The Southern Cross is a constellation visible only in the southern hemisphere. It's also called this because the 4 stars of the cross point due south - like the big dipper pointing to the North Star back home. The most common place to see it is on the Australian flag. The second most common place is the kiwi flag. Third most common is in the sky, and that's where your intrepid explorers ran into a bit of trouble.
Ever since we first came to Australia in 2003 we've wanted to see the Southern Cross. On that trip we were out on the Coral Sea and Marlys asked the captain if he could point out the cross for her. "Sure love. Come up on deck at 3 AM and it will be bright and visible." 3 AM? Never saw the cross that trip.
We figured once we moved here we'd definitely see the Southern Cross. And with our view over Port Phillip Bay, surely it would just jump out at us on a clear night. Right? Alas, no. When the stars came out, there were so many there was no way to tell which one was the Southern Cross. "Is that it? Or maybe that?"
Eventually it got to be a running joke. We'd get off the tram at night and as we walked to the house one of us would say "Oh honey, there's the Southern Cross" and point in a random direction. The other would say "Yep - looks beautiful tonight." Then we'd grind our teeth in frustration. Stupid stars.
But lo and behold we finally saw the Southern Cross – or perhaps finally identified the Southern Cross would be more accurate. Here's how it happened. First, someone informed us the cross on the flag is a bit misleading. The Southern Cross is lying on its side. What? Can't these people get the stupid flag right? I mean, it's not like the stars were periodically changing position or something! So all the time we were looking for the pole star that didn't exist.
Next, someone correctly identified south for us. Yes, we were gazing sort of east southeast instead of south the whole time. Look, we're not voyageurs and if we needed to know the cardinal points 24 hours a day, we'd buy a compass.
Armed with these two important pieces of data, we looked up (and south). And there it was!! Just like on the flag - if the flag is held up at a 90 degree angle that is.
These days we point it out all the time, which has deprived us of one good running gag but, on the other hand, we always know where south is located. We'll never get lost in Oz now - unless it's cloudy.
One other celestial discovery. Being south of the equator the "normal" constellations are upside down. Yep, when you look at Orion he is doing a handstand, although his sword somehow defies gravity. Australians call Orion "the saucepot". Some say this is because the constellation looks like a pot when turned upside down. Other's say it's because Orion was a heavy drinker. IF he's an Aussie - bet on the latter
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Marlys’ New Bike: The most Dangerous Thing on Two Wheels
First let’s start by saying Marlys hasn’t ridden a bike in over 30 years. What? Noooo. How can that possibly be…? Let me tell you it’s true. I was probably 13 years old (so almost 33 years ago) the seat was of the banana variety and you reversed your right leg in order to brake.
Melbourne is a great city for bike-riders – very flat (except in the downtown area) and lots of parks and dedicated bike paths including one along the ocean right out our front door. Beautiful bikes gliding along a scenic path. I wanted to be one of those people. I wanted a bike.
So I bought a bike. We have a local bike shop just a couple blocks away – great brands (said Matt) with knowledgeable sales staff (said the sign). I was excited! I had just started browsing – blue bikes, green bikes, black bikes, and red bikes. This was early in the day when I thought color would be my only worry. I soon discovered bikes have changed. I told my sales guy I didn't need something as "fancy” as a ten speed....Matt and the guy exchanged glances. “Honey, they don’t make 10 speeds anymore”, Matt said gently. Oh. “Well, what’s the lowest amount of speeds?”, I asked. I just wanted the most basic of bikes. I ended up with a 21 speed - which I understand is indeed about the lowest possible. I would also like to state for the record that I was tricked. My sales guy said it was a three speed (but had 7 possible gears for each). 3x7 = 21. I hate math.
After we bought the bike, a bike helmet (I managed to refrain from buying one with flames painted on the side), and a bike lock, my sales guy referred me to Rocky. “Rocky teaches everyone to ride.” he claimed. Rocky was a tall, fit, good looking Italian (Greek?) with a black mustache. He shook my hand with both hands. You know what I mean? You shake with one hand and then cover the hand with another? I love that. I was ready to put my life in Rocky’s hands. He made me feel safe and said with complete confidence that he would have me ‘up and biking’ in 5 minutes. I thought to myself, I love Rocky.
