past and gone.

And now it’s time to move along.

Jimmy Cliff. Sitting here in limbo.

It has been almost two months since I applied for my work visa in Australia, and according to the immigration lawyer, it could take another couple of months for it to be processed. My contract starts this week – I don’t think I will make it on time. 

Some call it karma, others fate. “Who knows,” my yoga instructor said, “maybe there is a reason why you are not meant to leave just yet.” Well, the backlog at the Australian Immigration Office is definitely one of them. 

One of the benefits of sitting in limbo, waiting for my visa, is that I get to spend time with friends and say goodbye…again and again. Until they get tired of it and tell me to get out of here.

On one of these visits, a friend gave me a farewell gift over poutine and ice-cold coke. Small in size, but immeasurable in value and meaning to me.

In a small turquoise velvety bag, I found a silver medallion shaped like a teardrop. Simple in design, a silver line draws the shape of a veiled woman – the Madonna. I turned the pendant around, where I saw a silver clasp that could work as a small stand for the piece or a clip to attach to a necklace. Almost invisible to the eye, I read the words Tiffany and the designer’s name, Elsa Peretti. 

Overwhelmed by the simple beauty of the piece and its apparent value, my first reaction was to return the gift to my friend, as I did not feel like I could accept it. The little story my friend told me then, the meaning this medallion had for her, made me accept the gift and what it symbolized to her.

“It is a form of a guardian angel. Someone to watch over you. Because if anyone needs protection right now, it is you!”

Originally designed as a First Communion present, the Madonna was created in 1990. The designer Elsa Peretti wrote about the piece: 

‘Maybe it was a feeling of being protected that gave rise to my need to design a Madonna. As a child, I had a little gold chain, given to me by my grandmother the day I was born. But then I lost it and wore no more symbols of religion around my neck. When I decided to design a Madonna, I visualized the little medal lost such a long time before. Bit by bit, as I carved the wood and ivory, a line began to emerge, giving me a feeling of protection which symbolized my Catholic religion……The true meaning is the soul of the small object you wear, whatever your religion.’

Elsa Peretti. ‘Fifteen of my Fifty with Tiffany & Co’, New York, F.I.T. 1990

I received a golden bracelet with my name engraved on it when I was born. For my First Communion, I got a soccer ball. I have lost both of them since.

However,  I still have small items that mean very much to me because they tell a story. Someone else’s story. And now my story. We fall in love with the little things somebody loves about the world: a song, a book, an object.

The first time I left home to live abroad in 1985, my mother gave me a little pig made of solid gold metal. No Madonna, by all means, this little figurine stood for just the same. It was meant to look over, protect, and be with me when my mother couldn’t. I have carried this little golden pig with me all over the world. Had in my wallet in four different continents. Recently I got it a little friend – a small golden kiwi from New Zealand. The two get along great in my wallet. At least, that’s what I hope. 

They symbolize the place I come from, my mother’s love, and her protection no matter where I am at the moment. And my love and desire for new places and adventures. The Ying and the Yang of life. The pig and the kiwi of mine.  As Elsa Peretti put it so well, “the true meaning (behind anything) is the soul of the small object you wear”. 

Another farewell gift I received from a dear group of friends this summer was a necklace with two rings interlinked. “Connections big and small, new and old” the description of this beautiful piece of jewellery read.

To me, the true meaning of these two golden rings, however, is the push and pull of life. One ring symbolizes what I am doing now and here (other than waiting), the other my desire to do something new.

“When I look around, many of my pulls have somehow turned into pushes and I haven’t learned to let them go in time. I have been hanging on for dear life onto things that were no longer making me happy. But I didn’t want to let go, because I had been planning them and wanting (the idea of) them for a long time. I didn’t want to let go, because that would have meant defeat, admitting I had possibly made a huge mistake, a wrong turn, and the thought of that was devastating.

So instead I kept on pushing, while I was getting more and more exhausted, irritated and frankly intolerable in the end.

Time to reevaluate. I very well know the difference between the push and the pull, and I know you do, too. Push is heavy and sticky, and pull is exciting and joyful. Pull is something that has most likely been with us for some time now, something we keep brushing off because “it doesn’t pay the bills” or “it’s plain silly.“

But the truth is, if we want to become truly successful at anything we do, there needs to be this pull -energy behind it. There has to be joy,  excitement and motivation from within.

Otherwise, what’s the point?”

(Life as we know it. Do you feel a push or pull?)

