The wonderful Erika nominated me for The Creative Blogger Award! Thankyou very much, my friend!
Here are the rules:
* Display the Creative Blogger Award logo on your blog
* Nominate 15-20 blogs and notify all nominees via their social media/blogs
* Thank and post the link of the blog that nominated you (very important)
* Share 5 random facts about yourself to your readers
* Pass these rules on to them
Seven Random Facts About Me:
1.I am shrinking with age. My last bone density scan showed I have lost 2cm in height!
2. One of my favourite meals is steamed vegetables with chilli beans and cheese. I also love Indian and Italian food. A vegetarian can always find something yummy to eat!
3. I can’t resist anything covered in sparkles, or that is shiny and/or glittery!
4. I want to create more art when I grow up (I don’t like the odds, seeing as I am shrinking)!
5. I can’t stand ironing and buy clothes that don’t require it when I can. I don’t understand ironing at all!
6. My lavender scones are the stuff of legend and the aroma of the lavender flowers streaming from the oven is heavenly.
7. I love gift baskets and buy far too many at fetes!
It was my friend’s funeral this week. My little girl sat beside me, holding my hand, and whispering, “I love you mummy.” Two funerals for two young mums is two too many. Life is an excruciating mystery. Would we dare open our hearts inviting others to view the contents if we knew we could lose each other at any moment? Would it make life more precious or less bearable?
I was due to have a mammogram, and intended to do so. Life got busy, and I put it off. Then, I felt a lump. I had a few tests done the other day, including the mammogram. When the technician came back and said that the doctor wanted more images of one side, I felt some anxiety. I was there for a few hours, and you know what? It ultimately felt empowering. So much is out of our control, yet when a doctor advises you to have certain tests, it gives control back to you. I felt that my life was valued, and that I was honouring my daughter by having these tests. I wasn’t frightened. Rather, I knew I would cope if anything was found. Fortunately, the lumps turned out to be cysts. I will be monitored regularly, and I know how blessed I am. If you are putting off having tests, or burying your head in the sand concerning a worrying health issue, please don’t. Dealing with it is such a relief.
In the midst of all the sadness, there was the light of my child. We watched A MidsummerNights Dream, as she is playing Titania in her drama class, and she made art and delighted in the novelty of finding a telephone booth at The Rocks.
Life is such a funny thing. Heartbreaking, mystifying and everything in between. At the end, only the good stuff ends up on the cinematic reel of your life. I reckon it’s a bit like being presented with the big red book from ‘This is your Life.’ The pain and sickness, the suffering and strife dies. Your unencumbered spirit remains. That is what I like to think.
Death exhibition, Casula PowerhouseI heard last week that a friend had passed away. She was a mum of three and had fought cancer with grace and might for a number of years. I had only seen her recently, giving her a hug at a local fair. “I would love to catch up soon,” I said, and she smiled her radiant smile. I felt numb with shock when I heard the news. I wanted the world to stop spinning for a little while, but it refused. I had to take my daughter to an art workshop early the next morning. After I had ordered breakfast at the art space, I turned around and saw a hearse. Here I was, trying to distract myself with business, and death was all around. I couldn’t escape it.
A death exhibition had just opened. I couldn’t avert my eyes, so decided to embrace it. This feared wild state called death… The cessation of all that was and all you were prior, leaving lasting memories and the love you carried in your heart. A gift to those who love you.
“Grief” by Helen ShelleyI viewed the exhibition, the works using a myriad of mediums. Photos of those who looked asleep, a TV set to distribute white noise. It was peaceful. It wasn’t morbid or frightening, just silent and respectful. I don’t understand why people die, particularly the young. Two women I adored have died the past six months, and I have raged and wept and reminisced. I now found myself ensconced in a death exhibition, as though it were a preview of coming attractions. It is my duty to live a good and full life, in tribute to those who only had half of their expected years on earth. When I pop off, I want to leave my daughter enough wondrous adventures and memories to last her all her days.
