Love, Friendship, Art, Survival and Living with Skeletons!
I am a writer from Sydney. I have a gorgeous miracle IVF daughter. I have led a dark and miraculous life. My aim is to give other people the thrill of recognizing their own stories and emotions in my writing.
My daughter has been my companion to many concerts. Some operatic, some classical, some pop and some rock. The squeals of joy echo through my home when I inform her that we have tickets to a visiting performer. She carefully selects what she is going to wear, and we make plans to have dinner somewhere nice beforehand. Watching her dance and gaze at the performer in awe is all the reward I need. We went to Sport for Jove’s rendition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, shortly after I heard the dreadful, unfathomable news about the terrorist attack at Manchester Stadium. I looked around at all the young people laughing and delighting in the performance, and was struck cold by the thought that it could have been us. It could have been us at any performance we had attended. Afterward, my daughter chatted excitedly about the play, and how much she had enjoyed it, and we stopped at a shopping centre in the heart of Sydney for lunch. A policeman with an Irish brogue came up to us, and started chatting. It felt as though three humans were connecting, trying to make sense of the evil which had just occurred. He smiled at my daughter, and I knew that he was thanking his stars that it hadn’t been a Sydney concert. It could have been.
A friend posted a warning last night that a van had been spotted next to our local park, with a fellow lingering long enough to cause suspicion. I almost despaired. Should we now add concerts to the long list of things we need to be wary of? Are backpacks set to become suspicious, not just when left alone on public transport, but also when securely strapped to someone’s back? Parents could be rendered nervous wrecks, incapable of venturing out with their offspring, let alone allowing them to venture out by themselves. I must admit, my immediate desire was to bustle my daughter home, where she is safe. However, this is no way to live. Once upon a time, I was a hermit, a bad man stalking me. I barely left my room in three years as a teen. I remember feeling angry that my life had been reduced to an isolation cell, whilst he was roaming free.
I eventually stepped out by myself, and what a revelation it was! I determined never to close the door and put myself into solitary confinement again. I won’t do that to my daughter either. Did you know that amongst all the horror, several homeless men (who were sleeping rough near the arena), ran to help? They comforted children, stemmed blood loss and helped get people to safety. What I will say to my child, is always look for the helpers… There is always helpers. We will still attend concerts, but sadly our innocence has gone.
I have just finished The Good Girl Stripped Bare (ABC Books), by Tracey Spicer, and have a cacophony of emotions coarsing through me. There is utter outrage at what Tracey endured -including being sacked via email from her job as news anchor after having a baby- and sadness, frustration, incredulity and a deep gratitude that Tracey Spicer has helped pave a smoother road for the young girls of today. She is also hysterically funny and brutally honest, a delightful combination! This is a book that shall stay with me; the wisdom contained therein shall be passed to my daughter, like a baton in a relay. I think many women will be able to identify with the various scenarios Tracey describes, a reality that saddens me. I find it ironic that I read this wondrous tome in the same week that broadcaster John Laws relayed that he insists that women who work for him must wear skirts and bare legs. The age of the dinosaur is fast becoming defunct, thank goodness, going by the commentary on social media over his remarks. Run, don’t walk, to grab a copy of this book.
My daughter made me this gorgeous cake for Mothers Day. I was banned from going into the kitchen the evening before, though I could hear the clanging and smell the delicious baking aroma streaming through the house. She picked roses for me, and brought me breakfast in bed. I am so very fortunate to have her in my life. Some parts of my life featured dystopian imagery, though with her arrival, she somehow managed to paint over the garish landscape and procure a new palette. She never complains when I have to rest my back after a day of activities, and understand when I am in too much pain to do anything other than lay down. For all the pain that this life has procured, it gave me her, and for that I am eternally grateful. We spend 24 hours a day together, and yet I never tire of her company. Her humour is irreverent and we laugh, a lot! She is ten years of age, and has more common sense than I possess. I can’t wait to share the next ten years with her, along with all her young friends, who are set to take on this world. They will shake it up like it’s a snow globe in their hands, and what a glorious picture they shall create!