The other day, a friend of mine asked me what exactly I was looking for? Why I wanted to go back to Australia. After a moment of silence, she answered her own question: Because it makes you happy, right? Bingo!

And so I have replaced the Chinese Happiness pendant that my mother bought for me at the Bird Market in Hong Kong in 1997 with a new story to wear around my neck. 

And I added the silver medallion to my collection in my wallet –  I think the three will make a great team! I just hope they don’t get bored waiting for that visa with me!

Cheers!

We fall in love

With the little things

Somebody loves 

About the world

Like music,

Rainy days,

Or peanut butter sandwiches – 

And it doesn’t matter

What they are,

It’s just that they love them

And that makes us happy.

Atticus

All my bags are packed.

I’m ready to go

I’m standin’ here outside your door

I hate to wake you up to say goodbye.

John Denver. Leaving on a jet plane

Day 44. The minimum processing time for a work visa in Australia these days. Average time: 3-6 months. Yikes! What took four weeks last time I applied, can now take up to 12 months: obtaining the permission to enter the land down under and start my new/old job in Sydney, Australia. Since Covid, everything is backlogged: visas, passports, medical procedures… I really shouldn’t complain. 

Day 44. Sitting on packed bags. Looking at my ready-to-go luggage, my mind starts wandering, and a memory pulls me back to 1997.

It is Christmas Eve. A roasted turkey sits on the small dining room table in our tiny one-bedroom apartment in Hong Kong. It is hot and humid. The air condition unit in the window is rattling, drowning out the traffic noise sixteen floors below.

Swiss scalloped potatoes with cheese, German red cabbage, Canadian gravy sauce and cranberries, and Cantonese sweets for dessert. In the background, the illuminated Hong Kong skyline provides some sort of festive holiday lights.

One Christmas dinner, four guests, five nationalities, and two babies on the way. Both my Swiss neighbour and I are pregnant with our first child. Both are due at the end of January – until I am no longer. Thrown off by the measurements of my enormous belly, my doctor decided to move my due date ahead by a month and declared that this would be a Christmas Baby instead! Hallelujah!

So here I am, sitting on packed bags on Christmas Eve, ready to enjoy my last supper and await the arrival of our firstborn child. Except that it doesn’t arrive  – at least not on Christmas Eve. Or the day after.  Nor the week or even month after that. While my Swiss labour partner gives birth to a healthy baby boy at the beginning of January, I am still sitting on my bags until I start unpacking them again. I need fresh underwear. I am looking for our Scrabble game. Eventually, I even consume the snacks I had packed for extra energy.

In the end, Calvin was born on February 2, six weeks after the newly proclaimed due date – a whopping 10-pound baby. I blame it on the turkey!

Almost twenty-five years later, I am sitting on packed bags again. Suitcases this time, as I am not leaving only for a few days to go to the hospital, but for a few months to go back to Australia. My job with the German School Sydney starts on July 21.

It has been 44 days since I applied for a work visa, and so far, the whole experience has been rather anticlimactic! The joy of being offered a job in March, the excitement to sign the contract in May, and my flight booked for July 1. And since then, a lot of waiting. Eventually, I had to cancel my flight. Packed my suitcases and unpacked them again. Purged, rearranged, added items, and took out others. Not much longer, and I’ll unpack the whole damn lot.

Sitting on packed suitcases – a word-by-word translation of the German idiom, meaning you are ready to leave. Having done all your preparations, but are still waiting for someone (the Australian Immigration Office) or something (my visa) to signal that you can go now. 

I grew up on meaningful sayings like this one. The German language is full of them, and so was my childhood: “Mit dir muss ich ein Huehnchen rupfen!” (I have to plug a chicken with you – meaning, I was in trouble). “Kleinvieh macht auch Mist!” (Small animals poop too, meaning small things add up, so don’t be wasteful). And my all-time favourite (though much dreaded as a child as it meant even more trouble): “Komm du mir noch mal auf mein Klosett Wasser trinken!” (which translates roughly to “Don’t you dare come and drink from my toilet water again”!??? Why anyone would want to do that? And what does that even mean?)

So, concerning my visa application – I only understand train station! I am done and ready, sitting around, waiting for the commando. And if that Lappen doesn’t arrive soon, we will have the salad! But I will stay at the ball – you can take poison on that! Sooner or later, I will make myself off the field. Because everything has one end – only the sausage has two!

Press me the thumbs! Wish me luck!

