Here are some links to some of my recent work on Siren Empire, in case you missed it!
I have an article on being your own best friend.
Managing Social Media.
My love of Gnomes.
The joy of gathering old friends together at a Wine Bar.
Discover why I was thrilled that our new home had a mass of bark chips (mulch), covering the garden beds!
We met up with some families this week at Bondi Beach. It’s a lovely trip by bus from the city, and you get to meet some real characters. On our last trip, we came across a regal ninety year old woman, dressed to the nines. My daughter still talks about her, and she has provided a point of reference for the possibilities offered in older age. I had put 50+ sunscreen on my daughter, and myself, though I neglected my neck, to my peril. It was cool and overcast when we arrived, a dangerously deceptive combination. It didn’t take long for the sun to burst forth, in all it’s sizzling glory. There was something special about being at Bondi Beach, particularly when you don’t have the hassle of obtaining parking. A bus is the way to go! The kids had great fun, alternating between the beach and pool.
The next morning, we got up and did it all again, this time going to Balmoral Beach. On the way, we had cupcakes and ice cream at The Classic Cupcake Co. in Double Bay. Oh my goodness! Made from natural ingredients, they were a taste of heaven. I had the Midnight Mint Cupcake.
As we made our way to the beach, we witnessed a near-collision in Double Bay. An inch more and the cars would have hit. The woman who had nearly caused the accident decided to come into our lane in her ostentatious car. My friend beeped at her to warn her that we were too close behind, and the other driver made some very rude gestures! She was perfectly coiffed, aged in her fifties and old enough to know better. Money can’t buy class! The kids ran to the water, whilst we ordered chips and potato scallops. I smiled as seagulls gathered around. I fancy myself as a Bird Woman, whom understands their secret language. “I will give you a chip or two,” I smiled. “Just let me open the box.” Out of nowhere, a seagull swooped and its claws scraped the side of my face. Another one followed suit, and it pecked my face as it searched for a chip. “Little buggers!” I cried! “P*%$ off!” They were vicious; intent on stealing chips, and there were so many gathered that we were forced to move off the beach. I had never seen anything like it! Normally, birds love me! They followed us to a table, and fortunately, a Pomeranian named Romeo gallantly chased them away. The brave little dog received lots of pats from the kids!
We caught a train to an inner-city stop, and as we waited for my daughter’s dad to drive us home, I decided to show my little girl where we once lived. It was a semi-detached house in a grand old street, shaded by towering trees. I got a real kick out of pointing out where our Aboriginal neighbour lived, as well as two elderly sisters, now departed from this world. I stopped at the gate to our former abode, picturing myself at 20. I was writing and had started my business here, creating art for shops in Newtown and the city. I had also started my journey of infertility here, having been given a strong injection which was promised to slow the progression of endometriosis (which they hadn’t determined I had). Instead of making me feel better, it caused side-effects so violent that I was bed-ridden for a good year. It was here I feared I would never have my daughter, and it was here I wished with all my heart that I would.
As I glanced up at canopy of trees, I was appalled that I had ceased to appreciate them properly at the time. They don’t preserve streets and grand architecture as they used to; like they did on this particular street. My daughter was taken with the street art, and the park at the end of the street. As I watched her roll down a hill and perform cartwheels, my throat constricted with emotion. The amount of times I sat on that very hill in that little park… Dreaming of having a child, and of what life might be.
I sat next to her, and told her of the life I lived long before she arrived. I talked of my hopes and dreams, and also of my fears. I hadn’t been back to the street for many years. I can still hear the mail being dropped through the slot in our door. I can still feel the warmth from the old gas oven in the kitchen I painted turquoise. I can see me. I haven’t changed that much, except that I am weathered. We all get weathered along the way, to varying degrees. Distressed and shabbily chic. I am glad I thought to take her back. I hope that the girl on the hill could feel our visitation through time and space. I hope she could sense that she was going to be okay. I hope she could sense the little girl doing cartwheels nearby. I am glad I got too see the canopy of trees, as if for the first time.
Here I am, gentle reader, on the 26th January. I attended the Australian Gnome Convention in the Blue Mountains. The Rotary Club put on a spectacular festival. There were Gnome books, DVD’s, humans and dogs dressed as Gnomes as well as thousands of real Gnomes on display.
