Tag Archives: life

Organisational Skills and other things that fail me…

3 May

need to buy a diary

So, I was invited to join this new weekly linky called ‘The Lounge’, right?

It’s hosted by 5 pretty happening bloggers so when I received a personal invite from the Very Inappropriate Rachel (swears like it’s an art form), it felt like I was being invited to morning tea with the cool kids.

This week’s subject was ‘Things I thought I’d be better at’, and seeing as I’m shit at loads of stuff, I thought this post would write itself. I’ve been mulling it over.

I suppose I thought I’d be better at taking criticism, constructive or otherwise. I’m not too bad taking it from a stranger, but if I’m married to you? Forget it.

I could write about my foot and hand hygiene. I thought by now I would be better at washing hands before meals, not biting the skin on my fingers or filing back the rough rhinoceros dermis on my hooves.

A rhino's interpretation of my feet.

A rhino’s interpretation of my feet.

I could write about tact and how I thought by 36 years of age I would have mastered the art of tact. I’m shithouse at tact. Even when I think I’m being delicate, I come across as subtle as a punch in the face. It’s part of my charm, or so I keep telling myself.

I definitely thought I’d be better at grammar. I recently wrote in an email to someone ‘you know you’re shit’ and created all manner of awkward confusion. The apostrophe catastrophe will go down in the annuls.

I thought I’d be awesome at deciphering my baby’s cries by now. I’m still fumbling around in the dark (metaphorically), as I fumble around in the dark (literally) and I’ve been doing this in one form or another for three years.Is she hot? Cold? In pain? Or just stubbornly not wanting to give up the last pre-dawn feed?

But if you really want to know what I thought I’d be better at……

Time keeping.

Not time as in I can’t tell the time. Or even punctuality. I’m very punctual.

Time, as in, writing stuff in a calendar. Keeping track of dates.

I imagine my brain is akin to iCal and the steel trap will not let me down, but time and again, I simply forget shit. Appointments, play dates, birthdays… You name it, and I’ll thank you, because I’ve forgotten it.

I should, at the very least, write down birthdays. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just that I think I’ll remember, and then….. well, it’s not my birthday, so I don’t care.

I have one girlfriend who’s birthday I never wrote down but by some sheer act of God, I called her three years in a row, randomly, on her birthday. Sadly, I never mentioned the words Happy, or Birthday, but I think I got away with it just for sheer arsey flukey-ness. I missed it this year, however.
Should have jotted it somewhere as it seems my connection with the Universal Birthday Calendar has been severed.

I’m a shocker for the double book. Considering I really don’t have much of a life, I’m forever finding that I’ve told two or even three separate people that I’ll do something, or hang out, and it’s all one big cluster frock…..or whatever the expression is.

It doesn’t make me look popular, it make me look like a dick.

The other side of that coin is setting a date and it simply slips my mind.

So, back to the link for The Lounge…… I knew it was opening May the 2nd, and I was ruminating and contemplating and I was thinking that this ought to be my subject matter, this lack of diarising.

I truly thought, that by almost 40, I would be  miraculously organised. I would keep a diary, or use ical (Lord knows I’m on my phone AND computer enough) and not be as unorganised as a teenager. I used to be a producer, FFS! My entire life was schedules, dates and diaries…..but to be fair, I was pretty shit at it then too.

I was better at the long lunch or wrap party part of my job. In fact,for a control freak, I’m quite the oxymoron.

Then, I looked at the date, and blow me down, it was May the 2nd yesterday and I hadn’t written a single word…and I ruminated and contemplated myself a late post……oh, the sweet, sweet irony.

It’s official. I’m going to do diary….

Would you recommend a paper diary or cyber diary?

What did you think you’d be better at by now?

Check out what other people haven’t got the knack of yet over at Misguided Musings, and hooking up with the floggers at With Some Grace.

Tags: , , , ,

You’re not Wonder Woman, and that’s ok.

19 Apr

Wonder Woman bakes bread too

I had a little meltdown this week. It wasn’t really a private affair.

