December 18th 1:50 (Aus time)

We got off the plane, and WOW what a contrast. There is so much difference between the US border patrol and the Australian Border patrol. They started cracking jokes and I was so stunned, I just stared back at them thinking "Can they DO that? Are they allowed to do that?"

Squinting at them... Cocking the head...

Not just one of them either. About 3 or 4 different employees. All cracking jokes. Wow... what a contrast... They are NICE... Are they allowed to be? hehe... I'm glad they are!

December 18th 12:01 (Home time) 6:01 (Aus. Time)

So inbetween turning off and on the lights in the cabin/ seating area, we skipped a day. The 17th of December passed in a few seconds. I finally fot up out of my seat during our 13.5 hour flight, and found my ancles to be swollen as well as my toes.

----(time passes)-------

It's been an hour since I wrote last, and all the swelling has gone down pretty much. Amber, Mom, and Roxsane all had the same issue.

It's really cool looking our the windows. The clouds below are teh only thing we can see. I believe we are still over teh ocean right now. The sun is out and it has illuminated everything. It's very angelic or heavenly. I took some photos of the ocean when the clouds parted. I's excited. This is going to be so new!

----(time passes)-------

WE'VE LANDED!
& THERE'S NO SNOW!

and my next thought is... "Where's my deoderant?"

December 16th 9:13pm

Different airport, and different carpet.

San Fransisco. Excuse the judgement, but this carpet is very much more bland than the last one.
More people. Everywhere. Laying on benches, sprawled out, sitting crosslegged. Makes me wonder what some of them are thinking... but not really. It would take too long to discover what everyone was thinking.

There is a very interesting social psychology going on here. This it the United States. Very interesting... Keep that point in mind here. Roughly every five minutes a female voice comes through the intercom with an extremely interesting statement. (The last statement I heard, ironically, took place at 9:11pm) The statement was like (but not exactly like) this: "San Fransisco Airport has a threat level Orange. Help us keep the threat to a minimum by keeping bags attended at all times, and reporting any suspicious activities or persons, and any baggage that is left unattended by calling 911."

Qua?

I could look at anyone, and I'm sure I could find something suspicious about them. Everyone is suspiciously abnormal (some of them in a normal kind of way).

There is a mindset here that was not present at the last airport. The last one (Canadian may I remind you) said the same basic thing (about not leaving your bags unattended) but they said it without all the kerfuffle about threats or breaches in safety something or other... They seemed at least a little bit more in control. They never said anything about 'Orange'. If anyone is familiar with the forest fire scale, it goes from green (no risk of fires) to yellow (slight risk), ro orange (risk of fire), to red (extreme risk of fire). So that makes me site the question "Qua?" We are in a threat level Orange? Is that constant here at this airport or just since 9/11?

At least it's a little bit warmer weather. But their carpets are still numbingly bland.

December 16th... 5:40pm

This is day one. I am staring at carpet... That is, when I'm not staring at this pencil and the page beneath it. Every few minutes I glance out the enormous windows to somehow satisfy my curiosity regarding our flight. There isn't very much that glancing out the window provides in the way of updated info.

At one point, one jet plane (the largest I've seen so close up) went round in circles on the run way for seemingly no reason. It appears to have parked on the runway itself, blocking traffic... don't ask me though, because I'm Canadian, and apparently Canadians don't know anything.

I'm staring at the carpet wondering "Is this Canadian soil or American?" We have finally passed through the lineups, boarding pass area, border, and luggage checking area. We deduced that most of the officers assisting us MUST have been American, because they didn't laugh at our jokes or smile when we smiled at them. And that doesn't shine well for the American populous, but it's the most logical conclusion here at the border.

We have passed the border line where they scrupilously checked us and re-checked us to make sure that we aren't terrorist threats. So my question is, have we crossed onto American soil? Here in Calgary, beyond those winding hallways and 'dutiful' border patrol officers, is there an American sanctioned spit of land that is American soil? Is the carpet I am staring at, claimed or purchased by the Americans?

Anyway, our floight... well we missed it. The first one anyway. We are trying for the second one now. The first time we hadn't located my aunt yet because of a delayed connecting flight. So we re-scheduled and here we are. FINALLY.

No offense to Americans... I love most Americans. It's just the border patrol Americans who tend to show no emotion other than irratableness, and give off the distinctive aura of being smarter than all Canadians, thereby placing us kindly in the "Stupid Canadians" slot.

I look out the window again. It will be good to leave those mounds of snow behind. And the Americans.

One Thousand Shells and a Million Ocean Waves

I've been to the ocean twice in my life, once when I was too little to remember and once this last summer. When I was too little to remember (about 5 or 6), we went to the ocean to collect the final clue at the end of a treasure hunt for real buried treasure that my aunt had hidden in a box beneath the sand. I think she created all the little golden trinkets within the box, and I wonder now where they have gotten to, because in our family, we never throw things out.

I don't remember very much about the ocean other than the a snippet of the crazily sharp cliff rocks, a glimpse of the expansive ocean, and a large dead crab that convinced my 6 year old self that I never wanted to set foot in that monster-ridden water. About four years ago, I decided I wanted to go back, mostly because I'd forgotten what it was like, and had heard it was fabulous. 'Going to the Ocean' was something I put on my 'to do list'. The one most of us write at some point in our lives listing the things we want to accomplish before we die, unless we only have one thing on that list which is: to write that aforementioned list.

