Operation Nova Aquila Update 3

For those who don’t know, that is what I have decided to name my time here in Australia. Three months of my time having been here complete, it’s time for another update.

Objective 1 (Lose weight): Well, since my one year anniversary of weight loss (starting Feb 15, 2009) I’ve lost 10 inches off my waist. Since then however… no losses off my waist in the last two weeks or so; though my neck is now officially what it was in High School, and I look like all the other Italian’s in Griffith with my Father’s gold chain that I haven’t been able to comfortably wear in a few years.

Objective 2 (Find job): Been busy all month, picking plums, oranges, and working at the grain storage facility. There are still Grapes next week whenever my back feels better from hurting it at work.

Objective 3 (Get Ripped like Jesus): Though it is dependent on Objective 1, I can now actually poke my belly, and below the layer of fat feel a fairly firm set of abs developing. I can’t wait to uncover them!

Objective 4 (Save Money): Dependant on Objective 2, but, also seems to be going on course.

Objective 5 (House Makeover): The shipping containers are 100 percent. “The Swamp” as it has been nicknamed due to Paul’s love of the classic gem of television “MASH” looks quite awesome. Complete with band area, lounge section, Exercise corner, and pool/air hockey table.

Objective 6 (Quit Pepsico Addiction): In the LAST trimester! In the time I have been working on it, I have only slipped once and taken one extra Pepsi then my daily ration. The last trimester though I think I am reverting back to one a week. I was hoping to finish early by taking two a week away, but, the other day I had a terrible withdrawal headache, so, maybe I’m not totally ready to be off.

Objective 7 (Learn new life lessons): I think I am allergic to hay/straw. Also, I am incredibly selfish.

Objective 8 (See all states/territories of Aus): The Estonian’s and I are considering renting a van in mid June and road tripping to Darwin and Perth via Alice Springs so that we can all see the remaining states that we have yet to go to.

Objective 9 (Re-learn how to ride a motorcycle): No sign of a working motorcycle. This is something that I am fine waiting till I return to do, but, I’d still like to get it out the way down here.

Objective 10 (Drive manual left handed): Had another go at it, on actual streets! I only stalled a few times. Still a laughable attempt, but Paul and I survived it.

Objective 11 (Dive in GBR): Need money, that’s it, the moment I have the money, I’m going diving. EVERY SCUBA diver, who knows about the Great Barrier Reef, wants to go diving in it, and here I am, so close, and yet penniless (quite literally, Australia has no $.01 piece).

Objective 12 (See one other country): Same as Objective 11, just need the money.

Objective 13 (Learn Estonian): I have learned a few more things since last time, but not much, and it will be even harder now that they have moved to Griffith.

At this time, having completed my third update of Operation Nova Aquila, I’d like to share with you some words by the great (American) Football coach, Vince Lombardi who once said,

“Leaders aren’t born, they are made. And they are made just like anything else, through hard work. And that’s the price we’ll have to pay to achieve that goal, or any goal.”

The Men on the Moon

(Side note: Video not completely related to the following blog, it kind of is in the sense that I want to go into the Navy, love the ocean, my nickname for my Stepdad Dave is “Capt. Dave”, and his dad was also in the Navy, the main reason for it is, listening to this song – and Jimmy Buffett in general – reminds me of Capt. Dave, and therefore I thought would make for some good background music as you read, after all, I was listening to Jimmy Buffett songs when I wrote it)

No, I’m not talking about the Apollo missions. This is actually the title I’m considering for the book of wisdom imparted on me by the various male influences in my life. Scout Advisers, Scoutmasters, Church Elders, guy friends of the family like Ed. Then of course, the two largest sections of the book would go to the two men in my life who hold the title of “Dad”.

Which brings me back to, how did I come up with this title? Well, for years, when I looked upon the full moon, I could see the chubby face of a sneaky grinned man with an Italian sized nose, and, it reminds me of my Father. It is of course natural to think of looking up at the sky when a young child has lost someone close to them, especially with all the references to Heaven being “up”, and so, looking into the night sky and seeing “the kings of the past” as Mufasa said to Simba (side note, playing the “Lion King” in class to 2nd graders would be totally fine if it wasn’t for the fact that one of the kids in the class had just lost his father), and seeing the chubby face of a smiling man with a big nose, I would of course think of my Father. Well, a few years would pass, and my mother’s, at the time, boyfriend Dave told me his version. If you look at the moon, there is an old skinny cowboy bent over his camp fire holding out his skillet to cook his meal. Ever since then, I’ve had these two images in my mind whenever I see the full moon. Contrary to what one might think, they actually are not contradictory; both images have to be seen with your head tilted to one side or the other, so it really just depends on the tilt.

