The beginning

This morning, like every other morning, I brushed my hair. One hair in particular caught my eye because it was so very blonde - kinda white-blonde. Later, Z came and said good-bye. He stopped mid-sentence and stared at something on my head. I instantly knew that that hair was not in fact blonde: it was grey. My first grey hair.

My Dad only started going grey when he hit his 50's. He and I both have very fine, dead straight hair. My mum, on the other had, was white by her mid-20's. She has thick, wiry hair that's ranged in color from blonde to auburn to brown (all natural). I figured that because I had my dad's hair and was not yet grey, I had a long life of hair color before me. Perhaps it is not to be.

I know, I know - it's just *one* hair. And yet, there's nothing "just" about discovering a grey hair. It is one of the many "grown-up" things are happening to me this year. They don't add up to me feeling like an adult, though. I wonder when that will happen. Perhaps with the third grey hair?

Twoo Wuv

A few weeks ago, we were awoken early by a shrill beep followed by a silence long enough that I thought I'd imagined the noise. Kaya, who hates the sound of fire alarms, immediately came over to wake me up and cower by the bed. The second beep assured me that yes indeed, our alarm was low on batteries. I got up and removed the fire alarm from the ceiling, stumbled sleepily with it to the kitchen only to discover that it had no batteries in it. Confused, I went back to bed.

BEEEEEEP.

Then I remembered that we also have a carbon monoxide alarm in the bedroom. I pulled out the foot stool again to retrieve alarm number two from the ceiling. A very anxious Kaya followed me to the kitchen as if to make sure that I pulled all the batteries out of that awful, shrieking thing.

We finally replaced the batteries last week. Last night as I lay in bed unwinding from the day, Z noticed the comforting green light of our now functioning carbon monoxide alarm.

"At least we know we won't die of carbon monoxide poisoning during the night," he commented.

There was a pause as my mind whirred. Then I began to laugh.

"I wonder how many times you'd have to fart to set off the carbon monoxide alarm?" I asked. "Could you hot box a room? What about if you farted directly onto it?"

Laughing, we traded fart stories until we fell asleep. Aaah, true love.

(This post dedicated to my dear friend Kevmo. For some reason, talking about farting onto carbon monoxide alarms made me think of you.)

My best John Hancock

I just returned from downtown, specifically 630 Sansome Street where I met with a very nice lady at the INS. It was my citizenship interview and test at the ungodly hour of 8:20am. Actually, it's very good (from "godly") that i was scheduled so early as it meant little time for lengthy delays to build up.

She, the very nice lady, asked me many questions like: What's your name? Where were you born? Have you ever been a member of the communist party? Would you like to listed as 5'5" tall or 5'6" tall on your naturalization form? and Which was the 49th state? I got all of the questions right, even that last one. The only thing I had trouble with was signing my name.

Yes, signing my name.

It turns out that my actual signature is (and I quote) "too complicated" for the INS. I need to write my name out - all of it. But not like that! It needs to be in cursive, with all of the letters connected. The first time I tried this, I was told that I was printing my name though it was as good a cursive rendition of my name as I've ever done. I was given a blank piece of paper and told to practice. Practice! My signature! My *new* signature. I eventually got it right.

And that's it. They will contact me in one to two months with the date of my swearing-in ceremony. And then, I will be an American (and an Australian and a Brit). I still don't know how I feel about that.

A friend of mine - someone who shares my political values and with whom I often get into rants aobut the current state of affairs - learned yesterday that I had this test this morning. We got into a discussion about the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and its Preamble. She finds these documents to be eloquent and just, and she believes that the ideas upon which the US was founded were fantastic. Since then, however, she said that democracy and republican government have become synonymous with capitalism resulting in things going to hell. Her patriotism was the first I've been able to stomach and to agree with.

Oh my. Look at that. I almost - *almost* - sound patriotic. I better stop writing.