Coming Home Again

When you fly from Tasmania to the US, you have to stay long enough to make the jet lag worth it!

View from the balcony, Rabun County, GA

“If this is coffee, please bring me some tea; but if this is tea, please bring me some coffee.”
— Abraham Lincoln

“Air travel is such a strange experience. It´s such an intimate thing, to travel alongside a stranger for so many hours, to eat together, take in a film, snooze side by side. In economy I think that it´s so intimate, that like neighbours on the same landing, most of us consider that it´s better not to take the risk of ever getting to know them. In business class, there´s just enough room - as elbows don´t actually touch - to take that chance.”
— Nick Alexander (The Case Of The Missing Boyfriend)

“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.”
— Virginia Woolf (A Room of One’s Own)

Almost three weeks back in Tasmania from my Germany trip, and then I turn around and do it all over again. This time, I headed home for Thanksgiving in the bosom of my family. It’s been almost a year since Mom died - December 11, to be exact - and seven months since I’ve had my feet on US soil. My maiden voyage home has started.

Lauren, my travel agent managed to get me a Premium Economy seat out and back for the 14 hour haul from mainland Australia to Los Angeles. Flying to Germany straight economy was not as hard as I’d feared, but only gives you one checked bag. I already had big shopping plans for my trip home, so two big suitcases were needed. NEEDED, I tell you. If I have to fly premium economy, I guess it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

(I crammed everyone’s Christmas presents in one side of the extra suitcase, and an oil painting for my nephew in the other side, carefully encircled with bubble wrap and surrounded by boxes of my favorite Australian protein Lemon Shortbread cookie. Normally, I don’t travel with food, but I needed something to balance the light side of the suitcase. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. )

Flying into Melbourne

Unfortunately, to get the two premium economy seats, I had to sacrifice a bit on the other legs. My short flight out of Hobart left at 0600, so Herr Zen and I had to get up at 0130 to have our coffee, shower (well, I showered) finish packing the car and leave for the airport at 0300. The drive in the dark was mercifully uneventful, no wallabies crashing across the road or angry Tasmanian devils chasing the car. Just a lot of rain. Thank goodness for hoodies.

Yes, I am one of THOSE travelers now. My mother dressed for flights in comfortable, but elegant, clothes. Me? Jeans, t shirt and a zip up hoodie. Slip off sneakers. And a backpack rather than a smooth little pull case.

I saw a lady at the airport who turned me green with envy. My age, she was wearing a cute, short dress made out of slinky gray felt material, over black leggings with leather ankle boots and a chartreuse headband around her forehead like Bjorn Borg on the courts of Wimbledon. Her stylishly short gray hair was spiked and bristling with energy, like a hedgehog, and her horn rim glasses completed a nigh-on perfect travel outfit. Comfortable, cutting edge, individualistic and memorable. Of course, I didn’t get to talk to her, she headed straight into the business lounge. Figures.

The little chapel a short walk from the house.

I signed up for my first frequent flyer travel card back in August. I hope after my flights to and from Germany and the US, I can stack enough to maybe at least get a little glass of champagne with the cool dressers before I board. And I use my little Qantas phone app when I get my gas at the service station. I might have a few years to go before I accrue enough. Ever hopeful, that’s me.

ANYWAY, the trip went well overall. I had a nice long layover in Melbourne, with time to get two cups of coffee at a happening cafe and a primo window seat to watch the planes arrive and depart. Even better, I had a nice surprise on the flight from Melbourne to LAX.

Lauren, the lovely travel agent, apologized profusely that she hadn’t been able to get an aisle seat for the 14 hour flight to the US, and instead I had a window seat. Normally, I like windows, but when you stay up the entire flight, you sort of want to roam the aisles. However, I never want to wake up someone to let me out when I know how hard it is to get to sleep in the first place. What to do. (Herr Zen said wake them up as much as you need to, get your blood circulating! Eh. That’s what ankle circles are for, right?)

I schlepped my way down to my seat in Premium Economy, threw my backpack into the overhead - with some difficulty, but I got it there the first try - and scooted into the window seat. Then this beautiful, cut glass British accent came from behind me. “I’m sorry, I believe you’re in my seat.” Oh, I don’t think so. She looked at her ticket, then handed it to me.