Growing up not really knowing my blood father was kind of hard on me in the not knowing about my family and/or genetics, but I can’t say I was ever really alone, in part because I was raised in the Indian (feather not dot) sense that it takes a village, and my Mother had help from God, friends, church and scout leaders. Most of all however, above all other earthly help; she had my step dad Dave. I’ve always liked Dave. In high school when I was maturing, some words of wisdom would piss me off, but that just means he was doing his job right.

As I look back on it, it seems like a lot of hard work being a step parent. I mean, being a parent seems bad enough, but at least you have the blood advantage. My mother had a rough time with me, loving me even when I was hard to love, and I came out of her. I have two friends who are, or are going to become a single mother in the extremely near future, and I think of their sons, could I raise them as my own? The answer I’ve come to realize is, and I feel like a horrible human being for saying so, I honestly don’t think I could. There are two big differences though, #1, I’m not interested in their moms like that, nor are they at all interested in return, I don’t have a lot of motivation seeing as I don’t have a romantic interest in the above mentioned moms, Dave liking me helped out with the whole “having a cute Latina girlfriend”. I know that him liking me was not the only criteria, but I definitely know that a man’s ability to tolerate me was a very important standard for one of my mother’s suitors to meet. #2, the big thing is, their fathers are assholes. That was one advantage I had growing up; I could always remind myself that my father wasn’t there because of death, not because of divorce or abandonment.

Growing up, like in any other relationship, there was an almost unspoken social contract between Dave and I (like the vocab Prof. Auten?). I’ve never really brought up the topic of my father much; never saw a need to really, why? Because I never thought of myself as fatherless, simple. I had Dave. I never really called him “dad” much, but when introduced at a party as “Dave and Ana’s boy” I never hesitated at all to be identified as his son. Though not by blood, and not legally until a couple years ago, I was, and am his son.

Sure there are differences; one dad was an officer, the other enlisted, one of English ancestry, the other of Scottish, one a bit more white collar, and the other a bit more blue collar. And yes, I would very much like to know my genetic ancestry a bit more, it is something that somewhat plagues and bothers me knowing that my blood father did do genealogical research, and yet, I have no record of his findings, I’ll be honest, that’s totally frustrating. Differences aside… there are two very important things that both men have in common.

*They both love(d) my mother enough to spend the rest of their life with her.
*They both love(d) me, and have made me the man I am today.
*bonus third similarity: both fought the communist when they were in the military.

I’m not saying I could never be a step-dad, I am saying, I see it as a very difficult role to fill. I am saying it’s a hard balance, love a child like your own even if by some technicality they might not be; that’s not even mentioning the perfect balance between being a parent, friend, and mentor. The thing that makes me doubt how good of a step-dad I could ever be to someone else the most, is how great of a job Dave has done with me. That is quite a high standard set.

Looking at my two dads and me, I often think I might make for a good psychological case study as to Nature vs. Nurture. Ya, I want to be an Officer someday, but I want to have a real job as an Enlisted man first. So, who has more influence? When you look at the building blocks that make up my life, my blood father laid out the foundation no doubt, and genetically speaking, left me with quite a few tools…

BUT!

…it was DAVE who taught me how to use the tools that I have to make me into the man that I am today. Yes, I had a LOT of Advisers and Scoutmasters who gave me good advice and helped me learn, but, at the end of the day, when the meeting or function was over, it was Dave giving me a ride home who I talked things over with, and it was Dave who I had most of the late night talks that help me decide what decisions to make.

My blood father gave me an appreciation for water (like the ocean)…
(Capt.) Dave was the one who taught me how to truly respect it, by teaching me how to really go out there and enjoy it’s beauty with kayaking and snorkeling.

My blood father was the one who had me believe MacGyver was an Eagle Scout…
Dave was the one who helped me become one myself.

My father made me want to learn as many languages as possible…
Dave is the one who taught me to want to say something meaningful in whatever language I speak.

Should God ever decide to bless me with two sons (this is upon the assumption I still see myself a fit enough of a fool to still marry) there is not a chance that I dare punish the second one by naming it “Leslie Francis II”, on the other hand, it seems like I know about 20 million other “David’s”. That’s kind of why, should the situation ever present itself that I have to come up with a name for a second son, I’m sort of leaning toward “Gerald David Belton”, but hey, that’s all (very) distant future talk (sorry Mom). Back to the here and now.

Dave is my dad, whether I have the same blood or last name or not. His sister and brother-in-law are my Tia and Tio, his nieces are my cousins, his parents where/are more my grandparents than my own father’s where.