In fact, it was a little bit public.

Not public like pulled-my-undies-up-over-my head-and-wailed-in-a-supermarket type public, but public enough that a few of my friends rallied and came to my aid as they could sense that my frantic waving may actually be me drowning.

Public enough that some of those friends saw my tears because I felt squashed by the enormity of this playing grown-ups malarky.

After chatting and crying and laughing and drinking lots of tea, I feel like I’m back on top, but I’m left with a residual embarrassment that my friends now may not see me as a croissant baking (yes, I will milk it) super homemaker, juggling children, writing and chainsaws, all without breaking a sweat.

Now the truth is out there.

I am not Wonder Woman.

I would totally have a crack at wearing her outfit, but I would be nothing more than a pouchy-bellied, hairy-legged, mortal wearing a costume.

Why does this shame me?

It makes me wonder about women in general, I mean, what is up with us chicks, and dudes?
Dudes aren’t immune to this overwhelming sensation of being swallowed, surely.

The exhausting newborn phase, the frustrating toddler phase, the mind-bending child rearing business/juggling act while you work, keep the house, tend the garden, have nutritious dinners on the table not just once, but 7 times a week, and keep your sanity in check, day in and day out, is a damned hard slog and no one escapes without feeling like it’s all too hard sometimes.

I must once more applaud the solidarity of the sisterhood (sorry, lads. It’s not an exclusive club per se).
I cried out and my girls were there by my side.

On one sunny morning, on my back deck, 4 of my girls and I drank tea and talked about where we’re all at and suddenly I realised that this shit of mine is not unique.

I am not a rare species, so unusual that no one can perceive my plight.

I am not alone.

My friends were saying their relationships aren’t perfect and their children aren’t perfect. Other people’s lives aren’t as amazing as they may seem on the outside. One friend said she used to hear her neighbour yelling at her kids and wonder how you could speak to your darlings like that…. and now she feel like she has become that lady.

I sometimes feel like that lady.

I am not Wonder Woman.

Do you ever feel like that lady?

Probably, because you are not Wonder Woman either.

I mentioned on my FB page that I felt like I was not coping very well last week, and my online community poured love onto my page. How awesome is that?
Some people I’ve physically met, but others don’t know me in person, but they were there with advice and love.

Some great words of wisdom came from that. I want to share a few, you know, in case you ever feel like going for a long walk off a short pier -

If you start to feel like it’s all too hard, call a friend, and go for a cup of tea.

Take a walk in the sun, or dance to some music that you love.

Honour your feelings. Allow yourself to feel what you’re feeling, but be kind to yourself.

Nurture yourself.

Slow down and breathe.

Have a date night.

My personal favourite was have a whiskey. Whiskey always helps.

I just really want to impress upon you, if you’re feeling blue, you’re not alone.

Tell someone you’re struggling because there is no shame in not being Wonder Woman, and sharing the struggle brings forth wonderful women…. and wonderful men.

Flogging and flashing with some great linky link ups,  With Some Grace,  Hi, Mama G, thanks for having me!

Tags: , , , ,

Hold me, I’m dying.

12 Feb

We are but stars...Two days ago I had three naked children playing in my garden. Their little monkey bodies, flitting in and out of the arcing spray of the Waterpiller.

The Waterpiller is the modern day equivalent of the sprinkler, specifically designed for naked backyard antics, so these little pink beings were squealing and giggling with delight as the cool droplets splashed on their skin and made their nerve endings dance.

I looked at them, playing and so carefree and I thought,

This is living.

This is the stuff childhood memories are made of and this pure joy is the epitome of life.

The following day a dear aunt, Tante Magriet, slipped quietly into the eternal sleep on the other side of the world.
She was a brilliant woman in life and in these last months the evil Dementia had taken her mind away and her spark had already left the building.
She had lived a full life, borne children, taught at University, inspired people and loved fiercely…..and then she was gone.

That is dying.

From the minute we are born we’re hurtling towards our mortality.

I’m dying.

You are too.

All of us and our cats and dogs and chickens and plants…..we’re all dying.

