Misogyny

For the last month Americo and I have been mainlining Joss Whedon shows. First we watched Buffy, then Firefly, now Angel.

As a good geek girl I've watched these shows multiple times, but as a 35 year old that has spent the last 5 years discovering the joy and pain of feminism, this viewing has shown me so much more than I saw as a 25 year old.

What I've seen in these shows is something that you don't see that often on TV, something that has been lost, or isn't profitable, doesn't sell toys, or comics, or t-shirts. What could it be? What does Mr Whedon see that so many others don't?

Mr Whedon sees women as people. Fully developed people. He sees their strength not just in their physical bodies, but in their courage, perseverance, their resilience. In their heartbreak and loss the women of the Whedonverse stand up and keep fighting in the face of overwhelming odds or repeated heartbreaks.

Buffy ended 10 years ago, and while the clothes are dated, the message of the show is not. Buffy remains one of the most human people I have ever seen on TV. A 15 year old with an unavoidable destiny that still finds time to be a cheerleader, to deal with the perils of dating an older man, to be there for her friends, her family, and save the world. Again and again. And never alone. The theme of friendship is one that is reinforced from beginning to end. It isn't Buffy that saves the world, it's Buffy and the Scooby gang.  A constant and changing Scooby gang of flawed characters that Buffy never gives up on, and that never give up on Buffy.

It is the faith, forgiveness, and friendship that make the show so easy to watch, and so heartbreaking to finish.

That, and the feminism. The one that isn't mentioned anywhere, but is everywhere, in every episode.

The final season when each potential slayer is given her power brought me to tears for the amazing vision of what the world could be if women took their own strength, and power, and self-belief and pulled themselves together to save the world... I want to live in that place.

"From now on, every girl in the world who might be a slayer, will be a slayer. Every girl who could have the power, will have the power. Can stand up, will stand up. Slayers, every one of us. Make your choice. Are you ready to be strong?" ~ Buffy. (Season 7, Chosen)

A powerful weapon to destroy the forces of evil, and Buffy decides to take it's power and give it to women all over the world to help them to fight. To stand up and be strong. That message, for me, is the pure heart of feminism, without once mentioning feminism.

As we watch our way through the Whedonverse I can't help but contemplate on the nature of misogyny, and it's slightly less systematic sister, sexism.

I see, and experience, sexism every day. From the insurance company that automatically makes me a "Mrs" after being asked to add my husband to the policy, to being called a "cunt" on twitter for having the audacity to express an opinion, to being called a lesbian for refusing to take my husbands last name. These are all things that women live with every day.

Not to mention the 600+ laws that were passed in various different countries around the world that allow the government to control what a woman does with her own body.

The big things like choice bug me, but it's the small things that get dismissed that really bug the every living daylights out of me.

It's the dude that stands up and says how much he loves women, he's married you see, and he loves his mum and his lovely daughters, so how could you possibly think that he's sexist? Well, Mr Prime Minister, you want to restrict a woman's right to choose and you said abortion was the "easy way out" so you can understand why we think you're a bit sexist.

Or there's the guy that proclaimed to the internet how he doesn't ever tolerate his fans attacking people with misogyny. Don't you call that woman a "cunt" you bad people,  but please, please ignore when my friends objectify and belittle women every day on their twitter feed and podcasts.

When they flash a fan's breasts all over their twitter feed it's because they're appreciating women, not objectifying them. When they undertake auditions to add a woman to their all dude show they don't take any of the very talented women, but they do offer the consolation prize of allowing the ladies to come in and flash tits to please the men if they so choose. But don't get mad, feminazi's, it's a joke. C'mon ladies have a sense of humour.

It's the hypocrisy of saying "but look at how much I love women" while ignoring the utterly sexist way in which they present themselves to the world at large.

The promotion and support of misogyny, whether it is yourself, or your friends, or you political party, is, in itself, misogyny.

When you stand by and allow your colleagues and friends to speak of women in a negative, exploitive, or belittling way, without stopping and saying "hey, that's not cool" you are being sexist. It is, essentially, a lie of omission. You're not being sexist, as such, but you are allowing sexism through your lack of action.

"But it wasn't me!!" they exclaim, and true enough, you didn't do it, you didn't say it, how can I blame you for your inaction. You're clearly not as bad as the person that said it, obviously.

Except, to me, you are. You're the guy that walks past a guy beating up on a girl and doesn't do anything because it's none of your business. It is your business. Sexism is everyone's business.

Joss Whedon, when asked why he keeps writing strong women, said:

George R.R. Martin, when asked about writing women said, perhaps the smartest shit on the planet:

Neil Gaiman was asked to reflect on Buffy recently and was asked about writing strong women, he said:

"I think the big thing to point out to people is, you know, possibly they should go and hang around with some women. And also, it's worth point out that people, unfortunately, misunderstand the phrase 'strong women'. The glory of Buffy is it was filled with strong women. Only one of those strong women had supernatural strength and an awful lot of sharpened stakes. And people sort of go 'well yes, of course Buffy was a strong woman. She could kick her way through a door'. And you go 'no, well, that's not actually what makes her a strong woman! you're missing the point. 

These are amazing authors seem like they don't just say these things, the live it.