In a world that is heavy and a life that is hectic, to be surrounded by whimsy was wondrous. I met an extraordinary felt artist, and to my delight, she offered to teach my daughter and I. We listened to poets and a high school band of ukulele players. They played modern songs and even a little Fleetwood Mac! Man, I want to learn how to play my ukulele properly! There is something about this little instrument that urges others to join, which is why we have an upcoming festival in Katoomba, dedicated to the ukulele. We were entranced by young singers and delighted by Maria Venuti, she of the large personality and um, voice.
I surround myself with performers and artists because without their inclusion, life is beige. There would be blandness, cookie-cutter identities, and no alternate ways of interpreting life. Bah to that! My soul leapt to the beat of my soaring heart when I heard the entertainment. I caught up with my poet friend, Brian Bell. He is an extraordinary talent, whose range knows no bounds. We both had abstract drawings done by his friend, Richard Cutler, an artist of fifty years standing. No matter how much time has passed, Brian and I just pick up where we left off. I met him for the first time when I was in my early twenties and continued encountering him on the poetry circuit. We have some marvellous talks, Brian and I.
After being surrounded by music and performance, clay and Gnomes, felt and wood-turning, I was loathe to return to normality. Who am I kidding! My life has never been normal, and I can’t do normal. My clothes, hair, home, outlook, friends, daughter, birds, and everyday life are quirky and whimsical. I can’t change that and nor would I want to.
I returned with a trail of enchantment following me, like bread crumbs dropped by Hansel and Gretel.
Here is the photo of the Bottlebrush that Alexander took. Isn’t he a talented young man?
Yesterday, I chatted to a friend’s ten-year old son, and was left feeling inspired. We were chatting about books when he informed me that he loves taking photos. “I would love to see some of your pictures,” I smiled and he shyly brought them up on his IPad. They were some of the most beautiful images I have ever seen. He managed to capture the minutiae of a rock pool, as well as a close-up of a bottle brush. I had seen these things scores of times, but never in the manner in which he presented them. My heart ached at the images he showed me. He then talked of his passion for film-making and on my urging, showed me some short films he had made with his little sister. They made me laugh with delight. He was spot-on with his storylines, background scenes and sound effects. What a thrill it is when you are allowed a sneak-peak of a young person’s talent, and where their future may lead! He kindly gave me details of apps he utilizes so I can try my hand at film-making with my daughter.
I emerged from my cave this week the cracks reinforced with gold-and went to a local dam (which supplies Sydney’s water), for a picnic. The children played as I was sequestered away by a gentle breeze, tempering the heat. I observed the water gushing down into the dam, and thought about how we are all ultimately a mere drop. That being said, we are all vitally important to the whole. The world would be forever changed if you hadn’t taken your place within it. That thought blows my mind. On days we feel impotent, it is worth remembering. As I watched the mighty flow of water, I thought of the intricate processes needed to fill a reservoir.
We have school holidays here in Australia, until the end of January, and we are spending the final weeks seeing friends and hopefully getting out on the water. We have had torrential rains and storms, and ferocious heatwaves. Australia is a land of extremes. The time for contemplation has passed and I welcome another season. Time seemed to stand still yesterday, as I talked to this young man. Within him are mighty talents and lofty dreams. I look forward to cheering him on throughout the years ahead.
I think most of us were stunned when news broke of David Bowie’s death. We in Australia heard the breaking news last night. Mr Bowie’s music was the soundtrack to my youth, and his music was taken on every hospital visit. He was unique, and in turn, encouraged us to be. I applauded the way he reinvented himself over and over again. You were always a Starman, Mr Bowie, before we even knew your name.
I love this photo, taken at Newtown Fire Station.
The artist Karen Hallion, has offered a beautiful free download of David Bowie as the Goblin King in Labyrinth today in tribute.
If you would like to download it, click here.
Vale, David Bowie.
When I was nineteen, I started a business, selling my art and poetry, as well as crystals and curiosities at markets and on consignment. I was extremely busy during this ten-year period, particularly when I reflect on all the surgery I had at the same time! I lived in a grungy, funky part of Sydney, and would often walk down the street to hang out at the all-night bookstore and grab some fabulous Indian food. I was into ceramics, and had my Greenware fired in the kiln of a nearby business, before painting them. I only managed to hang onto two of my pieces from this time. Before I left the area, I retrieved them from the shop where they had recently been placed…
I haven’t paid them much mind in the intervening years, only to gift them a smile as I passed them in my living room. I have pared back my commitments since Christmas, and have made time to clean and reflect, de-clutter and organize my home. I stopped yesterday and studied my little friends, reflecting on a time when I had created and painted, written and pottered. I recalled the nights spent painstakingly painting them; the joy I felt when what I had created was bought. I looked closer, and noted that they hadn’t been cleaned for a while. Getting a wipe, I lovingly set to work. I turned them over, and there on the base was my daughter’s name, a daughter I wouldn’t have for another decade. I don’t know why I had thought to send them off with the following: Painted with love by E.Rose.
