I mention Helen because she is one of the lucky few who (I imagine) made it big and made it famous by doing something she loved, being writing. I always had these visions of making something out of my life and being something big. I suppose everyone has visions of grandeur beyond their current status. I can't imagine that anyone is okay with barely making ends meet or wondering how on earth they are going to afford retirement. I can' t imagine that someone would choose to drink Asti Spumante instead of Cristal or drive a used Oldsmobile instead of an environmentally friendly hybrid something-or-other. I can't imagine anyone would pass over a fill-in-the blank plastic surgery procedure and liposuction (one can always improve somewhere!!!) if they could afford it. And, I can't image that not everyone wishes, if only from time to time, to be a little more famous than they are doing something they are good at. I bet every golfer has dreams of being Tiger Woods, every designer Vera Wang, every chef Tom Keller and every actress Renee Zellweger (yes, she is acting royalty for playing Bridget).
I am not sure what famousness means for me. I am not sure what will be enough to qualify me to feel successful in my own right. A few too many nights of drunken karaoke to "I Will Survive" (sorry Gloria) have made it clear that it will not be singing. Failure at viola, piano, percussion and clarinet have ruled "band member" out as well. A few "b-list" characters in school plays during college and high school lit a glimmer of hope for acting until I came to grips with the fact that I actually wasn't very good and was probably being humored by faculty for educational purposes. Chef? No schooling. Big business? No desire to work that many hours. Entrepreneur? Not enough money to get started and no venture capital angel on my shoulder. Famous wine maker? Yeah, right. I wish. Doing what I currently do? God help me because I would rather staple my face than do what I currently do for the rest of my life. Writing? Jury's out. Crusader for Huntington's Disease? Maybe. Living happily ever after in the land down under sporting a great-tan-for-a-pale-white-girl, drinking fabulous wine, eating Vegemite sandwiches and celebrating the Queen while holding a domesticated Koala? Game ON. I'll put my money on that one.
Maven of Australian immigration it is then. I am aware that it sounds small. I know it is quite niche, but, don't judge until you too have to move yourself, your family, your dogs, your parents and your select household items half a rotation around the world. Easier said than done. And, if one can make the logical presumption that famousness equals happiness to some degree (yes, I know Britney, Lindsay, Paris etc... all cry about how hard it is) or at least give way to the argument that famousness equals being at the top of one's game in achieving desired life results, then, yes, I am happy to achieve some personal famousness for actually orchestrating our migration. So, there.
Being famous (in my world) for masterful orchestration of migration happenings is more complicated that one might imagine. My first brilliant decision was to determine that I needed help from someone who actually knew what they were doing. I needed someone "officially" famous and "certified" and "accredited"; someone who had earned the title of being an Australian Migration Agent according to the very official Migration Agents Registration Authority (MARA). MARA is the official "don't screw with us, we are the government and we are the absolute authority on who is officially of the famousness level for immigration" type of organization. They are the B-I-B-L-E of "So You Wanna Move Far, Far, Far Away and Actually Get There (Legally and Still Sane)".
Surprisingly (or maybe not so much?) there were less than 10 registered, official migration agents currently residing the United States. For reasons that are not entirely clear to me, I felt it very necessary to have an agent state-side rather than Aussie-side. It could be that the 18 hour time change doesn't really agree with me or that I feel less control (yes, I do have control issues) over folks employed by me on another continent. But, regardless of the reason, I stuck with what I knew...American-English Speaking People Who Know About Australian Migration as opposed to Australian-English Speaking People Who Know About Australian Migration, if you can argue that I knew much of anything about either niche-niche group.
The result, at least thus far, is one of mixed review. I say that because we (and I say "we" in an effort to remove complete responsibility from myself) ended up hiring Ms. Jekyll-Hyde (Ms. JH). After sending requests and emails to a handful of the Austra-Ocean's 10, talking live to a few on the phone and shortly-thereafter feeling like all hope was lost for keeping my sanity, Ms. JH appeared on my radar like a rainbow after a tornado.
You see, initially for most people we spoke to, the difficulty lay around a few, seemingly complicated, issues. First there was the parent issue. My mom was too old for a government sponsored worker's visa and my step-dad was almost too old. My mom had cancer a few too many times, which was not at all helpful from a "marketing of oneself" perspective. My step-dad had very limited skills that the Aussie's were actually interested in. They also couldn't qualify on a parent's visa because I was not currently living there to sponsor them. They, surprisingly, didn't have $500,000 to put forth as an "investment visa" and they were too bloody young for a retirement visa (not to mention they take impossibly long to receive. Most folks are truly retired by the time they are actually up for getting one!). Talk about a conundrum. Talk about not wanting to be touched with a 10 foot pole. Talk about feeling utterly and completely screwed. Ms. JH, however, made us believe that she knew things that the others had failed to recognize about conceivable options for my parents.
Then there were the dogs. Australia is really hard on dogs. They are almost harder on Mutt and Jeff than they are on Mommy and Daddy. The lucky people down under have no rabies incidences to speak of and, they prefer to keep it that way, mate. So, you better love your mutts, because taking them with you will be a significant line-item on the relocation general ledger. Ms. JH assured us that she would handle the pooches as part of the big picture. She made us believe that we would be able to sponsor our furry family members without drama or concern.
Finally, Ms. JH was willing to take on the child migration issue for free (good golly gumdrop)! Again, although our daughter was a citizen by decent, the theory meant nothing until the paperwork was signed, sealed and delivered by the Australian Consulate and a passport had been issued in her name. Alleluia.
Ms. JH was different from the rest. She was (seemingly) energetic, (seemingly) helpful, (seemingly) optimistic and full of ideas and (seemingly) able to promise that we had options a-plenty for addressing all the aforementioned issues like my parents, our dogs, our daughter and all of my (spouse to a bonafide citizen) necessary dotting of "i's". Yay! Finally, someone who knows what they are doing!
And she knew what she was doing. She was Australian, living in the US. She had degrees in accounting, teaching, law and English. She owned her own company. She was registered with MARA for God's sake. It seemed perfect. Perfectly perfect.
The only catch became clear after her paycheck was in hand and the contract was signed that she was a particularly unpleasant person in a "I totally did not see that one coming" sort of way. Hyde emerged. Let the fun begin.
Famousness for immigration was clearly going to prove a challenge. If I was going to be successful in winning this challenge, it would definitely require channeling my inner Bridget:
weight: 138 pounds (dreadful, as I was 110 before child), alcohol units: approximately 3 glasses of wine (or maybe a martini mixed in) a night, cigarettes: thankfully have quit unless intoxicated, calories: clearly to many (reference above weight).
Posting Recipe:
This recipe is not a recipe at all, but, rather, a suggestion to experience the very best chocolate that I know of. Bridget had her Milk Tray and I have my new found budget-breaking addiction to Vosges Haut Chocolat. They do AMAZING things with chocolate and caramel. AMAZINGLY, wonderful things. Visit their website at http://www.vosgeschocolate.com/. And, experiment. You will not be sorry.
Personally, I recommend: The Barcelona Bar, The Black Pearl Bar, The Red Fire Bar, Mo's Bacon Bar, The Naga Bar, The Woolloomooloo Bar (of course, its Australian inspired!), the truffle collections, the marshmallows, the caramels, the Red Fire pecans and the Red Fire tortilla chips. And, it isn't that I wouldn't recommend everything else, I just haven't had a chance to try it all!
My very, very favorite is a toss up between The Barcelona Bar and the Red Fire Bar pending my desire for milk chocolate vs. dark chocolate.
Happy sampling.
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