It’s just a Lion King song. It’s just the Circle of Life.

I was giving it all some thought and I was totally at peace with it because it’s just natural. It’s unnatural to live to 200 and be full of Botox and vitamins.

LIFE PROGRESSION

1.We’re born tiny

2.We grow big and strong

3.We produce offspring

4.We shrink and shrivel

5.We disappear

Like a plant. For we are just matter.

Like matter, we don’t matter (if you catch my drift). Not in the big picture.

Of course, we all know the natural order is that our grandparents die first and that gives us and idea of what it’s all about….and then in our middle age our parents die, and leave gaping holes but we’re ok with it, because ‘they had a good life’.

It’s the way it should be……of course, not everyone gets the memo.

I was relatively at peace with the way the scheme works and then I read about fellow blogger, Julie of The Progressive Parent.

Julie woke up a couple of days ago to find her 15 month old son had died in his sleep. Right next to her, in bed. He just didn’t wake up.

No apparent cause. No reason.

They think maybe SIDS but Patrick (they called him Pat Pat) was a little old at 15 months…..but as she says, it doesn’t really matter what it was because the end result is the same. Her Patrick is gone, and he will never curl into her breast and look into her eyes again.

I look back at my progression chart and I cannot make sense of this. This is not part of the scheme because Patrick was only at Step 1.

This is a monumental cosmic cock up.

It’s not supposed to work like that.

I’m sure Julie feels like……fuck, you know what? I have no idea ow Julie feels….because even my wildest imaginings probably don’t cut the expanse of pain.

All the words for grief and sorrow are so two dimensional in the face of such loss.

I am perforated by your absence, my sweet little love.

Her words made me run to my children and gather them into my arms and bury my nose in their hair. I hope that somehow I can impress upon their personal timeline the importance that they follow the progression chart as it should be…..for I don’t know if I could be a complete picture again if someone removed one of my pieces.

I’m back pondering the big questions today. What’s it all about? Or is it about anything? Are we just matter that comes and goes like stars?

Of course we are.

But we are stars with hearts, and hearts are so easily broken.

Do you think about death?

What got you through when you lost someone?

I Blog on Tuesdays with EssentiallyJess. Go see who else does.

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Lessons in Letting Go……Lesson One.

8 Jan

Dex first day of school2 years
8 months
23 days
15 and a half hours

That’s how long D Man has been by my side. Every day. In fact, with no family support, it’s been almost every minute of that time.

They say you forget the pain of labour, but you don’t really. I remember it like yesterday.
I remember feeling as though my entire lower back was opening up, splitting in two, like some weird bi-fold creature, as I pushed  the child I’d been nurturing inside myself free into the world.

I suppose that was the first letting go.

Even though he was placed directly in my arms, upon my bare breast, he was no longer encased in my flesh, where he was safe from harm.
I also remember that little, pale blue, baby lying on my chest in the seconds after his birth and he looked straight into my eyes.

I know you, his eyes said.

I know you.

We’ve loved and grown and struggled, and loved and laughed, and played and yelled and loved and cuddled ourselves to this point we are at today.

This little dude has taught me so damned much about myself, and about life, and he’s made me a better person……

I’m more patient, most of the time.
I’m less selfish.
I’m more open, not just to him, but to the world.
I see things differently now.

Yesterday, I took D Man for his first day at school. It’s just day care. Two days a week.

I always said not before three, but if I don’t do it in the January intake, I have to wait another year……. and he’s ready.

He needs more than me now, because I can’t do everything cool and fun and messy everyday.

I’ve taught him to put on his shoes and take them off again, and to ask for what he wants with nice manners. This week we toilet trained so he can be a big boy because he doesn’t like just anybody changing his nappy……..that’s private boy’s business, you see.

I suppose that’s all we do from the moment that they are born, really – teach them stuff, to make ourselves OBSOLETE.

ouch

Then we can set them free and hope we’ve done enough.