She is the type of woman who sweeps over you from the feet up, criticising everything from your shoes to your handbag. She makes your daughter uncomfortable with her relentless grilling, and you feel exhausted by her relentless whining. You are never asked about yourself; how you are and what is happening in your world. You aren’t asked because it doesn’t matter to her. On a gorgeous morning, there you are, minding your business at the bus stop, when she comes along, insisting on sitting near you the whole journey. By the end, you have lost all your energy, and feel discombobulated. Its probably not a good portent, when you spot a person and inwardly groan.
The other day, I was waiting for a bus home after seeing my doctor. My spine was excruciating; lifting my arm had encouraged metal shards in my spinal canal to give a sensation like being stabbed between my shoulder blades. It had taken five different medications to get a few hours sleep the night before. I just wanted to sit in silence, and get home.
Suddenly, she appeared, like a vulture. She immediately noticed that I had cut my hair. “What happened to you!” she demanded, pointing at my head. “I felt like a change,” I replied sharply. “Why would you do that? Why?” she hollered. And in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 the critique was coming. Bugger this! In desperation, I hopped on a bus that would take me several blocks from my place, rather than right outside my home. It was worth the extra walk, to get away from her. I am starting to understand that I have rights too. A right to peace of mind, quiet, and to be respected. I dont have to be polite and sit there and take such nonsense. All my energy has to be shared with my daughter and I will be damned if I will allow the likes of her to syphon it away with dribble. Not anymore. The look on her face when I suddenly hopped away and onto the bus was priceless.
When you wake up from a fitful sleep, you tend to have around half of the vigour needed to get through a busy day. If you subject yourself to miserable people, the tank gets drained further. Dont do it! Move or walk away from anyone who pulls this toxic stunt!
Fairfax’s decision to cull a quarter of its workforce is unjust, both for the journalists trying to eke out a living, but also in regards to quality control.
What becomes of the artists, actors, musicians, small theatre companies and writers, whom the newspaper’s championed? Australian media would be reduced to salacious copy. We would have more advertisements and endorsements than we have ever seen before, and less quality writing. Andrew Stafford explains it well in his blog piece. To support the workers whose livelihoods are under threat, please shoot an email to the powers that be at Fairfax to express your displeasure.
I recently helped a friend move from her lovely townhouse, a task that broke my heart. You see, this single mum and her little girl adored the space in which they lived, and this wasn’t their choice. Despite working hard, this mum simply couldnt afford to keep paying the ambitious rent on the property. To put this into perspective, I am fortunate to rent a spacious four bedroom house with a large front yard and beautiful backyard. It costs the same price as my friend’s small townhouse in the same area. The real estate has had people through the property, and nobody is willing to pay such rent, so the landowner has offered to reduce it. Too late for my friend and her child, who have had to move in with another family, whom they didn’t know prior.
I was privy to the exhaustion, the tears and frustration that came with this move, and it hurt my very soul. Everybody deserves a home; a sanctuary with privacy for their family. Particularly a houseproud single mum and her little girl. This is why I have signed this petition. I am fortunate to have a lovely house, and decent real estate and landowner. Repairs are swiftly taken out, and the rent is reasonable. Many of my friends dont share this experience, and are left wondering whether they will be living in the same place every six months. It is particularly stressful when you have children, who thrive on a sense of stability. Five million Australians rent, and deserve a better deal.
I have always wanted to own my own home, and came close a few times. Infertility treatments and spinal surgeries (and the monumental recoveries), saw to it that the deposit was spent elsewhere. I know many home schooling families who have sacrificed owning a home in order to school their kids. Some are University Professors and others are medical professionals. All deserve to have a decent standard of living. It is time for the government to act to have the rights displayed in the petition rolled out across the board.
Bill Crews wrote about his profound connection and recent meeting with the Dalai Lama. It is simply one of the most exquisite, transformative pieces of writing I have ever encountered. Grab a cup of tea, sit quietly, and be prepared to be elevated by this blog piece.