We walked the bike to the side of the building. Rocky demonstrated how to ‘walk’ the bike, simultaneously holding onto the left handle and the seat. This will give you control of the bike, he said. He was right! What a master! How easy to move the bike around!
Rocky takes his job seriously. He said, “First, I will teach you how to get on the bike.” I smiled thinking, it’s been awhile since I rode – a long while – but I’m pretty confident I can figure out how to get on the dang thing. I giggled at his thoroughness, “I need a lesson about how to get on?” Rocky replied, “Yes, because you haven’t ridden in years and now you are old & you need to protect your back.” I hate Rocky.
Rocky demonstrated how you grip the handbrakes, tilt the bike toward you, step your right foot over to the other side, and then tilt the bike upright. I had to admit this was a pretty slick move.
“Now sit,” commanded Rocky. Matt had picked out a ‘nice comfortable seat’. What I wasn’t ready for was the shock absorbers my bike has. Gooosh. The bike sank a couple inches.
“Push forward on the foot pedal!” said Rocky giving me a little shove, “And…you’re ready to ride!” Errrrrrrrrttttt!!! I fell forward and looked at Rocky accusingly. “Sorry! Release the hand brakes!!! And……you’re ready to ride!!!” And indeed, unfettered by the brake, I was riding.
I. Was. Riding.
Me! On a bike!
Uh-oh. Too fast! I put my feet out in an instinctive Fred Flintstone move. Rocky came running. “Good!” he commented, “but this time try to incorporate using the handbrake to come to a stop.” Wisely he showed me which brake was for the front and back wheels.
I tried again. And again. I felt like I was getting the hang of this bike!
Rocky came up to me, “ Very good. Now, tell me, do you have any artificial limbs? Or corrective devices?” Apparently I was riding with my knees wide apart which resulted in a wobble so alarming he determined it must be due to a prosthetic leg. I assured him that no, these are indeed, for better or worse, my own legs, knees, and feet.
The coaching was constant. Keep your head up! Your knees together! Even more together! Shoulders down! Don’t forget to use the hand brake! Smile! he instructed. Again. And again. Finally Rocky was confident enough to pronounce me ready to go. I love Rocky.
My first few rides were torture. Who knew how hazardous biking was? Those gorgeous bike lanes I yearned to ride where fraught with risk. There’s a ball rolling toward me, a dog that’s not on a leash, a small child! Danger! There’s another bike coming RIGHT AT ME! So much to concentrate on…sitting upright, keeping my knees together… everything Rocky taught me echoing in my ears until Matt, looking over his shoulder from 20 yards down the road starts yelling, “Are you coming?!”
In spite of having to endure the embarrassment of having 5 and 6 year olds wait until I was done with my riding lesson and the enormous danger (OK, potential danger) of riding, I am enjoying the bike. The sun shining on my face and the feeling of the wind in my hair as my hands grip the handles so tightly I get muscle strain in my wrists and arms. That’s what it’s like after 30 years.
One last thing. If one more person comments on how easy it is to get back in the saddle, or says "it's like riding a bike..." I will have to hurt them.
Melbourne is a great city for bike-riders – very flat (except in the downtown area) and lots of parks and dedicated bike paths including one along the ocean right out our front door. Beautiful bikes gliding along a scenic path. I wanted to be one of those people. I wanted a bike.
So I bought a bike. We have a local bike shop just a couple blocks away – great brands (said Matt) with knowledgeable sales staff (said the sign). I was excited! I had just started browsing – blue bikes, green bikes, black bikes, and red bikes. This was early in the day when I thought color would be my only worry. I soon discovered bikes have changed. I told my sales guy I didn't need something as "fancy” as a ten speed....Matt and the guy exchanged glances. “Honey, they don’t make 10 speeds anymore”, Matt said gently. Oh. “Well, what’s the lowest amount of speeds?”, I asked. I just wanted the most basic of bikes. I ended up with a 21 speed - which I understand is indeed about the lowest possible. I would also like to state for the record that I was tricked. My sales guy said it was a three speed (but had 7 possible gears for each). 3x7 = 21. I hate math.
