It's 3:08 pm here in Sydney. It's a gorgeous, sunny day, and I'm sitting here, at my desk at work, worrying about my son, who is in Ft Worth, Texas, because there is a category 5 hurricane that is headed his way. It's tough being so far away from family when there's a natural disaster, or when it's their birthday, or Christmas, or they get a DUI. I remember when a kiss on the knee would take the sting out of those childhood scrapes. Now it seems like the whole world has gone mad, and no amount of kisses are going to fix it.
So, how did I get to be so far away from my kids? That's a story about Internet/cross cultural love, and realising, at the age of 42 (you notice that I am not using American spelling in this paragraph. I am slowly being assimilated by Australia) that:
a) I'm not getting any younger, and
b) my kids aren't little kids any more when they tower over you and move in with their girlfriends, and
c) Australia seemed as good a place as any for starting over. At least they speak English here - sort of.
I've always loved travel. Ever since I was a teen and my parents sent my sister and I away for a week to France. France is, in a word - beautiful. I have never loved another country with such intensity. And this travel set the stage for my state of mind: one that considers planet Earth to be my back and front yard. Especially when love is being played out on that stage. I mean, why limit yourself? So, here I am - a gazillion miles away from home, worrying about my grown sons as if they were all still three years old - but firmly entrenched in the Aussie way of life out of love for my husband. And if that doesn't feel like being torn in two - nothing does. |
posted by Melanie O. at 