My daughter decided to dress up in one of her classes as a pilot bride. Just before the actual wedding, she leapt out of her plane and parachuted to earth. I thank God for each day I get to spend with this exquisite little girl.
On behalf of my late friends, I promise not to take this painful, ecstatic gift of life for granted. Just a few weeks ago, my friend was working, helping an elderly lady in her home. She wasn’t dying. She was living to the end. Every second was accounted for and respected. Now is all we have. Let’s make it count.
So, my friend and I went to Vivid last Saturday night at Circular Quay. She is hysterically funny in that dry, laconic Australian way. I texted that my daughter and I were in the loos and wouldn’t be long. She said she would meet us there. I waited and waited and when she didn’t show, it dawned on me that perhaps she was at the facilities at the other end of the Quay. She was! We hugged, comfortable in our embrace as we are both under 5 feet tall. I gave her a birthday gift, which included size 5 (tiny), sparkly slippers. We walked around to the Opera House whilst it was still light and plonked down on the steps. Her daughter and mine got restless, so her husband offered to take them for a walk. We began a two hour chat full of enlightened dribble about my making a fortune off an upcoming YouTube channel featuring my guinea pigs, my filming her Tina Turner impersonation, and becoming her manager, and bursting into musicals whenever we heard key words.
Dusk was coming and the children and her husband still hadn’t returned. “I hope he hasn’t had a hypo,” she remarked. “Shit!” He is a diabetic and could well be disorientated. Fortunately, he sauntered over with the kids, and we went in search of food. We walked to The Rocks, and selected good, nutritious food from the market stalls, whilst the girls demanded pretzels. Us ladies all went to the loo, and took selfie’s (as you do).
My friend laughed, “we are here to see Vivid, this light festival… We haven’t seen a thing in three hours!” I laughed too, and said that when we get together, we have so much fun talking rubbish, laughing and taking bathroom selfie’s that we forget what we are there for.
She showed me these mints and I am now hankering after the tin.
We saw the MCA and Opera House Lights, and walked around to Customs House, where I captured this.
Our two IVF miracles adore each other, and were happy climbing trees and being together.
Thousands of people were trying to get through Circular Quay by 8pm. Someone sneezed and one of our tribe called out “bless you!” “Thankyou!” came the response alongside thousands of people laughing and smiling at the exchange. My friend’s husband needed something sweet to raise his blood sugar, and so he and the kids had ice cream. We saw hardly anything, but a festival is about the bringing together of people. That is what a ‘happening’ is. This is what Saturday night was.
A group of home schoolers met up at The Opera Centre in Surry Hills this past week. I admired opera, though my knowledge was pretty basic. I have learnt that it isn’t really an elite art, as previously thought. It is a complex mix of drama and music, and expensive to stage. I was excited about taking my daughter to her first opera, Cinderella. Based on a score by Rossini, it had been condensed to suit children. The audience was enthralled throughout. We went to a nearby park for lunch, and I was welcomed into my new school family. Each parent had a back story as to why they started home schooling, and all were inspiring.
Afterward, we went on a tour of the Opera Centre. It brought to life the passion and dedication of everyone from the seamstresses to the design team. I can see why it’s expensive to bring to life!
Each wig takes a week to make. Every hair is hand-stitched.
The books for the shelves are ultra-light!Model for a production
Props for AidaOkay, not just children!
The children were allowed to try on some of the magnificent costumes, which was a real treat!
I am in awe of the opera singers. Their dedication to their craft is amazing. It takes vision to bring a production to life, much like individual dreams. An idea becomes a sketch, becomes a model and then a set. My daughter loves singing, and has uncovered a new way of trilling. I love that she was introduced to the many ways you can be involved in theatre. The world is yours, kid.
We went on a tour of our town’s annual art show. It was a thrill to see the names of friend’s amongst the talented artists. My little girl was buoyant. She has settled into the new regime of home schooling superbly, and her confidence has been lifted. To be able to do things in her own time means so much for a dyslexic kid. The pressure has lifted. She ran in to find me that morning, squealing that we had new baby guinea pigs. We certainly did! Five in all.