Morning has come with the first rays of sun

Breaking through our windowpane

Songs fill the air but there’s no singer there

Just an old wooden guitar playing

Writing this song won’t take very long

Trying not to use the world “old”

Thinking about taking chances and doubts

That still linger in the cold

Looking forward, all that I can see

Is good things happening to you and to me

I’m not waiting for times to change

I’m gonna live like a free-roaming soul 

(Looking forward. Crosby, Stills & Nash)

Looking forward to summer? Or winter (for my friends in Down Under)?

I am looking forward to a slower pace – a break in the daily routine. To endless coffee mornings, reading a book in the dappled shade of my backyard, netflixing ad nauseam (how many episodes of Stranger Things can I watch before turning into a shadow monster? And since we are on the topic – there’s another Upside Down? I didn’t know! Do I have to change the name of this blog?). To sunny patios and long summer nights. To running, resting, and writing.

For the last 91 days, I have been participating in a creative writing assignment called “The 100-day Project”: An act of creativity each day.

My goal was to follow a writing prompt daily, and I did – though it was more of a half-a-100-day Project for me. While I can think of a few reasons for my lack of productivity, I am going to blame long Covid for it. Feeling sluggish and fuzzy, brain fog is definitely a thing (or has the Mind Flyer taken over my mind?). Add an unhealthy dose of self-doubt, writing hasn’t come easy in the last couple of months. 

Except for when it did. 

Day 74. Writing prompt # 37: Things to look forward to. Make a list of things to look forward to. Include big things if you’d like, but also the small everyday things that buoy your spirits, make you laugh, make you feel alive.

During my last few weeks in Sydney, when Corona came closer and closer – no longer a thing that happened elsewhere but right in front of my little blue house. When everything seemed to stand still, the air heavy with uncertainty and fear. When even the kookaburra in that ol’ gum tree wasn’t sure whether it should laugh or cry.

During those days, and many more before and after that, getting out of bed wasn’t always easy. During those days that lay big and empty ahead of me, I developed a sort of mantra that would get me up and going and give me something to look forward to: There ain’t nothing a hot shower and a cup o’ coffee can’t fix!

1. Hot showers

I admit it – I LOVE long hot showers! Not good for the environment, I know, but great for me! I love the delicious goosebumps it gives me, turning my pale skin scarlet red – how it fogs up the bathroom and swallows me with it. As a child, I would spend hours in the shower stalls of the public pool, scalding hot water raining down on me and my best friend in the shower stall across mine. We would sit there for hours, talking, laughing, and sharing secrets. I don’t remember ever actually going for a swim.

2. A cup of coffee

I’m not a coffee drinker – I am a coffee lover, bordering on coffee snob! I love everything about it: the smell of fresh ground coffee beans, the gentle gurgling of the percolator (though my coffee maker sounds more like it’s choking – remind me to descale it!). I love choosing the perfect coffee mug, adding just the right amount of cream, and wrapping my cold hands around that warm coffee cup. Most of the time, I don’t even finish my coffee – I just like to hold on to it. I am not a coffee drinker – I am a coffee lover!  And I am looking forward to walking down to the local coffee shop near the beach to grab “a weird long black with a splash of white”.

3. Saturday Mornings

On my list of favourite-things-to-look-forward-to, Saturday mornings come right after Friday nights. The quiet of the early morning hours, a cup of coffee (of course), a newspaper (not one but two!): pouring over interesting articles, checking out new books, and sharing good posts. 

They say summer is just a really long weekend: June is like Friday, July is like Saturday, and August is like Sunday. I look forward to the Saturdays of life.

There are many more little things I look forward to: Going home after a long day at work. Finishing a good book – and starting a new one. Writing with a fountain pen on expensive paper. Blasting my favourite song on the stereo. A friend checking in. I always look forward to going for a run. To hanging out with my boys. I look forward to planning trips and travelling.

Have I mentioned Stranger Things? 

Going back to Australia is a BIG thing to look forward to.

While I always say “Don’t go back to where you once were happy!”, I also say “Always finish what you started!”

I look forward to the beach and green bench. To watch the sun rise and set every day. 

The light. The colours. The sounds. Everything seems more intense in Down Under – but maybe that’s just me.

I look forward to the people. Covid did not allow for a proper goodbye from many of the great people I met in Sydney. So let me go back to say hello again before I say farewell. 

I look forward to myself. To the way I was. I am. And the way I might be.

I look forward to reliving some of my memories and creating many new ones.

I look forward to what’s to come. Especially my visa!!!

(Gotta run! A new season of Stranger Things is being released TODAY, and I still have twelve episodes to watch! And I wonder why my brain feels fuzzy? 🤪 Cheers!)