I didn’t hang around. I hung around in the orientation mornings. Yesterday was not a day for hanging around.
I showed him where his bag went, put his water bottle with the other kids’, took him to the toilets and told him who to ask if he wanted to go.

‘Where you going, Mummy?’
‘I’m going home’

‘Oh’.

Of course, we’d talked all about it, what was going to happen on this day, but still, neither of us were quite prepared. You never can be fully prepared for that umbilical cord getting a little more severed.

We had a quick kiss and I left, with Kiki on my hip.

But I made the fatal error……I looked back.

You shouldn’t look back.

Never look back.

He was crying at the door, my big boy. His little face was creased up in a look that made me want to never set him free. To keep him with me forever (oh my god, can you imagine when he was a big, sweaty, 45 year old? We’d probably have loads of cats too. Ew.).

I stood outside and cried. I didn’t mean to but I couldn’t help it. I felt like a bit of a tit because one of the other mums (an old hand, obviously) walked past me and smiled knowingly.

Ten minutes later I received this picture and a text……

Hi Mum, I’m doing so well, you would be proud.
I’m colouring a picture of Spiderman and telling all my friends the colours
xxxx

school pic

So, I dropped my mummy guilt, danced all the way to the shopping centre, shopped in peace, painted my toenails in silence and ate all of my lunch without sharing.
I reckon we’ll adjust quickly.

 

Today I’m hooking up with Jess, for IBOT, over at EssentiallyJess, go check it out. It’s a whole community thang……

Tags: , , , , ,

Waving A Rubber Chicken At The World.

16 Dec

rubber chickenI’ve been feeling decidedly un-funny lately. I love busting out a witty, quippy blog, but lately, I’ve not had a lot of meat on my funny bone.

I’m not sure, exactly, where my mirth went.

If funny is like serotonin, perhaps the last few months of amusing posts have been the equivalent of a three-day E bender and I’m in the midst of a funny come-down?
Surely, I haven’t used it up for good, cos it would suck if I had to go through life being profoundly un-funny.
Un-funny people are widely known to be bland, and please God, give me anything but bland.

I suppose, though, that humour is quite a subjective thing.

For instance, there are a number of very popular sit-coms that I have just never been about to get my head around. Big Bang Theory is one such show.

Many people, whose sense of humour I respect and chortle at, have said it’s actually very clever and I should give it a chance.
I simply cannot see the funny. A smirk? Maybe, but it ain’t Arrested Development.

Now, that’s funny.

A Never-Nude who wears denim shorts in the shower, a frozen banana stand and a magic show with ‘The Final Countdown’ as a soundtrack?
That shit is gold………and as much as I love it, Mister H doesn’t dig it.

He doesn’t think it’s funny.

So, it kind of begs the question; What is funny?

Why does one person think one thing is hilarious and someone else just doesn’t dig it? Is it intellect? Upbringing? Culture?

I personally find humor in the unexpected and the absurd……and farts. Also, I really hate canned laughter in comedies. Being told when to laugh is suggesting that I’m stupid. That I can’t work it out on my own. Who came up with that idea, to spell it out?
Somebody unconfident with their jocular prowess, no doubt.

E.B. White once wrote that “humor can be dissected, as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind.”

You know yourself that trying to explain a joke to someone just completely kills every little element of surprise, which is the thing that holds the amusement. So, you finish explaining it to them and they go ‘Ah ha’ and generally still don’t laugh because although now they understand the joke, they don’t get it. Which was the issue in the first place.

Let’s have a look at radio, which is a bit of a hot topic at the moment.

Are prank calls funny? Well, I’d sincerely love to look down my nose and say, nooooooooo, prank calls are for chumps, but the answer there is yes. It’s not high-brow humor, but it can be side-splitting.
I can remember spending hours making prank calls as a kid…. and nearly wetting my dacks with laughter.

I once heard of one where a husband rang the radio station on air and had to answer some questions about his marriage. Then they called his wife and if her answers corresponded with her husband’s, then the lucky couple won a holiday.

The final question was ‘Where did you last have sex?’