Oh, thank the LORD, somehow she has the window seat and I have the aisle. The universe came through. Again. We didn’t exchange names, but chatted briefly. She’s some type of hedge fund financial person, lives in Phoenix, Arizona, flying home from a conference. I told her my back story, then we smiled politely and both shoved our noise cancelling headphones over our ears, never to speak again until landing 14 hours later. Well, except for the couple of times she needed to get out for the bathroom. I’ll bet she was happy she had a night owl in the aisle seat.

The extremely comfy premium economy seat, with special blanket and linen pillow case, extra leg room along with coffee served in real mugs and wine in real glasses - well, yes, much better than straight economy. I’m glad I got to try it out, I think it’s definitely the way forward for future jaunts to the US. Herr Zen, take note.

Dinner is served! Even though it’s only 1 PM Tasmanian time. My new friend asked for the chicken meal and our poor flight attendant headed back towards the closed curtains and around to the other side to speak to her compadre in the other aisle. She left empty handed, but magically appeared through the curtain with a plate in hand. She sashayed back and offered my seat companion a dinner from first class, with smoked salmon, little water chestnuts, baby red potatoes and a mustard sauce. Clearly a seasoned traveller - or a sucker - she shook her head and asked for the pasta.

Geez Louise, the universe provides again. And the salmon was delicious.

I had to grab my two huge suitcases in LA and lug them to the re-check line, then go through customs and walk to the domestic terminal. I didn’t stop at any of the coffee places in the international terminal, figured I needed to get to my gate and I could get a coffee then. Rookie mistake.

Behold. First shot is my coffee location in Melbourne, the second shot is my coffee view in the LAX domestic terminal. I tried to order a flat white in LAX and the counter man said that he’d bring me a cup of black and a little pitcher of milk. What?!? No fern? No creamy heart on top? Oh well. Then I promptly poured the milk all over the table and my sweatshirt trying to smoothly tip it out of the tiny spout. Ugh.

Finally, I arrived in Nashville. My fun baby sister picked me up and trundled me home to her comfortable guest room where I slept off the worst of the jet lag. She had a little basket of herbal teas, a hot water kettle and dark chocolate at my bedside for when I inevitably woke up at 2 a.m. Great planning, since her two dogs would have barked their ever loving heads off if I’d tried to walk to the kitchen. Her husband is pretty mellow, but no point in pushing the envelope.

Day 2, we drove straight to TJ Maxx, and I loaded up on sale items. Summer has ended here, but in Australia it’s just starting. Then she took me to a very nice, high end shop where I promptly counterbalanced all of my budget spending. As you do.

On our drive from Nashville to our parents’ house in North Georgia, I even managed to get some expensive shoes in Chattanooga while she charged her Tesla. Whoever decided to put charging stations next to Whole Foods and Chattanooga Shoes is a freaking marketing genius. Or I’m a sucker.

I am now ensconced in my favorite bedroom in my parents’ mountain house. Dad is in good shape and putting up with my need to smother him with love and baking. I think he’s decoyed me with an old oil painting of an Italian street scene, marked with the artist’s initials and the date 1913. The sky is atrociously dirty - or else the artist tried to turn it into a nocturne at the very end.

My distraction for this trip. Trying to decide what to attempt with that sky.

I’ve already put it in the sun and used a fluffy powder brush to drift off some of the dust. Next, I think I’ll restore the sky and make those two walls on either side sing with some sunshine to make that center part in the shade pop a bit more. And maybe take the sky back to a pale blue dawn to pull the eye to the sunlit house in the distance. Hmm. Still thinking it through.

My first action when I return home to Tasmania- after hanging up all the new clothes - will be to set up my studio in the guest bedroom. I’ve been putting it off for the right time, the perfect space, but I’ve realized that the longer I wait for the perfect time, the less painting I do - and there’s no perfect time. You just have to start.

And we got the news that our garage, cum art studio plans might not be approved for a year. Or two. Yeah, I just need to start mixing colors and getting them on the canvas. Note to self - buy drop cloths.

Seven AM in the North Georgia mountains. The sky is winter blue.

Morning has broken! Not quite the drama of my Tasmanian house overlooking the Huon River, but it’s home to my eyes. This view, these trees, the winter sun - I’m back. For a while. And happy to be here.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! And to my Tasmanian friends, can’t wait to see you in December. Throw another shrimp on the Barbie for me! (Do they really say that? If not, I’ve embarrassed myself. Again. Oh well.)