Game of Thrones, by the nature of the world that it is created in, has moments of sexism, but it also have really gritty kick ass women. The mother of dragons, Daenerys Targaryen, Arya Stark, even Cersei Lannister in all her cruel manipulations has fire, courage, intelligence and strength that outshine her evilness.

Neil Gaimen's stories contain women of determination and humanity, and when he speaks of women in public it is with respect and decency.

Joss Whedon writes, what I would argue, are the most well rounded, fully developed, true women that have ever been on TV. Or in a movie, for that matter (though I suppose you could argue that Serenity is just an extension of a TV show). And if you google Joss Whedon speaking about women you can enjoy a great youtube of him speaking out about why chicks are super great.

Another example of dudes that do it right, is Sir Patrick Stewart. The true definition of a gentleman, with a slew of youtube clips of him demonstrating what a man should be, and how he should treat women.

These men don't just say that they support women, they prove it, day in, day out. In word and deed.

Now, obviously I don't know them, but from what I've seen around the internet, they seem to understand that supporting women isn't just a thing you blog about, its something you live every day. It's something you notice, something you see around you, not just on occasion, but all the time.

The characters they write are an example of what a woman can be, something for little girls to aspire to, someone that teaches you that you can be anything you want to be.


We're on season 3 Angel now, and we just watched an episode where a kid with demon blood was able to influence mean to display the deep dark misogynistic part of their souls and with that evil dark part of them brought to the surface the men tormented and murdered women.

It was with an incredible delicacy that the writers, Tim Minear and Jeffery Bell, tackled the cliches of sexism that are so prevalent in the modern world.

"I don't hate women. I mean, sure, you're all whores who sell yourselves for money or prestige, but men are just as bad. Maybe even worse. They're willing to throw away careers or families or even lives for what's under your skirt"

And while under the influence Wesley utters the always awful

"What do you tell a woman with two black eyes" "Nothing, you've already told her twice".

As Fred walks away he mutters the always popular "no sense of humour".

At the end of the episode Wesley faces his fear that the behaviour is in him somewhere, that he has the capacity to be that guy. Fred comforts him and says "It wasn't something in you, Wesley. It was something that was done to you".

That's really what it's all about, at the end of the day, isn't it? Misogyny, sexism, it's not something you're born with, it's something that is done to you.

As you grow up in the world you see the casual stuff that is everywhere that reduces women down to nothing but a body to sell a car, or deodorant, or sunglasses, or jeans. You get the message from government, from movies, TV, magazines, that women aren't equal to men. You see male politicians allowed to refer to female politicians as "small breasts, large thighs, and a big red box" without any real consequence. There are hundreds of articles about how the Australian Governer-General dresses, and very few about what she's done while in that role. There were special editions of dozens of magazines talking about how Julia Gillard or Hillary Clinton dressed, but I've not seen any features about Tony Abbott's wardrobe or favourite nail colour.

Every day of our lives we are conditioned to accept sexism, and so few have the self awareness to step out of that behaviour, and call out that behaviour in others.

I'm not sure the point of this blog is. It went somewhere that I wasn't expecting it to go.

I guess the upshot is... wouldn't you like to see the world the way Joss Whedon does? Isn't that a better place than the way you see it now?

You can make it happen you know, we all can.

Lucky 13

2013 has been a long year, and for the most part not a good one.

Work has been a struggle for me this year, with a boss who doesn't understand me, or the work I do. That has been a challenge that I had to work through, and if I'm being honest with myself one I did not face as well as I could have. There was screeching, of which I'm ashamed. December, however, brought what I hope is good news on the work front for 2014. Only time will tell.

On a personal level I've also struggled. My anxiety has been up and down this year and there has been times where my depression has gotten the best of me, I'm not very proud of how I handled myself during those times either. This too has ended with a good note, that I have been mostly anxiety free during December, after reaching peak nut case in the last week of November.

I'm also not proud of my emotional eating, which happened far too often, or that I didn't take the time to exercise more often this year, particularly when I know full well that exercise helps a lot with my mental well being. With Americo here we are both committed to a healthier 2014 with far less cake, cookies, and far more exercise. Together we're going to face my lack of willpower and motivation head on and work hard at being our best selves.

The end of 2013 brings with it the luck I always find in 13's.

2013 found Americo and I applying for a prospective marriage visa. I had finally managed to get enough into saving, and paid off over half of my personal debt, and with a heart full of fear I spent a month gathering paperwork to send to Americo and fronted over $2000 for the application fee.

Each step in the journey seemed to take forever, though as it turns out that 'forever' was just shy of 4 months from start to the notification of approval and then a mere 3 weeks from approval to landing in Australia.

We waited as the 'overnight' courier took a week to deliver the paperwork. Then another few weeks to organise certified documents. Then waiting to hear from the case officer. Then waiting for the medical. Then waiting for the FBI character check, which took longer than it should have because the US government SHUT DOWN.

And then it arrived. Woken up at 6.30 on a day off to be told I would be getting a husband for Christmas was so emotional I will never be able to articulate the joy and elation.

It feels like he has been here forever, but it is only 4 weeks ago tomorrow that I reached peak nut case on the day I picked Americo up from Sydney. A sleepless night. An anxious drive. A more anxious half hour wait at the airport before I saw him walking down the ramp with 3 impossibly large suitcases in tow. A fit of tears later and I managed to compose myself enough to appreciate that we had made it half way through our visa journey.