I can go on and on about the things my dads have taught me, but that would kinda ruin the concept of the book I’m planning to write. I can also see how all this can quite easily be misinterpreted as a compare and contrast between the man who my mother happened to meet and marry first and then provided me with half of my genetic make-up…


…and the man that finished the job that he started.

But it isn’t.

It’s a tribute to the man who unconditionally loved me and spent the time and energy to help my mother look after me and raise me as his own son. It is also me publically saying thank you, and I love you for it.





Happy Birthday Dave

Hay is for Horses!

They can keep it…

Dirty Job #7: Filling bags of straw and loading them onto a pallet.

I learned a couple things yesterday.
*25 kg (55 lbs) is a LOT heavier then I remember it was
*My stepdad was right, when all else fails, grab a broom and sweep
*I very well could be allergic to straw

So, Markus left for Griffith yesterday also, and two of the Griffith Estonians left for the coast. Leeton is (as far as I know) Estonian free now. Sigh.

But before leaving, the Estonians gave me the number to some guy with a job loading bags of something, and it was suppose to be good money. So, I called him, and he said be there at 6. I was. Worked till a little after 8 before he said, come back at 4, we have more guys coming, we will finish then. So I did despite not feeling well for some reason. Then, after only about the 5th or 6th bag, I hurt something. Bad. The rest of the night I struggled along, just became the guy who switched out the bags on the machine that fills them. Towards the end I regained some courage to lift a couple, but, I kept away from them as much as I could.

Home, exhausted and tired. Straw dust, besides being itchy, get’s EVERYWHERE. I’ve like just spent the last 15 minutes trying to clear all the boogies out of my nose, and I still can’t breathe. Don’t worry ladies… my beautiful, money maker, eyes are still fine. I might be going blind, but they still look good.

Work at 7:30 tomorrow.

FML

Nägemiseni

Translation: Estonian for “see you later”.

The day I knew was coming came.

So, today, I worked at the Grain Storage Facility again (the guy with the funny story about his dad). And I came to realization; he looks like old Walter Matthau (the guy from Grumpy Old Men and Odd Couple). So anyway, went to pick up the Estonian’s after I finished the project of the day. Turns out, they got jobs at Casella Wines! Yes, the makers of Yellow Tail. My friends got a job at the place I wanted to work… sigh…

That would be alright, if it didn’t mean them going to Griffith to work there.
So, I drove Martin and Richard to their new place in Griffith, leaving Markus behind to finish up loose ends.

Needless to say… the drive home sucked.

Plus I have another day of oranges.

SERENITY NOW!

Me = Bad Catholic

I’ve broken three lent things this weekend.
I did not wake up in time for Italian Mass.
I had one soda that was not Pepsi.
I did not do (my version of) the Rosary.

If I believed the HRCC could damn me, I’d be on the road to hell. Then again, I’ve never in my life claimed to be a good Catholic. It was my Father’s choice to have me baptized like that, not mine.

I’m a non-denominational. So, though I do have the Roman-Roots, and I do feel kinda bad, I’m not going to lose a lot of sleep over it.

See the one problem with being Non-Denominational and just being a “Generic Christian” is that you really have no traditions of your own. And, I do believe tradition is important, after all, a really good Christian realizes that he is a bacon eating Jew. Judaism is drenched in tradition. And so in an attempt to take some “tradition supplements” into my “belief diet”, I piggy back on the Catholics, because they have enough tradition to spare. Hence why I often times jokingly refer to myself as a Roman Protestant.

For those of you also keeping to the 3 parts of Lent (self denial, prayer, and charity), KEEP AT IT! But also remember, it’s something that we should practice all year long, not just for a month and half(ish) once a year.

If you are confused about what I am, well, a lot of people are, I kinda think that means I’m accomplishing my goal of being labeled/claimed by any of the specific denominations.

Does get frustrating though when you want people to believe you actually know what you’re talking about, but is really fun when you surprise someone because they realize you actually know what you’re talking about.

Espangles

La idioma oficial de California, o eso es cómo siente unos dias.

No estoy tan seguro porque, pero tengo un gran idea a escribir todos mis blogs en español tambien para que puedo a practicar mi primera lengua (porque yo paresco tan gringo cuando yo hablo que ni es chistoso).

Espero que tengo buena suerte en este projecto porque no soy bien con gramática ni con ortografía en español.

Y si miras un palabra y dices, “¿de que esta hablando?” es que yo no savia la palabra y escribi lo que me dijo Google.

Spanglish

The official language of California, or at least it seems it.

Not sure why exactly but I had what seems like a great idea to practice my Spanish skills (because I realize how lacking they are) and also post a Spanish translation of my blogs.

Wish me luck, because I neither have the best grammar nor spelling in Spanish.