A chill went through me. When I had finally fallen pregnant with IVF, I had another name altogether picked out for this baby, if it was a girl. In my eighth month, I dreamed of her, and she said that her name was E. Rose. (full name obscured to protect privacy). I changed her name accordingly. I had no recollection of ever signing my work with her name years before. How many hundreds of times had I done so? I called to her and told her the story and she was as delighted as I. “You knew me even then! You loved and wanted me before I was here!” I certainly did. Slowing down and having time to notice my little gnomes gave me a great gift. My daughter was intrinsically entwined in my younger years, letting herself be known, even on an unconscious level. When you say “I can’t do this anymore,” and allow yourself to slow, it’s amazing what you notice. Gnomes may even hold a breath-taking, thrilling message, just for you.
Last week I was bedridden. Throwing up, headaches, fevers and unable to breathe properly. It takes a great deal to send me to bed. Either I can’t stand on my feet due to spinal pain or breathing is difficult due to pneumonia. My daughter made her lunch each day and got out her workbooks. I was so very proud of her. Sculptures by the Sea was on in Sydney, and I thought that the ocean air may help my recovery. We departed early, the sky an ominous grey. By the time we left Museum Station, a storm had begun. The wind was ferocious, and turned my sturdy umbrella into a weapon. We found a café to take shelter in. The barista was a delightful young lady from Wales, and I was entranced by her accent. I couldn’t understand a thing she was saying, mind you! I asked for a coffee in a mug as big as my head and my request was granted.
My child and I discussed cancelling our trip to the ocean walk to see the sculptures. My mind started with its anxiety reel. What if my phone runs out of battery and we get lost? What if our Opal cards run out of money and we can’t top them up? How will we get back from Bondi? What if there is torrential rain? I noted that two friends and their kids were going to brave it. They posted that the weather was much better on the coast. Another friend mentioned that she and her son had danced in the rain the day before and had a ball. My daughter looked at me, and said in a determined voice, “Remember our motto? The Angelou girls never give in and never give up.” Trapped by my own motto! It astounds me the way we try to talk ourselves out of new experiences; out of adventures. We found the bus we were to take, and enjoyed a pleasant trip through the Eastern Suburbs. The only hitch was that I went the wrong way when trying to find Tamarama Park. We walked in circles, my anxiety growing stronger. What if my phone goes flat, what if our Opal cards run out, what if we are lost… What if I am not enough for this amazing daughter of mine? She squeezed my hand and smiled, “it’s okay if we can’t find it. Being together is what it’s about.” I gave it one more try, and to our delight, we found it!
The ocean air did indeed clear my lungs and head. It was like magic! It was quiet, given the wind and mild temperature. The sun was hidden, but the beauty wasn’t. Somehow it made the scene all the more haunting. The children climbed rocks and sprayed each other with this enormous bottle.
They ran barefoot and wild, just as a child should be. As one of them swung on monkey bars, performing daredevil tricks, I overheard two young women as they went by. “Look at that little girl! I love that she has no fear.” I told my friend what they had said about her child, and she smiled. She said that older people usually criticize her lack of terror at her child’s antics! My daughter found a wishing pot and made a special wish.
We could taste the salt on our lips, feel it in our hair. It was like fairy dust, a light smattering of medicine. For two hours, the children played games, laughed, ran and discussed the sculptures. These two spoke of some of the issues of their generation. The ‘Barbie Wave’ was created from thousands of discarded dolls, and spoke to our rampant consumerism. The child holding their phone and sitting mesmerized spoke of our obsession with technology.
As we were leaving, we came across a massive blackboard a resident had placed outside her home.
We only stayed two hours, as our friends had to get back to the car or face a hefty fine, but time seemed to be fluid, rather than linear. We caught the bus back into town with a cacophony of smiling people. A lady in her 90’s regaled us with her stories. Today taught me that I am enough for my daughter. I am going to be okay and I shouldn’t let fear stop me from doing anything. If the Opal Card or phone had run out of power, I would still be okay. There is a big world out there to explore, and there are more magnanimous people than bad.