The first, and hardest part of the work was done, and we could get married and spend this, our first real Christmas together.

Since that day we have, in fact, gotten married, and of course shared that marriage with the world, which of course was the logical end to a relationship that was so much based on the internet.

And today we are spending Christmas eve together watching awful awful violent Christmas movies, and building the traditions that we'll pass onto our child(ren).

Baking snickerdoodles last night, something I used to do with my mother when we lived in the US, I could imagine doing that with my own daughter when she's old enough.

Watching Home Alone, a movie my baby brother always loved to watch, I can picture sitting in bed with our kid watching this horrible destructive brat of a child physically assault grown-ups, something a kid should learn at a young age.

Tomorrow I get to wake up, on Christmas day, with my husband. My husband I had to wait 6 long years for, and I get to say merry Christmas and not open any presents because I made him given them to me early. He doesn't get to open presents either, to be fair, because he got his early as well (PS4 bitches).

We're going to make food together, and watch Miracle on 34th Street, and eat pancakes and cookies. We're going to do it together in our apartment, on our couch, as husband and wife.

2013 will always be our lucky year. A year in which we learned to appreciate our wonderful friends more than ever. A year in which we learned to value our family and what they give us in support and also in the traditions that will become part of our own family. In which we learned to be more patient and take the small moments for the miracle they are.

 Apparently I've also become even more of a shmultzy mess than I've been previously. For your sake I hope I get over that pretty soon, I'm making myself pretty ill, I can only imagine how you feel.

The book of love

For six years and four months I have loved Americo. Truth be told I have probably loved him longer, but we celebrate our anniversary on August 16th, and so today is six years and four months from the day we "officially" became a thing. An undefinable, complicated, long distance thing. 

For most of that time we have considered ourselves to be married, in the emotional commitment sense at least. It didn't matter to us whether the government or anyone else considered us married, we were as committed to each other as two people could be.

Today we made that official official. It was small (tiny really), but for us it was perfect. It was a warm but not hot. It was breezy, but not windy. In the dappled shade of the large oak trees at the Yarralumla gallery and cafe it was just divine.

It was a quick ceremony, with personal vows, that were very us and utterly perfect. For those of you that have followed our journey we didn't want you to miss out on our special day, so here are some photos and the text of our vows to each other.

 Americo's vows to Ruth

A vow is a promise, an oath. Sadly, there's nothing I can vow to say that I haven't vowed, or promised, or oathed (not a word) to you a thousand times before. In fact, o the day we are finally getting married, I can't promise you anything. I mean, I promised you we would be together, and here we are. I promised you I would love you forever, and six years in, I do, more and more every day. I promised you this day would come, and look, here it is. From here on out, the only thing I can really promise you is that whatever we face, whatever comes, we'll see it through together.  

But vows are something else as well. They're declarations. A shout into the ether that you believe something so earnestly regardless of who hears it. Normally declarations get lost in my ramblings, or scribbled in some notepad, or dismissed on social media. So hopefully here, no, they don't get so lost.  

Ruth, I love you. In all possible meanings and translations that that word has gone through, I do love you. From the moment I met you, I knew you were the one for me. I hope that each day from then, to now, to all the years ahead of us that I earn that love. You challenge me to be better in every way. You are my Yoda, my Wonder Woman. You are my Doctor. And I am looking forward to getting timey-wimey and spacey-wacy with you. 

With a little bit of wibbly-wobbly thrown in. 

Ruth's vows to Americo

Once, a long time ago, you wrote:

"Love isn't a movie, a book, a picture or a poem. Love is you, love me is, together we're in love. 

I didn't just fall in love with you, I've always loved you, I just had to find you first. " 

I'm so very glad you kept looking til you found me. 

From the day we first talked It was like I had known you, and loved you,  forever. 

You understand me in ways that nobody else had. 

You understand my crazy isnt really crazy, its just needed your patience to help me through the bad days. 

You understand that I'm passionate about my job, and sometimes it means working weekends and when I'm on holiday. You always keep me company instead of complaining. 

You understand that you aren't allowed to reorganise my kitchen. Or my linen cupboard. And I understood I needed to buy you a PS4 in order to convince you to move to Australia.  

I love that you love me enough to watch renovation shows and MasterChef. I love that I love you enough to watch Doctor Who and Lost. I love that we agree that Matt Smith just isn't quite the Doctor and the smoke monster was pretty stupid.  

I love that you're a feminist. 

I love that you think space is awesome. 

I love how you love movies, even the really bad ones. 

Especially the really bad ones.  

I love that you like cooking and that you can't drink hot coffee because it puts you to sleep. 

I love that you stuck around for 6 years, and 4 months until we figured out how to make this one country thing work, even when it was really really hard.  

I thank you for the thousands of hours tied to a headset. For the amazing airport reunions, and the heartbreaking departures. For the cards, letters and poems that were a constant reminder you loved me. 

For every holiday, apart and together. For never giving up. And for never letting me give up. 

Everything I am, everything I have learned in the last 6 years, every success I have had, it has been because you supported me. You held my hand (more figuratively, than literally) and told me I could do anything, and I did, because I believed you.  

To me, you have been my husband since the day you told me you were going to marry me so many years ago. Today you become my husband to the government and the rest of the world. And most importantly to the department of immigration.  