After we bought the bike, a bike helmet (I managed to refrain from buying one with flames painted on the side), and a bike lock, my sales guy referred me to Rocky. “Rocky teaches everyone to ride.” he claimed. Rocky was a tall, fit, good looking Italian (Greek?) with a black mustache. He shook my hand with both hands. You know what I mean? You shake with one hand and then cover the hand with another? I love that. I was ready to put my life in Rocky’s hands. He made me feel safe and said with complete confidence that he would have me ‘up and biking’ in 5 minutes. I thought to myself, I love Rocky.
We walked the bike to the side of the building. Rocky demonstrated how to ‘walk’ the bike, simultaneously holding onto the left handle and the seat. This will give you control of the bike, he said. He was right! What a master! How easy to move the bike around!
Rocky takes his job seriously. He said, “First, I will teach you how to get on the bike.” I smiled thinking, it’s been awhile since I rode – a long while – but I’m pretty confident I can figure out how to get on the dang thing. I giggled at his thoroughness, “I need a lesson about how to get on?” Rocky replied, “Yes, because you haven’t ridden in years and now you are old & you need to protect your back.” I hate Rocky.
Rocky demonstrated how you grip the handbrakes, tilt the bike toward you, step your right foot over to the other side, and then tilt the bike upright. I had to admit this was a pretty slick move.
“Now sit,” commanded Rocky. Matt had picked out a ‘nice comfortable seat’. What I wasn’t ready for was the shock absorbers my bike has. Gooosh. The bike sank a couple inches.
“Push forward on the foot pedal!” said Rocky giving me a little shove, “And…you’re ready to ride!” Errrrrrrrrttttt!!! I fell forward and looked at Rocky accusingly. “Sorry! Release the hand brakes!!! And……you’re ready to ride!!!” And indeed, unfettered by the brake, I was riding.
I. Was. Riding.
Me! On a bike!
Uh-oh. Too fast! I put my feet out in an instinctive Fred Flintstone move. Rocky came running. “Good!” he commented, “but this time try to incorporate using the handbrake to come to a stop.” Wisely he showed me which brake was for the front and back wheels.
I tried again. And again. I felt like I was getting the hang of this bike!
Rocky came up to me, “ Very good. Now, tell me, do you have any artificial limbs? Or corrective devices?” Apparently I was riding with my knees wide apart which resulted in a wobble so alarming he determined it must be due to a prosthetic leg. I assured him that no, these are indeed, for better or worse, my own legs, knees, and feet.
The coaching was constant. Keep your head up! Your knees together! Even more together! Shoulders down! Don’t forget to use the hand brake! Smile! he instructed. Again. And again. Finally Rocky was confident enough to pronounce me ready to go. I love Rocky.
My first few rides were torture. Who knew how hazardous biking was? Those gorgeous bike lanes I yearned to ride where fraught with risk. There’s a ball rolling toward me, a dog that’s not on a leash, a small child! Danger! There’s another bike coming RIGHT AT ME! So much to concentrate on…sitting upright, keeping my knees together… everything Rocky taught me echoing in my ears until Matt, looking over his shoulder from 20 yards down the road starts yelling, “Are you coming?!”
In spite of having to endure the embarrassment of having 5 and 6 year olds wait until I was done with my riding lesson and the enormous danger (OK, potential danger) of riding, I am enjoying the bike. The sun shining on my face and the feeling of the wind in my hair as my hands grip the handles so tightly I get muscle strain in my wrists and arms. That’s what it’s like after 30 years.
One last thing. If one more person comments on how easy it is to get back in the saddle, or says "it's like riding a bike..." I will have to hurt them.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Random Thoughts About Australia
1. Greetings. When you say hello or goodbye to a woman, you kiss. On the cheek, mind you, and just once. A hug indicates you want to grope her and a handshake means you think she has a communicable disease.
2. Taxi Drivers. Taxi drivers fall into one of two sub-species: First, the South Asian Taxi Drivers, who usually don’t know where they are supposed to go (“Airport? Do you have an address?”) but they are always polite and quiet. Alternatively, there is the White Aussie Blabbermouth. These guys are hit or miss. Hit, and you get a hilarious monologue about the war, religion, politicians, J. Edgar Hoover (referred to as “J. Herbert Hoover” even if he is correctly identified him as the former head of the FBI), Nicole Kidman vs. Cate Blanchett (Cate always wins), “your redskin Indians”, poms (the English), the stupid fact punt returners call for the fair catch rather than run the ball back (yes, we are referring to American football here), and “You have no kids? Do you have medical problems? No? You should quit your job and you’ll get pregnant like THAT.” (snap fingers to emphasize “that”). Matt missed that last driver. On the other hand, the only people we have encountered who like George Bush are White Aussie Blabbermouth taxi drivers. Draw your own conclusions.