The hubby got all embarrassed and explained that it was a bit kooky because his mother-in-law is staying with them at the moment and while she was in the shower, this very morning, they had a quicky on the kitchen table.

They called the wife and she breezed through all of the questions and then they got to the final question of their last coital encounter.

She balked. She went all awkward. She stuttered and stammered and she queried whether her husband had really told them that detail?

Her husband assured her, just tell the DJ the truth, and they were home and hosed on their tropical vacation.

She took a deep breath, and with a little giggle, she responded -

‘Up the arse’.

The DJ couldn’t speak for a full two minutes. The rumor is, he laughed so hard he thought he was having a heart attack. The couple won the holiday though. Presumably for not suing the radio station for the mortifying joke they had just become.

I can’t speak for you guys, but I think that’s pretty funny. It’s funny because it was totally unexpected…..and embarrassing.

I do find other people’s embarrassment funny……does that make me a monster?

Naaaaaah.

What of this latest 2DayFM gag?

Just in case you live in a tent it was where the DJ’s rang the English hospital that was treating Kate Middleton for chronic morning sickness and they posed as the Queen. The nurse on duty divulged personal information about the Duchess and in the subsequent shit-storm allegedly took her own life.

There is no way anyone could have known what would happen in that phone conversation, and I dare say they would have been hoping for something unexpected and/or absurd. I’m not going to pass judgement on this situation, the whole world appears to have judged them enough.

I’m sad that the DJ’s are now getting death threats. That’s hardly going to fix things.

Anyway, I feel like a lot of unfunny things have been going on lately, and I reckon I’m not far away from pulling a rubber chicken on the Universe and waving it wildly.
Life is funny.

Even many of the shit bits are funny eventually.

Tags: , , , , ,

If You Build It, They Will Come…..

8 Dec

building

I have always harboured a deep terror of groups of women.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my girlfriends, but I’m generally more of a one-on-one kind of girl or small groups of chicks at a push…….hen’s nights, baby showers, girls-nights-out and the like positively make me quiver in my cowboy boots.

Generally speaking, I have always been much more comfortable around groups of men. With all due respect, I feel that men are much simpler creatures……what they say is what they mean, what they ask for is what they want, and beer, food and blow jobs are currency.
Gotta respect that.

I can’t put my finger on exactly why I feel this way. Possibly a left-over thing from school – isn’t everyone’s hang-ups left over from school or childhood or some such traumatic period when hormone-addled, immature brains were hard-wiring future grown-ups with issues?

You may remember when I first moved to ‘Burb Vegas, I was experiencing deep feelings of isolation.

I spent hours in the park trying to pick-up friends, and if I needed any social interaction I needed to drive across the city to my old ‘hood……not that I’m averse to getting out and about but with two kids in tow, often by the time you get there, it’s time to head home for someone’s nap or other routine related fun-ness.

After a beautiful stint home to my fam, I decided what I needed was to build a Village.
Somewhere where I had support.
Somewhere where I had a place to chat and vent and cry and laugh…..and most, most importantly, drink tea.

I needed to get me some friends. Stat.

I thought, in case you were up at night worried about me, that I’d let you know where my hankering for a Village now stands.

I have one.

I have a lovely one.

A chance meeting in a supermarket with an old friend, led to a catch up here and there. She knew some people, I met some people, and we all started to meet casually on a Thursday morning.

It’s not a mother’s group, per se, but we are all mothers. We don’t talk soley about our husbands and children, but they certainly feature because we’re women.
A group of beautiful, interesting, strong, funny women.
It seems I may be over my fear.

I read recently an article about how an hour with your girlfriends is equivalent to an hour with a therapist, but cheaper and with more giggles.
I’d have to agree.
It’s not that I need to see a therapist – well, I could probably do with a little stint, let’s be honest – but there is something about the way women connect through sharing stories that allows a feeling of ‘thank Christ, it’s not just me’.

We vent.

We use each other as sounding boards.

We share the weight of our lives.

Guys connect through doing stuff.
Not necessarily guy stuff, but they don’t talk the way women do, as a general rule. They mostly stick to ‘dude’ topics………I know it’s a broad sexist statement, but I swear, it’s the truth.