I am blessed to be your wife, and I promise I will love you more than coffee, cheesecake, and Eddie Vender, I sincerely promise that I will love you more very day, and I also swear, with every part of my soul, that I won't make you watch the Fast and the Furious movies more than once a year. 

For my husband... I told you today how much I love you, and I promise I will continue to tell you every day how much I value you and our relationship. And I swear that from now on I'll quit blogging our life. 


For those of you that couldn't be with us today... you were missed. Sometime in the future when we have our life sorted out we'll do a "proper" wedding when all of our friends and family can be part of the day. We both hope the photos make up for that a little bit. 

Love, Actually

The beginning is the end is the beginning

What a day, huh?

I have one of these things:

And a whole lot of this:

 I am utterly overjoyed that he is here and here for good. I can't even explain the amazing. Also the mess, but mostly the amazing. 

Then there's the downside. I have been AMPED for a month. UP UP UP UP UP. So high I could just about fist bump the international space station. I shook myself 300km to meet Americo at the airport and worked myself up to a level of anxiety and anticipation I haven't been at since my first trip to San Francisco in 2009. 

Of course there are consequences. Obsessive consequences. Clean everything and make sure all the avengers are perfectly lined up consequences. I'm not enjoying them very much at all. 

I feel so terrible that this is the welcome Americo gets, me crazy cleaning the house to work my way through the down that I know is going to hit me pretty hard. He deserves more than this, we both do. 

But upside, today is both a beginning and an end. It is the end of Skype and Facetime, the beginning of cuddles and socks on the floor. And getting married and trying to budget for two. 

Wait, what are the upsides again? 

I'm kidding, this rocks. 

So close, and yet so far.

A week.
A week.
Oh how is it possible there's still a week.

Upside, wedding rings arrived.

The very odd passage of time

All things considered the last six years have passed in the blink of an eye. 2343 day it may have been, but it felt like nothing in light of all that we have done.

Given that, it is really quite irritating that the last two weeks have moved in the same sort of eons that are required to form glaciers or giant redwoods.

Twelve and a half more days is impossible. I will lose my mind before it gets here.

I am in manic mode. Give me a task that should take a week and I get it done in hours. I'm begging for work. I'm nervous and jittery and fidget constantly. I can't settle to read a book, my mind is going over the same details again and again.

Sleep is a challenge and waking hours are flitting butterfly like from distraction to distraction.

I've finished a book a day for the last week. I can't even speed read.

I don't know how to focus myself or my mind to make this rather bizarre situation speed up, when it has already been faster than we ever imagined it would be.

I really don't know what to do or how to explain the insanity to anyone.

So, if you're in Canberra and you come across a slightly crazy eyed blonde girl spinning around in a park full of children who are wide eyed in confusion, perhaps you could point me at a cafe and get me a calming chamomile and pat my hand, or something?

Cause of the nutty? Surely not. 

Coincidence

Americo and I first met on 23 October 2009.

Exactly a year later, I took the exact same flight to spend three months in San Francisco with Americo. If you ever get a chance to spend three (or more) months living in San Francisco you really should. It's a beautiful city full of amazing people.

Four years and four days after our first joyful airport welcome, we will have another joyful airport welcome, only this time there won't be a ticking clock counting down to the day we have to have a tearful airport farewell.

I don't believe in god. I have faith in something, I don't know what, something bigger than us. I do believe there is a greater plan for us in the universe than what we can see and know and touch and feel.

It's crazy, I know, truly crazy to think that my relationship with Americo is fated to be by something bigger and greater than I can ever imagine, but in the coincidences of our life, I see a greater magic than our human world allows.

The shipping notice for my wedding dress arrived at the exact moment of Americo's call to tell me the visa was approved. The on sale flights that were within days of the four year anniversary of our first week together.

The ease with which the wedding has come together, the celebrant is available, the venue is available, and my family and our dear friends are all able to be there on the day.

Regardless of the evidence that doesn't exist, I can't help but believe that something, gaia, god, fairies, is smoothing our path to each other, and whatever it is, I'm grateful.

Surreality

It's been just about a week since Americo's visa got approved. I still feel like I've entered some kind of surreal reality that isn't the reality I was in before the visa got approved.

I know it's really real. I've read the approval letter 100 times. I'm constantly checking the flight confirmation just to be sure I really booked it. My bank balances are a scary daily reminder that I am really going to have my fiance in under three weeks, and he's going to be my husband in 38 days.

Yup. Not only is he moving here, but I was mentally deranged (or PMSing) enough to decide to get married with just 6 weeks notice.

That doesn't feel real either.

I have shoes.
I have ordered rings.
I have a dress ordered to be delivered with my husband to be.
The celebrant is set.
The venue is arranged.
I've given everyone a heads up.
I've spent 3 lunchtimes at work making invitations to send out tomorrow.

Now, even taking into account that some of this had been semi organised anyway, it needed to be for the visa, it's so ... odd to think I'm going to be a married woman so soon. So much sooner than we had planned.

I probably pushed this too quickly, all things considered. From a money perspective it would have been sensible to wait until after Christmas so I had my bonus and stuff in to pay for the wedding, but I was so keen to get married in 2013, it has been such a good year for us after all.