3. You’re nobody ‘til somebody loves you. In Australia you call your significant other your “partner”. Married, co-habitating, gay, lesbian, committed, sort of committed, roommate, flatmate – they are all a “partner”. In the US, partner means you’re either an attorney working in a law firm or you’re in an unmarried, committed same-sex relationship. Hmmm these people aren’t lawyers so they must all…ALL? Be gay...??
4. Kangaroos. Here is the real, unvarnished truth about kangaroos – Australia has no deer, so kangaroos fill the void. When in the country, you see them everywhere. They cause a lot of automotive damage. If you’re driving at dusk in the country you have to watch out as if you were in Northern Wisconsin at dusk. You see carcasses on the road. If you come across one when hiking, they will look at you with a dumb sort of suspicious look and then bound off. Any of this sound like deer? There is one difference between deer and roos – every fall, deer fear for their lives from unshaven, beer drinking, orange vest wearing, well armed humans. Roos? They never have to worry.
5. What day is it? In Australia they rearrange the dates the day is listed first so it’s DD/MM/YYYY rather than the US which is MM/DD/YYYY. Seems like this should be a minor thing, huh? I mean if you see a date that says 27/02/2008 you can figure it out, right? Because we don’t have 27 months. Easy. Well, I’m telling you, it’s not that easy. Imagine….it’s early morning and you put a spoonful of yogurt into your mouth and then you glance down at the date and it reads 01/04/2008 – is sort of freaks you out that you’re eating bad food…or are you…?
2. Taxi Drivers. Taxi drivers fall into one of two sub-species: First, the South Asian Taxi Drivers, who usually don’t know where they are supposed to go (“Airport? Do you have an address?”) but they are always polite and quiet. Alternatively, there is the White Aussie Blabbermouth. These guys are hit or miss. Hit, and you get a hilarious monologue about the war, religion, politicians, J. Edgar Hoover (referred to as “J. Herbert Hoover” even if he is correctly identified him as the former head of the FBI), Nicole Kidman vs. Cate Blanchett (Cate always wins), “your redskin Indians”, poms (the English), the stupid fact punt returners call for the fair catch rather than run the ball back (yes, we are referring to American football here), and “You have no kids? Do you have medical problems? No? You should quit your job and you’ll get pregnant like THAT.” (snap fingers to emphasize “that”). Matt missed that last driver. On the other hand, the only people we have encountered who like George Bush are White Aussie Blabbermouth taxi drivers. Draw your own conclusions.
3. You’re nobody ‘til somebody loves you. In Australia you call your significant other your “partner”. Married, co-habitating, gay, lesbian, committed, sort of committed, roommate, flatmate – they are all a “partner”. In the US, partner means you’re either an attorney working in a law firm or you’re in an unmarried, committed same-sex relationship. Hmmm these people aren’t lawyers so they must all…ALL? Be gay...??
4. Kangaroos. Here is the real, unvarnished truth about kangaroos – Australia has no deer, so kangaroos fill the void. When in the country, you see them everywhere. They cause a lot of automotive damage. If you’re driving at dusk in the country you have to watch out as if you were in Northern Wisconsin at dusk. You see carcasses on the road. If you come across one when hiking, they will look at you with a dumb sort of suspicious look and then bound off. Any of this sound like deer? There is one difference between deer and roos – every fall, deer fear for their lives from unshaven, beer drinking, orange vest wearing, well armed humans. Roos? They never have to worry.
5. What day is it? In Australia they rearrange the dates the day is listed first so it’s DD/MM/YYYY rather than the US which is MM/DD/YYYY. Seems like this should be a minor thing, huh? I mean if you see a date that says 27/02/2008 you can figure it out, right? Because we don’t have 27 months. Easy. Well, I’m telling you, it’s not that easy. Imagine….it’s early morning and you put a spoonful of yogurt into your mouth and then you glance down at the date and it reads 01/04/2008 – is sort of freaks you out that you’re eating bad food…or are you…?
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