Beef Jerky and Baklava

My mom & sister arrived Sunday morning from the U.S. By all accounts they had very nice flights, including the usual amazing abundance of food and down duvets to boot. I met them at the airport, which wasn’t as fun for me, because although Melbourne airport really is fantastic, they don’t tell you which flight is actually coming through customs, only that the plane has landed. In addition, there are four doors that lead out of the big brick wall, and waiting friends and family can’t really monitor all of them. To make that bit even more complicated, those who exit customs can turn either right or left. If you have a medical condition that requires your blood pressure be raised, go wait for someone outside customs with the fear that you will miss them and they will be wandering in the airport, hopelessly lost, living there until their flight to return home is ready.

They actually had a slightly more comfortable getting through customs and such, as my mom required a wheelchair transport. At one point in the usual questions about what you are bringing in, my sister let them know she was bringing cooking spices, unopened. The security guard then asked, “Beef jerky?” Without missing a beat, she replied, “No, thank you.” Of course, with a previously confiscated bag of beef jerky under his arm, he rephrased the question. I bet that guy tells his mates about the wacky American who thought he was offering it to her instead of trying to bin it. Australia will never be the same once Jeanne’s sense of humour does the rounds.

I did work Monday and Tuesday, and my great achievement of the week was scaring my coworker. Our typical office dress is black and white, and that day I was wearing all black. I needed to ask my colleague a question, but as he was on the phone, I stood quietly until he was finished. A little too quietly. Apparently he’d had a rather bad experience at one point, and having someone suddenly appear all dressed in black gave him quite a start. I did feel for him, having experienced this myself once.

As I related the story later, I had a pronunciation lapse, and mentioned that the fact I wasn’t wearing a baklava helped my mate realise I wasn’t out to mug him. Go ahead, read that sentence again. I’m still enjoying the mental picture of a cat burglar wearing a giant pastry with eyeholes cut into it.

How We Are Meant To Be

This past week has seen amazing acts of giving and helping as horrific bushfires have ripped through Victoria. A deadly combination of ongoing drought and furnace-like heat and winds gave rise to the worst bushfire tragedy in Australian history. The sadness of lives lost and homes destroyed cannot be communicated.

Andrew and I are thankful that no friends or family have lost life or property. We continue to pray for rain, for the elimination of these fires, and that not another life would be lost or home destroyed.

The blazes are ongoing, but are being controlled. Firebreaks are being strengthened; the smell of back-burning drifts through occasionally. Everyone is thankful for the cooler weather which aids in control. Help has poured in from around the country and around the world. Real, practical help. People offering their homes, food, money, time, and resources.

When I first moved to Australia, I felt that if I was walking down the street and needed help, all I would need to do would be to knock on someone’s door. This week has proven that, a million times over. Australians have an amazing way of helping each other out, and not just during times of crisis.

It is amazing, because it’s how we are meant to be. Courteous, thoughtful, considerate, giving, selfless. The very traits God put into us at Creation. It’s not just Aussie spirit; it’s how we humans are meant to be.