Thinking about how blessed we were with timing of the visa, the flights, and all our deliveries arriving, I can only hope that fate keeps blessing us for just a little bit longer and helps us pull this off without destroying my good credit rating.

And until he's here I think my brain will just keep being confused by this strange new reality where I'll no longer have to spend 12 hours a day on a computer.

Lucky 13

Last year as I put my Christmas tree up, and cried over another Christmas without Americo, I sobbingly declared it was our last Christmas apart.

Though I was determined it would be so, I had a lot of doubt we could make it happen. I'd have to save so much money, the application was so expensive, there was so much paperwork to be done, and of months the waiting. 

Immigration were so clear it'd be 5-12 months, and we didn't get the paperwork in until August, so we wouldn't have Christmas, but maybe we'd get lucky for valentines day. 

Today, on a day off from work, after two days plagued with migraines, I was hoping to sleep in. Instead Americo called me at 6:30. I was nauseous and tired, wanted more sleep, until he told me he was coming to Australia. Forever. 

No more 3 months here or 3 months there. I can finally plan the wedding and plan for the future. 

More sleep became impossible, of course, so I decided to check flights. Obviously Air New Zealand decided it was fate we be together, and was having a fare sale allowing us to score flights for $1000 including extra luggage. 

And now, as it turns out, my husband to be will be here in 26 day. Less than two pay periods. 

We get to have Christmas, and new year, and valentines day. My birthday, his birthday, the birth of princess Santa Jesus. We get to have anniversaries and dinner parties and find a new house. 

And on 25 December 2013 I get to wake up with my man, I get to play Lego marvel superheroes all day on the PS4, we get to cook pulled pork and raspberry BBQ sauce, or visit my mum, and we get to do it together. 

Despite all my doubts and stress, 13 yet again turns out to be my lucky number, and it is with slightly confused shock that I retire the "Ruth and Americo 2014" tag and replace it with "Ruth and Americo 2013".

I get to see my gorgeous man in 26 days, and this time I don't have to give him back. 

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

A wonderful thing happened on the way to the mall

I had to head into the mall today to meet my mum. A major effort in the face of a morning facing a pretty epic migraine.

Parked the car, making my way up to the Apple store and a text message arrives telling me my gorgeous fiancé is, in fact, not a criminal. The FBI said so. The state of California has also said so.

The confirmation of this already established fact was received today from the FBI, completing our very long trek to pull together a rather large folder full of paperwork that is currently residing at the Australian embassy in Washington.

With the receipt of the FBI check we now just need to wait for the case officer to consider the combined application and decide if we, as a couple, are worth the risk.

Are we established enough, do we have enough evidence of our relationship, have we done enough to prove that we're the real deal.

It'll be an anxious wait, no matter how sure we are of our paperwork.

This has been such a huge emotional and financial effort and I'm still not prepared to invest in too much in hope.

But I'm also not too invested in fear or anxiety.

We're just waiting, as we have been since August, as we'll continue to do until word arrives, positive or negative.

Neither of us are the type to ask for your thoughts and prayers. We're not the praying type at all. Come to think we're not the power of positive thinking type either. But if you are the thoughts and/or prayers type, we're not going to be unhappy if you add us to your list of things to hope for.

Regardless of how things turn out, we're grateful for everyone who has invested in this journey with us.

Waiting...

It's a month today since we received the email from Immigration asking for the final information for our application.

The medical is done.

The police check received.

The FBI check has been lodged and we've been waiting 3 weeks for it to arrive.

And it feels like forever.

This process is so much about waiting. This whole relationship has been about waiting. I feel like every minute of the last six years has been set to a count down timer, but this time there is no count down. There is no way to know when the waiting comes to an end.

With the waiting comes fear, doubt, worry.

What if we don't have enough evidence. What if the medical results aren't enough. What if we're denied this visa and we can't get married here, he can't live here, we have to keep doing this for even longer.

There's so much now that is out of our hands, and in the hands of someone on the other side of the world to me that doesn't know me, doesn't know us, and yet has complete control over our fate.

How can we even resolve the uncertainty of that type of situation? How do you cope with it day to day when you're alone and dealing with so much in your personal life without your partner with you. We have so much amazing technology, and yet, it's not the same as having someone to hug and cry with at the end of the day.

I miss my fiancé.

It's a year since I've seen him, held him, kissed him.

I'm tired and I want my husband.

I want to be able to properly plan our wedding. I want to put a deposit down on this gorgeous cafe

I want a wedding ring to go with the perfect engagement ring I finally have on my finger. 

We have waited for so long this, and we deserve it.

I desperately hope we can progress this soon.

Davy

A long time ago, when I was very young (and adorable)

my mother divorced my dad and married Davy.

What I remember from being that young, was living on a farm and listening to my dad and Davy singing in a band together. Their music was beautiful. I remember sometimes being at concerts of theirs in dark smokey rooms and falling asleep to them singing.

As I got older I, like any child, idolised my "real" dad and clashed heads with my step father. I tried a few times, the old "YOU'RE NOT MY DAD" line, as step kids do, though never to the extent that my sister did. She really hated Davy, though maybe not really as much as she thought she did, mental illness being the curse it is.

Not too far into my foray into the nightmare that is high school, Davy died.

It was the middle of the night when mum woke me to say Davy was being taken to hospital in the ambulance. She asked if I wanted to come and I didn't cos I had school in the morning and I hated the idea of hospital.