Shining Stars was set up by some local friends, and is living up to its name! For many years, these wonderful people (including nurses), traveled in their spare time to Kings Cross in order to help the homeless, before moving the service locally. The founder of Shining Stars regularly receives donations at her home, and sorting through the clothes and toys, food and other goods is a job in itself! The other day, they posted a heart-rending description of a homeless elderly lady on their Facebook page. The end result was that this dear soul ended up with comforts such as a dressing gown and slippers, toiletries and a walking frame. Somebody even donated a suitcase so she could pack all her treasures to take to the home found for her. Finding household goods for a family fleeing violence, providing meals and outreach services and much more. These Shining Stars do it all. For further information, Shining Stars can be contacted here.
We went to the Royal Easter Show on Friday, and had a wondrous time. We uncovered that our little bird, Friendly, is in fact a White Pie Face. She would have won first place, for sure! She’d have loathed to be put in a little cage though, finding a way to escape in all probability, releasing all the other birds too!
One thing I love about the show is learning about new products about to be launched. We came across a group of delightful ladies, who managed to tame my daughter’s thick hair, without causing pain. The brush glided through her mane, and afterward, her hair was silky and shiny! Impressed, I bought the brush and their peppermint and lavender Nit deter and detangling sprays. You can find Tangled Kids Hair Care here.
I gave my daughter money, and aware that once that was spent, there was no more, she impressed me with her cautiousness. She decided to spend a portion on a gorgeous pendant, with a picture of where the moon was on the day she was born. It was a gorgeous blue moon, which glows in the dark. You can find the jewellery pieces here.
We bought hats and tried out Sydney’s new light rail system.
With my bunged-up back, my daughter decided against doing any rides solo, and instead we stopped to admire the fashion, animals, cakes, flowers and art.
Some people are outrageously talented!
My advice for getting the most out of the show:
Download the Royal Easter Show App. You can select showbags and put in your preferences and date you will be attending. An itinerary will be selected for you!
Download the Opal App! I typed in Royal Easter Show, and an alternate route to the way I intended to go came up. We caught a train and then an express bus right to the gate. So easy!
Decide what you want to do and see before you go. You will end up walking around aimlessly otherwise!
Get money out as soon as you get there, and stop for a cuppa, a snack and a toilet break before venturing further than the nearest facilities!
Comfortable shoes are a must, and drink lots of water to prevent dehydration.
Enjoy yourself! Stick to a budget and research showbags before you get there. This advice is imperative! You don’t want to be wandering around the showbag hall without knowing what you are intending to buy!
Buy showbags just before you leave!
Enjoy yourself! The show has a proud history, and is a celebration of agriculture, creativity and joy.
I recently flew down to Melbourne with a wonderful group of friends. People have raved about how beautiful Melbourne is, but it surpassed all expectation. From the moment we checked into our apartment on Flinders Lane, there was a sense of coming home. A lovely friend was minding my daughter, and I found myself abandoning the infamous mental list of things I must do.
Laneways were emblazoned with art, and a Romani musician delighted with his violin. Scented candles and essential oils beckoned you into little shops, and my mind was torn, as I decided on where to eat, and what to eat! There were so many choices! Within an hour of arriving, I had fallen hard for Melbourne. It’s architecture is stunning, and rather than dismantle its history, it seems to preserve it. It is easy to get around, and the public art is astounding! My soul wept with the beauty it was being fed. I stood in Bourke St Mall, silently remembering those who perished a few short months ago. There was almost a holy reverence at play amongst the crowds. We shopped and dined at Chin Chin, a funky bar/restaurant, which catered to our individual requirements with aplomb. We walked to South Bank, ate at cafe’s and pubs, and had an exquisite time. Melbourne is far cheaper than Sydney, that’s for sure! It felt as though it didn’t matter what your leanings, you could find your tribe here. I was sad when our three days came to an end, and it was time to fly home. Melbourne, you have captured my heart, and I can’t wait to come back with my daughter.