They are a bit cute!
Snowball is the father. Here he is munching on a corn cob. He broke into the girl’s hutch, hence the surprise conception!
My little girl, I love hearing you read. I love feeling your joy when you “get” a word. I look forward to seeing what you are going to do in this world. I know guinea pigs, music and art will feature throughout your life, as well as birds and trees! I am delighted that you are coming into your own. You aren’t dyslexic. Rather, you have dyslexia. It is extraordinary how much music and art, compassion and strength can be found in one little girl. I am sad about the times you felt alone, frustrated and exhausted from the dyslexia. I will do everything in my power to make sure that is never the case again. We are able to sound out words, and spell them in a song. If you go to a workshop and are struggling, the teacher lets you use symbols rather than words. It is working.
In my travels, I met an extraordinary young lady called Celia. She started Stained Glass Wolves on Facebook. It is for ‘victims and survivors of abuse, homelessness, domestic violence and the people who support them.’ There are two projects on the hop at the moment, Basic Love Packs and Knitting to Spread the Love and Warmth. The mascot is The Mistress of Awesomeness and she certainly is! Apart from everything else she does, she is also a singer-songwriter.
Celia is 28, and lives in Sydney. She is currently an AIN, working in a nursing home, and is also studying nursing at university. She believes in true equality, love, loyalty, compassion,truth, genuineness, dignity and justice. She has three specific missions in life:
1. To run her charity, Stained Glass Wolves, and reach out to the broken.
2. To sing and write.
3. To be a qualified nurse educator specialising in brain trauma and also making specific care plans for individuals; working with families, carer’s and the client to make a manageable plan to give that person the best quality of life.
Celia has qualifications in mechanics, and in the hospitality industry. There is nothing she can’t do, teaching herself to knit via YouTube. As a child, she was abused in every way a young girl can be, and was told that she was worthless. She refused to believe it. How she healed, and what she has done, are truly inspirational. She has suffered depression, nightmares and flashbacks, but miraculously survived. The heart seared with great suffering often becomes the heart with the greatest capacity for love and compassion. Nobody came and rescued her from the thatch of thorns where she lay. She retrieved herself.
She found her calling in nursing after encountering a 104 year old lady in a nursing home who inspired her. She applied to study, and a letter arrived from the ACU. She reluctantly opened it, thinking it was a rejection letter. They instead wanted to know why she hadn’t accepted her placement. She checked her spam, and there was an acceptance email! Check your spam, people! At university, she noticed there was a scheme, offering placement overseas to the student with the highest mark. She applied and was accepted! She went to Cambodia, volunteering in health camps, and also travelled to Georgia College in Atlanta. Like I said, inspiring. She is the rainbow after the darkness dissipates. A survivor in every sense. If you would like to learn more, visit Stained Glass Wolves.
Can you believe that we are in February? January leans in, digging its elbow into the tender parts of our psyche. People struggle with big issues. Finances are depleted after Christmas, relationships are in turmoil, people you love are in pain. At the same time, you are attempting to plot the year ahead, and work ramps up for another year. January can be pressurised. What do you do to escape? We went to Casula Powerhouse to see the Mind the Gap exhibition.
Mind the Gap
A wondrous affair, resplendent with model trains grafted into sculpture.
I felt my hair, barreling down my shoulders, tired and splintered. I sought reparation. I usually do a haphazard job of trimming it myself, but as I had pledged to take better care of myself this year, I had it done at an actual hairdresser.
I had a fortnight of no sleep, due to my bulging spinal discs. I lay awake with a pillow between my legs, my hands attempting to force the discs back into place. I tried to rest, my back brace tightly bound around my spine. It was hard, particularly when life demanded that I partake during the daytime. On Australia Day, I went to the annual Gnome Convention at Glenbrook. I had to go. If one can’t find escape from one’s pain at such a do, then I don’t know where one can!