The next morning Davy died.

I don't remember our last conversation, I'm sure it was something about not leaving the table before I finished my dinner.

What I remember now is fondness. Love. Never the hate I thought I felt.

I remember him helping with homework. How awesome he was with my baby brother. How much my mum loved him. How amazing it was that we got to live in the US because of his work. Endless Sunday's down at the lake while he sailed model boats, because he could never have sailed on a real boat because his legs were damaged by polio.

I remember with love. And I hope he knows, regardless of my petulant childish behaviour that I loved him dearly. He was truly the father I always deserved, with the love, care, support, and commitment that my sister and I never got from my birth father. Davy was *there* every day. As a kid you underestimate what that means in your life and your future.

What I think about now is what his life would have been if he lived. What my mums life would have been. What would my baby brother be if Davy had lived, given how much he's achieved without the guidance of his father. He followed his father into engineering, would that still have been his choice if he hadn't lost his father so young?

Would my mum have stayed home for longer if she'd had the choice? Would she have wanted to move to the country if Davy had lived to retire with her, or would they have stayed in the city because of his legs.

And what of my life? Without the instability after Davy's death would my sister have gotten so violent, and would they have made a joint decision to send me away to protect me from her, or would I have stayed at home, in school. Would I have finished college. Gotten a degree in architecture or law like I always planned.

Would I have made so many mistakes with the men in my life if I'd had that stable male influence to temper the instability of my own father.

Would he have walked me down the aisle. I hope so. I would have wanted him to.

I think, considering everything, Davy's influence had extended beyond his own life.

His son is so amazing. I'm so proud of this kid. He walked me down the aisle with composure his dad would have been so proud of.

He's a mechanical engineer working on changing the world. He's climbed to Annapurna Base Camp. Right now he's motorcycling around Tasmania. In snow. He's a cyclist. Like in a serious sense of riding 40km for fun. He has incredible friends, he loves his family, and he's respected in his job. He is everything a father would want his son to be. 

Despite a rocky start Davy would be proud of me too. My successful career and the fact I'm respected in my field. Not the many achievements and talents that my baby bro has, but I, at least, still earn more than the little punk. 

He would love that mum has a good life, her property, her craft groups and friends. 

We've all gone on, lived our lives, they're good lives, but they're lives that would have been made richer, fuller, more special had he been in them. 

I hope, whatever is after this life, he knows how much he's missed and what an amazing legacy he left.

This is the song Davy sung for my mum at their wedding.

https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/11375048/16%20Six%20Ribbons.mp3

It is done.

It's completed. It's in the envelope. It's going in registered post tomorrow.

I will now actively commence not stressing in the slightest because Americo has threatened to withhold my engagement ring if I start going crazy(er).

Were I the praying type I would be actively doing that. A lot.

Checklists

I hate checklists. I hate "to do" lists. One would think, given my slightly (ha ha ha) compulsive nature, that I would love the organisation associated with lists, but not so much.

My theory, and preference, is that I should never have enough to do to hit a list. My workload is, or should be, under control. I have a good memory, so making a list is a bit of a waste for me. I know where shit is at. The same applies to my personal life, if you're organised you don't need lists.

My current state of listing is irritating. I have lists within lists. I have three immigration lists and two personal lists related to our immigration application. I have lists of documents, lists of what money is coming in, lists of what needs to get done, lists of who I need to talk to, lists of money going out. Sublists to each thing I have to do to indicate whether there is a form to go with outgoing/incoming money on x date. I hate it.

My passport arrived today (how great is this nail colour).

It ticks a lot of boxes in a lot of places. It's on nearly all the lists and was causing me a lot of stress. 

With this out of the way the list gets smaller in a lot of ways, and that gives me a bit of peace. 

To do:

• complete two application forms with passport number 
• sign one application form
• get certified copies of:
• drivers licence
• birth certificate
• marriage certificate
• divorce decree
• passport
• Finalise letters of support
• Complete document index and email to Americo
• Courier the folder of death to Americo
• Spend $3000 just for kicks
• Americo get medical
• Americo get police check
• Make Americo get certified copies of:
• drivers licence
• birth certificate
• passport
• Make Americo go through each page of the 200 page folder with me on Skype to make sure everything is perfect and signed where it's supposed to be signed. 
• Send to the embassy
• wait
• wait
• wait
• wait
• wait
• spend $2000 on flights
• get married

See why I hate the list. 

Shit be getting real, yo.

I think it would be fair to say that when I decide to do something, I throw myself into it fairly hard and with no small measure of intensity.

It's not that I'm one track focussed, I can focus on multiple things at one time, and give them equal attention, and equal intensity, but when I decide that x is going to happy by a certain date, fuck you I'm going to make it happen.

Exhibit A. I realised that once I had my tax return Americo and I would be in a financial situation to finally bring this long distance shit to an end. And it was like a light bulb exploded over the entire district of Gungahlin. I was going to make this shit happen. No ifs, no ands, no buts, 2014 my man was going to come to this country, and my golly he was not going to leave again. He would be mine forever and that was that.

The last week my brain hasn't been able to go 5 minutes without seeing that goal. All of a sudden the oh so daunting 26 (x2) immigration forms were completed. The clarifying phone calls to immigration I'd been putting off were done and clarity received. The 190 pages of evidence I hadn't wanted to collect was done and put together and in a nicely psychotic folder with a 3 page index.