After an hour with my friend, I know how she’s feeling about her life, her relationships, her work, her stuff.
Mister H will often come home with a mere snippet of information about the person he’s spent time with.

How many times have you had a conversation with a guy where he’ll drop something juicy, and you ask for more info and he looks all blank.

“What? He found out his wife is having an affair? Who with??”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask”

????????????????

“What? He lost his job with no warning and was given 10 minutes to leave the building? Why?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

????????????????

Did he ask details? No. Probing questions? Of course not.

Naturally, if a guy WANTS to talk feelings, his guy friends listen and may even offer advice but they don’t do it like we ladies do.

A cup of tea and I’ll tell you all my feelings, a glass of wine and I’ll spill all my beans. A whole bottle?
(New York accent) Forget about it.
Not everyone is like me, of course. I am a sharer.

Anyway,I digress…… I have a Village now.

One of my Villagers has started training me in boxing. We bash each other around a park and I love it.

Another has offered to jump on board with Holsby TV because she wants a creative outlet.

I received a mega bag of hand-me-downs for the first time in my children’s existence. I love hand-me-downs.

Recently, I dropped D Man to the another Villager while I went to tell the Fuzz about the crazy shit that happened to me this week.

Someone else pops around with her kids in the witching hour so we can kill that crazy bit of time before the dinner/bath/bed vortex.

I have people to give my cooking failures to and we break down where it all went wrong.

I am a part of something. A Community.

As this community feeling grows, and our friendships strengthen, I have come to understand something very important.
It does take a Village to rise a child, but more importantly, it takes a Village to keep a mother sane.

Tags: , , , ,

Decking the Halls and Getting Jolly.

6 Dec

For 11 months of the year I have this hulking piece of plastic that is a pain in my butt.

Now that I live in a house (technically, an house,  but I always feel stupid saying that), with a shed, it’s a tad less of a rectal ache, but in apartment living when storage is precious, this thing nearly got itself thrown away so many times.

Then December rolls around and I buy a Christmas tree and with great smuggy smug pant pride, I can unpack my big, red Christmas tree stand and know my tree will stand sure……if a little lopsided because I never did master the mounting it straight part.

Now my house is scented with pine and my Christmas spirit is begin to blossom.

I’d love to wrap the presents and stick them under but somehow I think it would be stupid of me with a toddler in the house.
I only want to wrap things once!
tree 1

tree 2tree 3tree 6tree 7tree 4tree 9tree 8

tree 10tree 11tree 12tree 13

Tags: , , , , ,

Sunny Climes, Fun Times….Bring on Summer

4 Dec

20121204-072000.jpg

Summer was my favourite season until about 3 years ago.

I used to love long, lazy days at the beach and late nights in open air bars drinking cooling ales until I couldn’t feel my face. There was nothing better for a hangover than to do it all over again…..swim, laze, swim, snooze, beer……..

My weekends weren’t very productive, generally. Unless you count getting a tan as an exercise.

I used to love the Sydney humidity. I loved that whole ‘Vietnamese jungle’ style clammy skin at 9am that you get in the height of February. I was ok with swamp pits and a sweat moustache. The tickle of a bead of moisture dashing from under your bra down your stomach, or the moist mark your bare legs left on the leather car seats.

Yeah, Summer was the season of fun. Much more so than Winter.

I never once skinny dipped in Winter, for  example.

I have to admit, though, now I bitch about the heat as much as my Grandfather. Well, slightly less, but you get the picture. Anything under 30 is great, but as soon as the mercury starts creeping above, I run for cover…..and 40′s? Sweet Jesus. I cancel the day.

Even in moderate Summer, beach trips are only before 10am and after 4pm with youngsters in tow, and even then there is no lazing to be had…..as for late nights in beer gardens?

We all know what evening shenanigans replaced those. Strappy, sheer outfits have been replaced by feeding tops with shoulder snaps, and high heels…..mah, who am I kidding?