My daughter and I were delighted to attend The Love is Huge by artist Jodie Whalen. We had no idea what to expect. We discovered the following on our seats; a pink flag, a party popper and instructions. We were asked to surprise a man called Heath by waving the flag and cheering when he arrived in the theatre. We certainly did, and he blushed and laughed, before sitting on the stage. Jodie came sauntering out in a gorgeous gown, and took us through a thirty minute performance. It was her declaration of love to Heath, and was intimate and profoundly moving. Much to my surprise, I found out that it was Jodie’s first time singing in public. During the finale, we set off our party popper’s and applauded as scores of pink balloons (with Heath’s photo on them), were released from the ceiling. My daughter was enchanted by the performance, even though she posed like this for my photo. “Romance, yuck!”
We then made our way to the 21st Birthday party of Casula Powerhouse (as a designated art space). It is an extraordinary place; large and filled with hope. David Capra did a splendid job of curating this event. There was techno music, a huge birthday cake, photo booth, karaoke, performers and more artists than there are angels spinning on the eye of a needle.
Artists are the dreamers, the visionaries and the ethereal of this world. Stepping into their realm is akin to splashing iced water on your face and falling asleep under the coercion of a fairy potion.
To our delight, on Sunday, there was a Blessing of the Animals at Ashfield Uniting Church with Bill Crews. It was organized with WLPA, the World League for the Protection of Animals. It was a service which greatly resembled an episode of the Vicar of Dibley. There were cats and dogs, ducks and guinea pigs. If I had known it was on prior, I would have brought our pets along! It was a very moving service, and we said a prayer for a lady who had lost one of her little dogs to old age that very morning. The hardest part of having animals is found in the dreadful day that they die.
It was a beautiful service, filled with love, for both the humans and animals. A majestic Police Rescue Dog made his voice heard by the end of the service. Bless the animals of this world. They have a lot to teach us, as my canary taking on an Indian Miner bird (from behind the safety of the window), can attest.
To register for home schooling in New South Wales, you need to apply online. Bostes then get in touch, and arrange a visit. I frantically put together a program for the year, ensuring curriculum targets are achievable. I have just had my review and was given two years accreditation, of which I am thrilled! I journal what my daughter has studied each day so I can keep track. I have been flawed at the wonderful reactions I have received since I started this journey. Everybody has been so supportive, and it has certainly made the going easier. I was worried that I would receive negative comments, though thankfully they haven’t come. My daughter sees friends most days, and sometimes asks for home time, as there are so many excursions we can go on! We usually start around 8am, and do a solid four hours before lunch. My daughter goes to singing, drama, guitar and gymnastics lessons on top. I am thrilled with her progress and relieved that I made the right decision in home schooling. As a parent, you second-guess yourself (frequently), but the proof is that her confidence has returned and the pressure has eased. There is nobody to compete or compare with, and she can absorb information in her own time.
Sydney has a very active home schooling community, and we are blessed to have met many wonderful kids and parents. In three terms, she has acted in plays and attended performances at the Opera House and Casula Powerhouse. She has visited May Gibb’s home, been involved in a sports carnival, toured the Opera Centre, Sydney Observatory, Wildlife World and attended a science workshop as well as puppet-making. I have to be organized, to keep up with it all! I start my writing when her school day finishes, and often get up early to do so too. We have a comfortable routine. I love doing life with this kid, and I am definitely smarter as a result of absorbing information!
Here is a poem about home schooling from one of my daughter’s friends. I love the perspective of an 11-year-old!
Home Schoolers
Someone freaky,
Someone wild.
Someone cheeky,
So much a child.
Without the school uniform,
Without the Smiggle bag,
Someone who’s not the norm,
Without the shop’s latest tag.
Home schoolers, Home schoolers,
That’s who we are.
Friendly with people of every age,
Each of us a shining star.
Free, not in school’s restricting cage.
We’re all unique,
We’re all ourselves.
We’re all home schoolers,
That’s who we are!
Someone weird,
Someone new.
Not much revered,
Sounds like me, sounds like you.
But, whoever I want to be,
Home schooler?
Is there something cooler?
Well, I’ve decided: me.
-Jemma Julian, 4/09/2015
For many kids, it’s the perfect fit. To be able to devise a programme that caters to your child’s interests is a blessing. Wherever we go in Sydney, there are friends to visit and fun to be had.
RAPHAELA ANGELOU 