My ridiculous and at this point slightly problematic obsessive behaviour is nicely detailed below. Dodgy redactions of personal information not withstanding.

Since we decided to kick this shit into high gear we've put together a whole application together. Skype logs, email captures, paypal records, amazing order, twitter conversations, facebook relationship, travel records, we've found a celebrant, lodged a notice of intended marriage (a legal requirement), and got a statement from the celebrant that we can give to immigration. My passport is 40% processed, we've organised a credit card to cover the shortfall in our savings. We've asked questions of the embassy and found the ONE doctor in the Bay area who can do an immigration medical. 

And if we lodge everything by the end of July there's a chance that we'll pull of our guesstimate wedding date of February 2014. 

And my brain is going to explode. 

For six years (next month) we've done this whole relationship on a computer, basically. We've done our time together, always amazing, but our relationship has been sponsored by Skype, really. And the reality that there's a time, a time not far away, that just maybe I might be able to get a hold on this dude and NOT have to give him back is filling me with spectacular butterflies. 

I could do without the unexpected expenses of the celebrant, and spilling water on my computer, and medicals, and character checks and every other damn thing which is stressing me out, but I am loving the feeling that there is a light at the end of the very long tunnel and that I'm going to get to get married sometime in 2014. 

Six years, and finally we're here.

And really all that's left is to hope, pray, beg, for the department of immigration to approve our prospective marriage visa. I have never wanted anything so hard in my life. 

I will be absolutely destroyed if we're rejected. 

It continues - Update 1

Previous post http://ruthico.blogspot.com.au/2013/06/it-begins.html

Step number 1 on our very long list of requirements is that I need to have a current passport. I actually do have a current passport but it's in my old name.

When I changed my name I actually put in an application to change to my new name, and there was some problems with that. Problems possibly caused by me writing the passport office a letter telling them that they're antiquated and sexist. Regardless, 18 months later I need a current passport in my current name to bring Americo to Australia.

I jumped onto the passport application site and followed the instructions to the letter. It was one of those interactive forms, type in your name here, press next, type in your date of birth, press next. There was little pop up instruction boxes for if you don't know how to fill in your name, etc. Webforms for dummies type stuff.

Being an ICT professional I was careful to read all instructions and follow them to the letter. I know full well how particular the government is and I didn't want to give them any reason to delay things.

Do everything I'm told, take it to the interview at Australia Post, and get turned away because my form was printed on double sided paper. Now, website said nothing, it said ready to print, press ok, it printed. No pop-up, no make sure it prints single sided, no nothing, but the idiot asshole in the post office refused to accept it printed double sided. And was rude about it as well.

And then the kicker, he gives me a hard copy form to complete. A double sided hard copy form. DOUBLE SIDED hard copy form. Tells me to make an appointment in two weeks and they'll reconsider.

Of course I lost my shit. Maybe I said he looked messy and unprofessional and should learn some manners. Maybe I overreacted a tiny smidge. MAYBE.

I did lodge a complaint, I did get an interview for today at a different post office with nice people.

I did read every single line of every single instruction on the damn form. So did one of my staff who was acting as guarantor that I'm not a bad person. We still managed to miss him completing his date of birth, but thankfully the rest of the form was complete and correct.

I lodged it today. I hope to have it in two weeks.

Next step: Money. Always money.

Money for the doctor. Money for the application. $2684 for the application alone. Non-refundable.

And not just the money, but the timing for the money. The medical only lasts for 12 months, and sometimes it takes more than 12 months to process a visa, so you want to wait til the last minute to do the medical. But you need to pay for the application to be lodged around the same time. And then you need to send all the paperwork within 7 days of paying for the application.

I hope to have the money for everything by the start of August when I get my tax return back. The plan is to have all the forms completed and evidence gathered by the end of July, by which point I will have passport and money.

And then the long wait begins.

It begins...

Today I officially officially kicked off the start of the visa journey to get my darling man into this country for good. Or at least for longer than 3 months.

I got the information I needed from Immigration.

I got my passport forms completed, got my passport photos, and made an appointment to lodge my passport paperwork. If you're anything like me you're totally astounded that I need a passport to bring my partner here when I'm not actually leaving the country, but let's agree to move part that for now.

We've decided that we're going to go for a Prospective Marriage Visa, rather than a Partner Visa, despite our motza amount of evidence to prove our relationship because the processing times are shorter, and less evidence is required so we have a slightly better chance of getting things approved.

The downside is it cost us an extra $1000 to convert it to a partner visa after we get married, but if that means he gets here sooner and I get to get hitched sooner, then so be it.

It takes about four weeks for my passport to process, which gives us four weeks to get all our paperwork together, and for us to get the last little bit of money we need to lodge all the forms, and then, all things going to plan we're lodging this sucker in early August.

I'm not the optimistic type so I'm trying not to let the words "christmas miracle" get into my head, but I've seen Miracle on 34th Street a few too many times, so you know....

No doubt you'll be seeing updates as they occur, if you're interested in that kind of thing.

Winter

For many winter is a time of depression. The world is grey. The weather is dreary. It's cold. So so cold.