I never did heels. They make me walk like a five-year old trying on her mothers shoes. Not a good look.

Here’s what I’m thinking our Summer will involve -

Decorate a Christmas Tree

It’s doesn’t feel Christmas-y until you have your tree up, and now that D Man is old enough to understand what it’s all about, I’m totally psyched to put up the decorations……we’ve got Xmas stockings and the whole shebangalang.

Attempt Mum’s Arch Nemesis – GNOCCHI

Mama Bear’s worst ever culinary failures were croissants and gnocchi. I smashed the croissants and if I do the gnocchi too, I may just steal her crown.

Not that it’s a competition, or anything…….unless I’m successful and then I win!

Render My Garden Wall

I’ve always been a bit of a picket fence kinda girl. I don’t even care if you think that makes me sound……well, kitsch? Anyway, this house ain’t never gonna have no picket fence, due to a little pavement to front lawn issue we have i.e. a random 15cm drop. I don’t like our current brick look, so I’m going to get busy and pimp that brick wall.

NB I have bugger all DIY nouse, but I have enthusiasm in spades.

Make Lime and Ginger Marmalade

I love marmalade and every year I make an orange, grapefruit and lemon one. This year I’m going to do something different. That’s how I roll.

Take Kiki For Her First Trip To The Ocean

I remember D Man’s first trip to the ocean like it was last week. We were In Port Douglas for our wedding, it was warm, the water was tepid and the experience was special. I’m such a water baby and I hope my children grow up with a respect and love for the ocean.

Recreate Our Wedding Cake

I told our cake lady I wanted a rosewater and pistachio cake with white chocolate ganache and she was at a loss. She’d never eaten it, and she’d never made it, but she experimented and experimented until she got it right…..and it was perfect. She gave me the recipe but I’ve never gotten around to it. I’m going do it. I’m going to eat me some wedding cake.

Drink French Champagne With Friends

Yes, yes, I know a few of you will be putting your hand up for this one. I know it’s a silly frivolity but you know what?
I deserve some silly frivolity, and it may as well have bubbles that go to my head.

Make Chewy Salt Caramels

I love chewy caramels. I love salt caramel. I may even give it a little Fantail twist…….. dip that shit in chocolate. Boo ya.

BBQ Some Quail

When I went to Red Lantern I ate some really amazing quail. I have no idea what it was marinated in but it was smoky and charred from the grill, and I’m going to have a crack at it.

Make Two Dishes With Home Grown Vegetables

My little vege patch is going so well and I think I’m going to have a bumper crop of truss tomatoes. I can also see beets in my future so I’m going to dazzle you with some homegrown, organic, straight from the garden to the plate kind of cooking.

Just as soon as I decide what I’m going to make…..and it finishes growing.

 

Tags: , ,

Imagine a forever goodbye…..

25 Nov

photo by Jane Dyson

I was reading the crappy local paper recently and the front page story broke my heart.

The story told of a young policewoman, named Natalie Newman. Natalie had been diagnosed with cervical cancer in 2007 and when they went in to operate on her they found that she actually had another mass in her ovaries.

As we know, ovarian cancer is known as the silent killer because it is undetectable by PAP smear and many woman disregard the symptoms as other things until it is much too late.

Anyway, Natalie, fought that cancer and has gone on to live her life with her beautiful daughter. She recently got her 5 year ‘all-clear’ from the doctors….and all is rosy.

Natalie is a 33 year old, single mum and her daughter Emily, is eight years old.

Eight years old is not as young as it used to be. I imagine Emily is starting to have strange feelings about boys, to be more self-conscious about her appearance and all the other normal range of things that happen to young girls as they approach their teens.

So, why did my heart break, you ask?

Because just weeks after they told Natalie that her cancer wouldn’t come back, she has been diagnosed with an inoperable ovarian cancer that is going to end her life.
Probably sooner rather than later.

It would be natural for Natalie to fear her fate, to be angry at the world, but she seems gracious and wonderful. Her deepest sorrow is that she will not be there to see her daughter become a woman. She won’t be able to soothe her through her first heartbreak, to watch her walk down the aisle, or to ever smell the sweet, smell of her grandchildren.