There are about 35 things I've written on that list, and some have been able to be crossed off. It's one of the most exciting experiences to go over that list and pre-live those experiences, and cross off others. But I find that the more I go over my list, the more I add to it, as though each thing I've done previously adds two items to the list, and at the rate I'm at... well, I will never finish. I've acquired a driver's license, but now I've added to the list that I want to go on a spontaneous road trip, and that I want to travel to Egypt. I've gone skiing, but now I want to go snowboarding, and skydiving. I've been accross Canada, but now I want to go to Peru and to Austrailia. And more than dreaming, I hope these goals will come true. Interesting though isn't it, how the more we do in life, the more we want to do. Like going to the Ocean.

Although I can now officially cross it off of my 'to do' list, I feel the need to put 'Going to the Ocean' on the 'Things I should do again sometime' list. Last summer at the ocean was spectacular. When we first got to the beach, I noticed a shell on the ground and thought 'This is beautiful! Unique! I should keep this!' As we continued down the path to the beach, more and more of these little shells lay scattered about our feet. I eagerly picked up shell after shell. Once my feet touched the sand though, reality stole me from my 'lucky me' mindset as my eyes rested on the thousands of little black shells that littered the beach like unwanted waste. I dropped my thoughtful collection and only picked up the most significant, unique and precious ones to take back with me as tokens of remembrance... including a couple sand dollars, random bubble seaweed, and of course, some small dead crabs. Apparently I couldn't get around that lovely... dead... smelly... piece of the experience, so I decided to take some home with me.

The waves, the starfish; the driftwood, the sand... Another expereince to check off my list. And now I've added to my list again. To travel to more beaches around the world, and to dance on the beach as the sun goes down. My list will never stop growing, for as each chapter of life's adventure draws to a close, somewhere two more chapters have just begun.

The Parable of the Prince

There once was a prince who was not a boy of fondness, but never purposely unkind. One day as he passed by some shops, he pocketed a few apples from a seller’s cart. On the way down the street, a man from the crowd remarked to the prince “Sir, a friend of mine has been stolen from in unfair trade. This is against the law, what would you have me do of it?” I think you might know the man.” The prince looked at his fellows, and turning back to the man, shook his head and replied “I know of none. Yet I know well that it is not me.” and after a salutation, carried on his way.

Down the road the group of friends stumbled into a cart, causing it to fall and spill produce across the road. “Come now, let’s off to the town fountain. So as not to make ourselves in the way of these people.” The prince remarked. Once there, a man at the fountain said, “Prince, I know of a friend who turned away from me when I was in need, this friend having already taken substance of me, and then no return whatsoever in my need, Sir. Is this not an unpaid debt? What would you have me do of it?” At which the prince looked upon the man and then to his fellows. “I would not know, Sir, yet I know well that it is not me.”

Wishing to make less of himself so as to avoid any others in the crowd, he led his group to the library. Surely here no one would make a nuisance.

Yet here a man lay on the steps leading up to the library, badly bruised and sore. The prince was decided and went on in. “Someone else will help the man. Royalty has no place aiding simpletons.”

As fate would have it, a man approached the prince and begged his audience alone within the library. “Sir, I sorely need advice. My brother lay dying in battle, and cried for help to a passing medical officer, yet the medical officer after seeing my brother’s status said ‘it is not my place to help someone of lower rank.’ My brother is now dead. I feel the medical officer is to fault. What would you have me do of it?”

At this the prince feared the man knew his heart and ran from the library. His friends and the man on the steps, were no where seen, neither cart of produce nor the apple stand.

Suddenly he fell forward, people laughing at his disgraceful appearance. A mob of thieves took to the jewelry on his fingers and wrists, and stole from his person as he vulnerably lay on the street. After they let him alone, he stood and began to make his way home alone, bruised and sore.

He was almost to the castle when he saw the man from the street who now he recognized as the same from the fountain and library. Wondering how he couldn’t have noticed him as the same fellow, the prince sat down exhausted by the road and looked up at the man. “You are right, Sir. Harm has been done to your robbed friend, and as debt unpaid to you, and yet again to your brother as he lay dying. And I have done these things. What would you have me do of it?”

The man looked down at the prince, dirty clothes, bruised and tired, and beckoned him. “Come and see what has been done.” And together they walked up the last of the way to the castle.

The man with the apple cart, stood before him. “Sir, I apologize.” Said the prince. “I have taken of your stores and thought only of myself. What would you have me do of it?” The man smiled and shrugged “Perhaps you are mistaken. I have come to the king to sell of my stores. Some other apple seller perhaps? I know well that it is not me.”

The boy stood puzzled, and yet saw the man with the produce cart that he had overturned. Turning he said, “Sir, I know that I ought to have helped you to get the produce back into your cart. It was a debt in effect for I had caused it. And now what would you have me do of it?” The man smiled and shrugged. “This cart has four wheels, Sir. The best four wheels in the town. They have never tipped for I would have known it. Perhaps you are mistaken, for I know well that it is not me.”

Perplexed and confused the boy found the man that had been left upon the stairs of the library. “Sir.” The boy said humbly. “I have deep need of forgiveness from you. I have wronged you deeply. I could have caused your death, and I know I must have caused you great sorrow. What would you have me do of it?” The man smiled and shrugged. “Surely I would have remembered being close to death? Perhaps you are mistaken, for I know well that it is not me.”

The boy turned to the man who had thrice questioned him. “How, Sir? How is it done?” The man held out his hands for the boy to see. “When you understood your own pain, you understood theirs. I have felt your pain and I have felt their pain. I have healed their hearts. This is my gift. What would you have me do of it?”