I left a land of cockatoos and palm trees
and landed before I left in another time zone
under gray skies and Douglas firs
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

In the end, we arrived back in America a couple of hours before we left Australia. Yes, I’m here to tell you that time travel is, indeed, possible.

There is a seventeen-hour time difference between Australia and where we live in Bow, Washington. So we lifted off from Vancouver, BC, on July 5^th and landed in Sydney 18 hours later on July 7th. And from that point until we arrived back in North America yesterday, everything has been a little upside down and backwards for me. In Australia, the sun moves along the northern sky and rises on the right; Folks drive on the left side of the road; and Australians have their winter when North America is having its summer. On our return, we left Sydney at 8:40 am on July 25^th and arrived in Vancouver 15 hours later – and two hours earlier – at 6:40 am on July 25^th. Whoah.

***

Australia was wonderful. The people are friendly and fun. The birds are full of color and music. The flowers are vibrant. The winter weather is like springtime in my part of the world.

I met so many amazing people “down under” – the helpful, smiling security folks at the airport; the travelers from Canada who waited with us in the customs line and let me know that I’m not the only one who’s always checking to see if my passport is still where it needs to be – apparently other people check to see if their passports have somehow leaped out of pockets and purses, too; the woman who laughed with me when, after my husband asked me if I needed help, I pulled my heavy suitcase out of the baggage carousel at the Sydney airport and repeated Aussie Helen Reddy’s lyrics, “I am woman/hear me roar”; the staff at Karen’s Diner and the staff at the Baytouna Lebanese restaurant; the cheery cashier at the coffee shop who taught me how to say “table seven” (“tible sayven”); the police officers and soccer fans celebrating the women’s soccer team in Sydney; the firefighters at the cafe; the confident, competent, lovely midwife who delivered my new grandbaby; the line of passengers at Sydney airport who laughed with me when I got into their line accidentally and almost boarded the wrong plane – “Americans!” I said, shaking my head, and grinning in embarrassment, and they joined me in my laughter and helped me feel accepted in my human-ness; and the wonderful woman from Quebec I met while waiting to board the plane I was actually supposed to be on, who shared how she travels from Canada to Australia twice a year to visit her son and daughter (who both married Australians) and to see her grandchildren. She inspired me and helped me realize that I’m not alone in the physical distance I have between my son and daughter-in-law and grandchild – that other people are in similar situations, and that we all want our children to live the lives they need to live, even if it means they’re on the other side of the world.

***

I’m thinking about all that needed to happen for our beautiful baby granddaughter to arrive on this planet. I think about the miracles that brought little Marilyn here. Her maternal grandmother, Kim, had to survive a year in a Vietnamese prison, working as slave labor, after being caught trying to escape from Vietnam when she was 18; her maternal grandfather, Ben, had to escape from Vietnam on a terrifying boat ride before finding a new home in Australia. Little Marilyn’s paternal great-grandfather, my father Dee Molenaar, had to survive a desperate situation in 1953 on K2, the world’s second highest mountain – his life hanging on the end of a rope belayed by his climbing teammate, Pete Schoening. Little Marilyn’s paternal great-grandmother, my mother “Moz,” was the tenth of ten children – somehow managing to squeak into birth after her mother had decided she was having no more children after birthing number nine nearly killed her. Little Marilyn’s paternal grandfather, my husband Scott, had to impulsively get in a car bound for the west coast with his friends and start a new life in Washington State so that we could meet and marry and start a family. Little Marilyn’s parents, my son and daughter-in-law – one from Washington State and one from Sydney, Australia – had to both decide to visit a Buddhist retreat in California during the pandemic, in order for them to meet and fall in love, and bring Marilyn to us.

What are the odds of ANY of that happening?!

Marilyn’s existence has made all our lives more important than they were before she came.

***

I have so much to be grateful for today. My heart is full. My daughter-in-law and son are already amazing parents – nurturing and conscientious, and in love with their new baby; my new granddaughter is healthy and strong and beautiful; my daughter-in-law’s mother, Kim, is generous and kind and took wonderful care of us during our stay in Australia. Instead of love being cut off from me and separated, the love in my life is expanding and including more people and places. My sense of what constitutes “family” is growing.