For me, for the last four years, winter has been a time of joy. Something to look forward to. Winter is always the time I get to spend with Americo.

Winter is cozy blankets. Mainlining a TV series. Trips to Starbucks for pumpkin spice lattes. Spicy Chinese shared for lunch. Late nights. Late mornings cuddling.

Winter is our time.

Until now.

There is no trip this year. There is no Halloween. No Christmas trees. No sunsets on windblown beaches. No pecan pie. No family Thanksgiving.

There is just me.

And I can rationalise it. I understand it, I really do. It's been long enough with the trips back and forth. We want this visa. Desperately. There is nothing I want more than the thing where I get to pick him up from the airport and not give him back.

I dream about it constantly.

Picking him up at the airport, straight to hotel to change, wedding in the Asian Gardens in Darling Harbour, a week down the coast soaking in warm winter sunshine and watching spectacular storms crashing across the bay.

And so I have my first winter without him in four years.

My first whole year without him in four years.

I will not see my fiancé in 2013 and I have no words for the heartbreak of that.

Winter is here. The world is grey. Rain. Wind. Storms. And cold, painful, biting, down to my bones, freezing my joints cold.

This year there is no sunshine to brighten my winter.

Like the song says, there ain't no sunshine when he's gone.

Marriage

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
 ~ Pablo Neruda 

I love that poem. I feel the words in my soul. I love all of it, but the close above speaks to me the most. It resonates a wild love, unconfined, not defined, full of power and passion. 

That's the love I believe in. Not the one written out on a piece of paper, authorised by a government official, the roots of the tradition steeped in ownership, religion and control. 

I don't understand the need to let the government authorise something incredible that exists in heart and soul, beyond definition. I don't understand the restriction that only a man and a woman can marry in this country of mine, and so many countries around the world. As if any government can tell you that you can't love who you love. 

And considering my loathing for the tradition, the history, the ownership, the control, the governments stupidity, it is weird that I find myself, at 9:07 on a Saturday night, wishing desperately that I was officially married to the man I already think of as my husband, because then maybe he'd be here with me right now, and not half a world away. 

My Sisters Keeper?

I spend a lot of time wondering if there's a future where I'm going to be responsible for taking care of my sister.

Right now my mum takes the three, four, five, six a day phone calls. She manages the care facilities, the bills, all the things that need to be done for my sister because there's so many times she can't look after herself.

I don't know if I'm ever going to be in a mental place where I'm going to be the person that can look after her.

I also spend a lot of time wondering what kind of person that makes me.

Death and Taxes

By trade I'm a Information and Records Manager. What that means is that I make sure the government is meeting their legislated records management requirements, and then providing those records when requested by a member of the public, a lawyer, a minister etc.

It's a tough job, it's pretty thankless, and nobody likes you because your job is to nag them about doing paperwork (or ePaperwork, as the case may be) and nobody likes paperwork.

I earn some decent bank for what I do. I'm not bragging but I can pay my bills AND go to a movie once a week if I want to. I live the high life.

And for that high life I pay some tax. Actually, to be fair, I pay a FUCK LOAD of tax. I don't have a lot of deductions, so I really pay my fair share, and a little extra to make up for the folks that don't earn what I do.

I actually pay enough in taxes to cover the disability payments by sister receives from the government because she can't work. Ever. She's been on disability just about her entire adult life, and will be on disability for the rest of her life. And the taxes I pay cover her government payment which keeps her, just barely, above the poverty line.

It doesn't cover any of her care, her doctors appointments, her medications, her psychiatrist, the many many times she ends up in the emergency room, that's something the government pretty much gives her for free under Medicare. And she'll probably get even more services made available to her under DisabilityCare.

And I pay taxes to cover that. So do you.

Oliver Wendell Holmes, a person I like to quote any time taxation is in the media, said something really fucking smart:

"Taxes are the price we pay for a civilised society"

What you get for the taxes you pay are things you enjoy. You get to drive on the road. You get to have a road. You get footpaths that are safe to walk on. You get streetlights. You get people who come to your house to talk to your neighbours when the music is too loud. You get cops to protect you. You get firemen to save your house. And you get an ambulance at your door if you need help. 

Those are just a few of the things you get for the taxes you pay. There are hundreds and hundreds more. 

And soon, you'll pay (if you live in Australia) 0.5% more into the Medicare Levy that you did before. 

That 0.5% equates to $250 annually if you earn $50,000. 

If you earn $100,000 it's only $500 a year. 

If you're an average Australian you probably earn about $50,000, or a bit less, so you're going to be stung $4.80 or so a week. 

That's an extra large cup of coffee. 

2l of milk. 

A small piece of rump steak, if you're inclined towards steak. 

A loaf of fresh bread from the bakery (the fancy one). 

What you get for losing that $5 a week is the chance to help my sister to have a better life. 

The chance to help many thousands of Australians have a better life. 

You miss one coffee and you give someone a chance to have critical medical help that they probably can't afford on their own. 

Why on earth would you begrudge that small amount of money to give someone the opportunity to not have to choose between eating and getting the medicine that keeps them going?

In this society the people that can afford to pay taxes help the people that can't. 

And you know what? It's a fucking privilege to be able to help those people, so if you don't like paying the extra $5 a week maybe you need to spend a week with someone whose life will be changed by this $5 so you can understand just how lucky you are.