Feeling entirely restored, I celebrated my birthday. Now birthdays have always been a weird dark night of the soul for me. Melancholy, renewal, taking stock and everything in between. I ran away to Sydney with my daughter. We looked around, rode on public transport, and came home to a glorious delivery of flowers.
Friends took me out for lunch in the coming days, and I was humbled by their thoughtfulness. I was driven to a birthday dinner last weekend and had a lovely time. It was an occasion where you imbibe with good wine and company, and can be silly and free.
Another friend had a party, Superhero themed. I adore this lady. So far, we have celebrated space, feet, the first letter of our name, and now heroes. I was the Queen of the Rainbow.
I also confronted a park containing many memories of Serena. The number of times we have sat at the seats below, watching the children play and drinking coffee… I expected her to come along at any moment. There were tears, and my little girl hugged me. She knew. She felt it too. After the sorrow, we smiled, recollecting the parties, festivals and many joyous times we had experienced there. At the end that is what remained. Above all the strife in January, that is what we shall hold onto.
We have a remarkable teacher at school, Lucette. She is five foot nothing, and never sleeps. I gasped when I first entered her classroom. A cornucopia of wondrous delights. Art filling every crevice, wall and space on the ceiling. It was beautiful. Each year, she asks for participants for the Fishers Ghost Parade. Last year, I went as a Scottish wench, and my daughter as a Highland dancer.
You are required to go for fittings, the classroom now teaming with clothing racks filled with the most remarkable costumes. It is great fun, and you get to know other families getting into the spirit of the cultural event. She seeks out kids with a bit of spunk, and she seeks out kids who may be normally overlooked. I love her for that. It is always blisteringly hot the day of the parade, and as we stand waiting to take our place in the merciless sun, we try our best not to pass out. As soon as we start our march through the crowds, the discomfort is forgotten.
We look out at the crowds, whom have been waiting for hours, seated on folding chairs and are touched. I heard that quite a few in the crowd cant afford the rides of the carnival to follow, and have built traditions within their families of taking them to the parade. That moves me. The theme this year was the melding of cultures. Ours was Japan and Scotland. My little girl was the Queen of the Thistles.
She was so eager to be a part of it again this year, and I love that this event gets everyone so enthused. My friend Karen, looked a vision in her kimono, and as she passed an elderly Japanese lady, she bowed very low as a sign of respect. She was approached later and told how much that had meant. Lucette is throwing a Christmas party for the participants soon, and we look forward to being reunited with everyone. She is a weaver of people, art and pageantry, bringing it all together. What a gift to have!
I took my daughter to Paddington Saturday afternoon. She loves the vibrancy of the bustling city area; art and colour bursting out of shop windows, the pavement and passers-by. When I had deep purple hair, nobody seemed to notice here, as they are soaked in colour; blasé as only those spoilt by rainbows can be.
Sweet Art.
We wandered around as I explained to her how I adored Oxford St as a teenager. I came here on a walking frame, in body braces and casts. I would have crawled here to soak in its magic. A man named Remo had a wonderful shop on the corner of Crown and Oxford streets, REMO General Store. How I loved this place! There was a 5 metre long window on Crown St, in which designs such as the iconic Eternity by Martin Sharp were proudly displayed. Remo sold the most extraordinary items; it was the ultimate emporium. I lost myself in the store. I was no longer a patient, in pain, on borrowed time. I was limitless. I told my child all this as we strolled to Ariel Booksellers for Remo’s General Thinker book launch. Remo has always been ahead of his time. He has been Licensee and Director for TEDx since 2009. The TEDx mission is to propagate Ideas Worth Spreading: to inform and inspire.
Munchkin couldn’t wait to get Remo to sign her book!
Remo was extremely gracious when my daughter approached. She was confident at first, though when it was time to talk, she became tongue-tied. I helped her out, though I was rather overwhelmed myself! You have to read this remarkable and beautifully designed book to appreciate what a pioneer this fellow is, and how he paved the way for every dreamer who aspires to do good in this world.
RAPHAELA ANGELOU 