Circle of Fabulousness

I have an incredible fear of flying. It is actually more of a phobia. I never used to be like this. I have never loved flying, but, when driving no longer made sense, I could fly (for the right price of course, because nothing burns my ass more than paying for airfare... paying to be frightened, cramped and believing that God and peanuts are roughly on the same level). Post development of my friendly little phobia, I now have to know there is really no other realistic way for me to get somewhere other than a plane. And, I have a really high threshold...about a 20 hour threshold.

I now require drugs to get on a plane. I cry when they take off (and I am on it). I dig my fingernails in to the person next to me at the slightest bit of turbulence. I have dreams about crashing. I have visions of holding my daugher while going down. It is bad.

I mention my "fear of the friendly sky's" because we are moving to Australia. There will be no driving to Australia.

I begin my immigration chronicles with the obvious mention of where we are migrating to. Australia is the land down under. It is a place not many Americans know much about (no, the capital is not Sydney. No, it really is not accurately depicted in Crocodile Dundee). It is a wonderful, amazing place. It is a place of warm weather (up north), beaches, wineries (yay!), romanticized fuzzy creatures like kangaroos and koalas, rugby, soccer, universal health care, gun control, affordable education and Vegemite. I have to mention Vegemite. Men at Work found Vegemite worthy enough to be mentioned in their hit song (their one real hit song) "Down Under". There is a whole lot of national pride wrapped up in Vegemite for Australians. One had better love the stuff if one is planning on moving to the country that reveres it as much as caviar.

Because Vince is British, he is a citizen of the "Commonwealth" (God Save the Queen! And, God bless that woman for having a birthday that half the modernized world gets a vacation day for!). Commonwealth citizens have the luxury of being able to migrate between the countries that are part of their commonwealth club more easily than anyone else can migrate anywhere else. However, even card carrying members of the commonwealth club don't have it easy anymore thanks to 9-11. We get to squeak through because Vince's mother is Australian which qualifies Vince for "citizenship by descent".

It's a lucky thing that Tilda (mom/mum) never completely converted to Britishness. Lucky for us anyway. I can't imagine being as enthused to move to a small island where is seems to rain a lot, has abundant cold weather, appears overcrowded and lacks all the accoutrements I find endearing about Australia (they prefer Marmite for God's sake!), even if they do lay claim to Jamie Oliver. And, after all, one can't trust a country that once upon a time shipped out a good amount of Tilda's family to a country that was, for all practical purposes, a complete crapshoot (who cares if they were criminals, right?).

The main lesson that I am beginning to become painfully aware of is that immigration is hard. Really hard. I am not sure that I thought it would be easy, but I didn't imagine it would be as it is. Never mind the insane amount of paperwork, crabby bureaucrats, unfortunate choices of migration agents and the bloodletting of money required. Those are all stories in themselves to be covered in other posts. The really hard part of immigration, at least mentally, is stopping what you have started and downsizing your life, while at the same time having no guarantee that you will actually get your visa approved (contrary to popular belief, marriage does not automatically equal a visa). It is a lengthy process. It is a fluid process. You cannot wait for one answer to be given or one problem to be solved before attacking another. If that were the case, no one would ever make it. Immigration is truly about living in flux. Part of flux is downsizing your life.

Downsizing the material things in life is not as bad as one may think. It is actually exhilarating to a certain degree. It forces one to come to grips with how much total shit we surround ourselves with. Throwing things away has become therapeutic. Organizing things for the rummage sale of a lifetime is also exciting (in helping to address the aforementioned bloodletting). Thinking before buying something about whether "it is going with you" and therefore, "is it worth it" helps to put a framework to life.

I have also become attached (very, very attached) to odd things that "will be going with me come hell or high water". I understand the obvious to attachment to things like my photos and my portfolio of "look how good I am at this" to show to future employers. But, I find it interesting that I cannot part with my glassybabys, my leopard print martini glasses, my KICK ASS wine bottle opener, my J.A. Henckles knives, my Penzey's spices or certain Christmas ornaments. Perhaps that is because those are items truly grounded in good memories (sadly, a good portion of them revolve around booze...) and memories are the only real tangible things one has in life if you take away all the "stuff".

The other rough part of downsizing is the people. I can't take them with me. I wish I could. I have a core group of girlfriends who are my rock. They keep my insanity at bay. They convince me that I am normal and pretty and intelligent even when they should probably be telling me otherwise. They downplay my forays in to drunken faux pas, laugh with me to the point of tears at the funny stuff and offer a hand with the sad stuff. They are one of the very good things in life that I shall refer to as "the circle of fabulousness".