She has fought as much as she could, not for her, but for her daughter, and she has vowed to fight every single step of the way if it means one more day with Emily.
Her cancer has now spread to her lymph nodes, her lungs and diaphragm so things are not looking great…..and you know what she said?

She said she tries to live by the proverb -

I cried because I had no shoes, until I saw a man that has no feet.

Yep, I cried at the thought. I like shoes, I like feet…..but you know why I was really crying.

Imagine knowing that you brought your child into the world and then you were forced to say goodbye to them forever. Emily is still a child who needs her mother.

A very sad thing indeed.

Natalie’s boss, Superintendent Dave Donohue is planning on doing a 7 km swim in Sydney’s South (La Perouse to Doll’s Point, for those who know it) in a bid to raise money for Emily’s education and care after her mother is gone.

He’s a good guy, I reckon. He has an 11 year old daughter and he says it’s hard to imagine not being around for her.
It is hard to imagine, isn’t it?

I think losing your child prematurely is a terrible, horrible thing, and knowing you would be leaving them prematurely would have to be a close second.

Before I had children I would have thought this a sad story, but now that I can imagine how I would feel in that position, I think it’s tragic.
I know tragedy occurs every day in a million different ways, but something about Natalie and Emily’s story made me take pause.

Anyway, if you want to contribute to the Swim for Emily you can do that here, but that’s not necessarily why I’m sharing this sad, beautiful story of courage and solidarity and love.

I’m sharing it because life is really precious. We are, in many ways, so tough and resilient, but we are also very fragile.

Remember to tell people you love them, remember to forgive freely because holding grudges and anger can manifest in your cells.
Remember to know yourself enough to be aware of changes in your body, and remember to love yourself enough to go and see a doctor as quickly as you can.

Mostly, remember every day is a gift.

The precious present.

Tags: , , , , , ,

A Letter To Myself, one month (and a bit) on – October.

4 Nov

Hey you,

If someone gave out awards for personal growth I think you’d have a big medal pinned on your considerable chest this month.

You’ve had some big lessons, some light bulb moments, and a few gongs going right above your head, and at times been dragged kicking and screaming into your new headspace.

You’ve been dealing with a lot of fear and insecurity this month. It seems the further you go into this writing shenanigan the more rewarding it is, yet the more vulnerable and naked you feel. I think you showed up when you posted your butt. You know not everyone sees it that way, and there will always be people waiting in the sidelines to judge you, but you can’t think about them. They don’t matter.

What does matter, is your truth, and being true to who you are…….and of course, having an eye on the prize.

You started this crazy little thing called blog because you needed an outlet and in a few short months it’s shown promise. You can actually do this, Dan, and you could actually do this in a bigger fashion. The difference between a someone who wants to be a writer and someone who is a writer, is writing. It’s not about studying, or about university degrees, or even your old insecurity about not finishing high school, that shit doesn’t matter.
Everybody fears being judged, you’re not unique in that, so what are you going to do?
Sit on the sidelines and watch life?

Writing epic shit. That’s what makes someone a writer.

Doing epic shit is what makes life feel full. You witnessed some seriously epic shit last weekend at the Iron Man in Port Macquarie. You saw fear, you saw pain, you saw determination and you saw brilliant achievement.
That’s the stuff.
That’s living.

That’s the life you want…..and you only get that by doing the things that challenge and frighten you.

Your ebooks are ready to go, and your big launch is happening this week. The process of creation and collaboration needed to pull off that feat in 10 weeks has expanded your mind to infinite possibilities. Possibilities of creating a new direction for yourself that does not involve going back to work in an environment that renders you unavailable for your children.
Don’t be frightened of judgement, because you’re paving this way to create that space.

Anyway, it’s time to take off your granny pants and put your big girl panties on, dude.

Go be epic about your mundane life.

Love as ever,

Me

Tags: , , , ,

← Older Entries

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,029 other followers

%d bloggers like this: