The Montifiore Manse

Dear friends & family,

I am afraid I am going to be in the habit of apologizing on this blog. I am simply not posting enough. Posting does come to mind often, but I get discouraged because I do not have my camera software and I thus provide none of the all-important pictures that would help make this marvelous island I now call home come alive to all of you. So until my library arrives in a couple of months, the Lord willing, please bear with the pictureless accounts.

Having solicited your patience for my picture-less post, I thought I would share a few experiences about being an American in my new home of Australia:

Whenever you speak to anyone you are immediately identified as an American and as a tourist. Whether you are at the bank, the grocery store, a restaurant, a wildlife park or reserve, or even just talking to someone at the cross walk, when they hear your voice their eyes widen a bit and you can see on their faces "You're an American!" It is a bit of a novel experience. All of a sudden you can see the questions race through their mind: "Why are you here?," "What do you think of Australia?," "How long are you staying?" and a bit of "What do you know... an American."

Surprisingly, one of the first questions people ask is "Are you from Canada?" I was surprised how often this happened, and it usually happened when I spoke with retail and customer service workers. This phenomenon seems to happen for two reasons:

Reason #1 Australian Safety
When people ask me if I am from Canada, I usually explain that I am not from Canada but from "the States." One of the last times this happened, I asked the person, "Do you meet a lot of Canadians here?" She responded, "No, not really." So I asked her, "Do I sound Canadian?" "No," she said. But then she added, "We always ask people we think could be from the U.S. or Canada if they're from Canada because if you accidentally ask a Canadian if they're from the U.S. they get mad." I had a chuckle to myself and asked, "Has somebody from the U.S. ever gotten upset about being asked if they're Canadian." She simply said, "Oh no, they never care." I thanked the woman and walked away smiling to myself thinking about some of my different discussions with Canadians about the relationship between the States and Canada.

Reason #2 Being a Yankee (U.S. definition i.e. a Northerner)
I have found out from another person that some people think I am Canadian because "You don't sound American." I asked the person who said this to describe what an American sounds like. He then tried to immitate a bit of a Southern U.S. accent. I asked him if he remembered where the Americans he has met were from in the States. The response is almost always some place south of the Mason/Dixon line. I try and explain that I am from the North and therefore may sound a little more like the Canadians.

I have recently obtained something that officially confirms my status as a male living in Australia; I have a Barbie! Now I hasten to add that a "Barbie" is not a doll, it is a Barbecue. The Aussie (pronounced Ozzie) Barbie is slightly different than the North American BBQ. The Aussie Barbie is by large majority gas powered and the flame heats either a flat metal plate or a bumpy or grooved metal plate, though some do have grill slots or slats that drip straight down. To someone from North America, this would be like outdoor frying. In North America even the gas powered grills usually have little lava rocks in them that are heated and the "grill" suspends the material to be cooked above the "brickets." One can obtain a charcoal grill here in Oz, but they do not seem to be popular. I do miss the "grilled taste" and the "charcoal flavor" of the North American BBQ, but the versatility and variety of use for the Aussie Barbie is amazing. The Aussie Barbie is also easier to clean and simpler to care for. I hope to begin a tradition of the annual Manse Barbecue in the near future.

I have also been alerted by a friend here in Taz that my car is not an "Executive" but a "Magna." Apparently the designation "Executive" speaks of the style or class of car, not the model of the car.

One last reflection is how an American can feel like a stranger in a strange land one moment and in some ways feel at home in the next. The plants, animals, driving, money, cars, houses, and accent (even though I am the one who has one now) are all different, but there are a lot of similarities. Coca-Cola and Pepsi are everywhere. As I drive around, I see Kentucky Fried Chicken, Pizza Hut, MacDonald's, and Domino's (sadly no Tim Horton's, the Ice Cap is truly the greatest coffee drink in the world). When I walk into stores or restaurants, they are usually playing American music from the 50's to contemporary Pop-Rock. American culture has been imported everywhere. The switch from Oz to U.S. can be a little disorienting at times.

However, in the midst of all these things the Lord grants strength and upholds. I may be in a new place, but the Lord is here and the Lord's people are here. Though I may be away from friends and family in North America, I have friends and family here that are praying for me and to whom I can always turn.

Until the next post then.

Love through Christ,
terry

P.S. The Lord willing, I hope to be ordained and installed on February 17. Please continue to remember the cause of Christ here in Tassie and especially the brothers and sisters in the Southern Presbyterian Church of Launceston.