The circle of fabulousness has 6 distinct members.

The first is Anne. Anne is my soulmate. There is nothing off limits for discussion and we share the same sarcastic sense of humor. She is one of the original "Bridgets" and may be the only person who would fly half way across the country to accompany my (at the time) sorry ass to the premier of Bridget Jones 2. She is also a transplant to the US and therefore understands my immigration pain like no one else. Additionally she shares my deep phobia of all things related to bodily expansion and flabiness (particularly the belly region). She is the one I can count on for motivation to run one more mile and do one more set of lunges in an effort to create caloric space for the evening's imbibement. And, I am the beneficiary on her life insurance policy which I think sums things up quite nicely.

Next are the "Millionaire Twins". I call them this because I once had a boyfriend who was obsessed with them and their good fortune. He would let anyone who cared to listed that his girlfriend (me) was very close friends with millionaires (oh boy!). The twins, Ruby and Dolly, have been my friends since college. They are exciting, extraordinarily giving, sweet and wholesome. They make you remember that life does not have to be so complicated and that a good nap and glass of wine can do you wonders. Dolly, who lives down the street from me now, is truly my confidant about all things (short of what you can buy at an adult toy store). She has listened to me carry on about certain things more than I care to admit, been with my while in labor and is the only person who will actually share a dirty martini with me. She is also the person most likely to verbally kick the ass of anyone who crosses the line with any of her friends.

Lola is the fourth. Lola is a recent addition to the circle. Lola hates the same people I hate which made her a fast friend. She is exceedingly beautiful, exceedingly nice and exceedingly intelligent (triple threat). She also shares my deep fear of fat grams while at the same time has a great respect and mastery of the kitchen. I should add that her brother graduated from the Culinary Institute of America, which in my mind means she's related to royalty.

Next is Patricia. Patricia also went to college with me. She also lives down the street from me, interestingly, on a street that shares the same name as my surname. Patricia is that friend who is so loyal that you sometimes wonder if you deserve it. She is the one who will listen to you drone on after way too many glasses (bottles) of wine. She is the one who will support you in whatever harebrained idea you come up with (as long as it doesn't involve bingo), watch your kids when you are in a pinch, walk your dogs when you are out of town and cook you soup when it's cold. She also sets things straight in the service world for all of us. Thanks to her intense travel schedule, she has become a maven of all things restaurant and hotel related and she is not about to take shit. From anyone. She is also the reason that I am sure that I will eat a spit burger at some point in my life (if I have not done so already).

Finally there is Taylor. Taylor is also at risk for Huntington's Disease. She understands me on a deeper level than most. She knows the dragon that I am running from because she is running right next to me. She knows what it is like to lay awake at night terrified. She understand that me dropping my keys is a WAY bigger deal than just dropping my keys. She knows what I need to hear exactly when I need to hear it in order to avoid a complete melt-down. She also happens to be one of the goofiest, fun loving people I know. She is the only 30ish year old I know who giggles at the use of words like penis. She also has a body to die for which secretly makes me hate her a little bit (ha!).

That is the circle. There are many other people associated with and linked to the circle of fabulousness, but the core are those mentioned above. They are the undownsizable portion of my life that are holding my feet on the ground. Bless them (and the Queen) for giving me the memories I will take with me. They are what make immigration really awful. Well, them and the inevitable damned airplane.

Posting Recipe...
Because this post is about fabulous people, it calls for a fabulous recipe. The recipe below is a fail-safe recipe that has continued to "wow" time after time.

Firecracker Salmon
1 lb. Salmon (any type)
1/2 c. peanut oil
1/2 c. soy sauce
1/4 c. balsamic vinegar
4 green onions, sliced
1/4 of a medium red onion chopped
1/4 c. packed brown sugar
4 cloves garlic, minced
3 tbsp. ground ginger
2 tbsp. sesame oil
1 tbsp. savory
1 tbsp. ground mustard
1 tbsp. molasses
2 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes
1 tsp. seasoned pepper
1/2 tsp. salt

Combine all ingredients for marinade and whisk together well. Pour over fish, with skin side up but making sure lots of marinade is under fish. Cover and marinate in fridge for 4 to 6 hours. You can grill the fish on the BBQ grill or broil it in the oven at 375 degrees. I have also made, and highly suggest, putting the fish on a cedar plank for additional flavor.

And...being the highly versatile person I pretend to be, this marinade also works great with pork and chicken.