Here is what transported, transfixed and transcended the everyday this past week.
A hummingbird dress. I want one!
We are in the midst of floods in Sydney at the moment. The following advice is important if one finds oneself on a flooded road!
Vintage Clothing and a Ballerina! https://www.buzzfeed.com/xmonix/this-ballerina-is-mixing-ballet-with-vintage-2efu6
I used to live near a lush reserve, groaning with Weeping Willows. I had a sign on my front door, advising (pleading), for guests to let all the negativity go at the threshold, and come into the house with fresh energy. As a hermit, my house was sacred, a place where I was protected from doom and gloom. A sanctuary where magic existed alongside art and the sound of my typewriter clanging away. I had a business, Avalon’s Gnome, and created a world away from the everyday. Heaven knows, I knew that irritations would arise, as would anger. I just didn’t want to pollute my space with the residue.
I came up with the idea of a having a designated Sacred Whinging Spot. I went for a walk, and found the perfect place. It was a covered area with seats, nestled in amongst the Weeping Willows. I would stuff a cob loaf with ricotta, tomatoes, basil and garlic, and take it along with a thermos of Irish coffee to this space, and when nobody was around, I would let it all out. In between operations, I would relay my fears. I wept, I raged, I told people off in my mind and I expressed my irritation at circumstances and situations. I would eat my Cob loaf and drink my coffee, and leave refreshed. Heck, if you are going to have such a sign over your front door, you have to practice what you preach! I lived in this Federation brick house until it was knocked down to build a unit block. It was one of the happiest, most serene of my many abodes, and I am pretty certain that a part of that had to do with my rule. There were no arguments or words spoken in haste lingering in the rooms. Once my aggravations were expelled at the Sacred Whinging Spot, they were pulled into the earth and transmuted into pure energy.
Maybe its time to resurrect the notion of a Sacred Whinging Spot, to ensure my home is acoustically clear. Letting it all out whilst surrounded by nature and trees that sway sympathetically in the breeze. There’s magic in that!
Things I have found inspiring throughout the week. Look at this fellow below!
A fabulous article on Sydney’s Vivid Festival by Elissa Blake. If you are planning to go, read this first!
My daughter took part in a workshop run by Bushbred Horse Assisted Learning Programs. I haven’t had much to do with horses, and had no idea what to expect. The kids were introduced to a handful of these magnificent creatures, and tried to figure out where each one fitted into the herd. There was an obvious leader, a loner, an easy-going type and an alert, nervous filly. She was instrumental, as she alerted the others to danger with her hyper-vigilance.
My daughter gravitated to a darling little pony of which to work with. Within minutes she had been named Princess Stubborn and she certainly lived up to it! I looked on in wonder as my daughter was shown how to put her bridle on, then lead her. The kids created an obstacle horse, and it was a challenge, getting this little pony to be a team player! Asserting one’s authority didn’t cut it, nor did pleading. Sighing, surrendering and letting this little pony be led by a gentle grip did. My daughter (whom shares many traits with this particular pony), learnt that in order to manifest, you must first clear your mind. In order to have a workable life, you must know where you stand. Nothing can be forced; it has to occur in its own time and manner. You can’t simply take a rope and give it a tug and expect compliance from life. It is both simpler and more complex than that. To the daughter that is stoic, determined and sometimes stubborn-and to the little pony that is likewise-thankyou for showing a grown girl how life is meant to be done. If you ever have a chance to get involved in a similar workshop, I would highly recommend them!
The period between school terms went by in a purple haze, taking with it, Prince. Fans woke in shock to hear the news of his passing last week. This year has taken so many individuals in the arts, and it’s only April!
The holidays were divided between time at home, and being out. My daughter caught up with a few of her gorgeous friends, and it made my heart soar to witness the bonds deepening. The girls put down their electronic devices and made up dances and spells, plays and songs. We also went to plays, including The Peasant Prince, and Cautionary Tales for Children at the Sydney Opera House. It starred the extraordinary Virginia Gay. She held my daughter spellbound.
I was gifted these divine bird pegs by a friend. I have written about this friend before. A nurse, she has had health issues the past few years, and has astounded me yet again, by putting her hand up to support a local lady as she flies to Singapore. This young lady has MS, and her symptoms have escalated. She has gone to Singapore for intensive chemotherapy and stem cell treatment. I am thinking of both these valiant women. They will be in my heart every time I peg an item on my clothes line.
My friend Diana Reynolds is an artist, and she gifted my daughter and I this enchanted painting. It has pride of place in our home school room, where we get to admire it daily. To check out more of Diana’s work, click here.
My MRI results weren’t what I wanted them to be. I had hoped to receive a procedure known as a discogram, to shrink my remaining discs. It was found that they had all desiccated, which explains why I wince every time a bus or car I am travelling in hits a bump. I have no shock-absorbers! I wish it were merely a case of changing the shock-pads! There are many more issues, which I have neither the time or inclination to see to at the moment. I only had one day in bed throughout the holidays, so I am relieved. I carried on, throughout social occasions sometimes with the aid of a stiff drink and for that I am grateful. It is a nasty, merciless agony, which has grown into a monster. I humour it; I temper its fury and I promise it the world if it will just let me do what I need to do. When my daughter is a little older, I will have that longed-for overhaul. I will admire the bird pegs, and the symbolism behind them. They have the ability to fly, and yet they are anchored. Perhaps it’s a comfort, behind grounded. They know that they have a choice.
Term 2 has just begin in Sydney, and I look forward to many more adventures. You could live for a thousand years and still not experience all that there is in this world. I had a conversation with a friend who is extremely ill. She told me her simple wishes for the next year or so. In light of her disclosure, I am going to apply for a passport. Life is too damned short and it flies by like a bird unanchored. Pain and illness, nor nothing else is going to stop the experience of new horizons. It mustn’t.
On a blustery and rainy Sunday, we went to the Museum of Contemporary Art at The Rocks. I love this place; it is eclectic, ever-changing and has magnificent views over the harbour from the rooftop café. I met some friends, and we were excited about attending Teena the dog’s farewell from the exhibition space. Teena, the daschund, even has her own perfume! It smells of wet dog, in homage to this precious little being.
Teena’s dad, David Capra, interviewed a lady from mindDog Australia, and she was awe-inspiring! Sydney-based, this organization advocates for people with depression, PTSD and other challenges to be matched with a companion dog. It makes all the difference to the individuals involved.
We also went to Grayson Perry’s My Pretty Little Art Career . I found it mesmerizing. The detail in each of the pieces is extraordinary! What a remarkable and gifted artist Grayson is. There is still time to go see the exhibition, before it closes on the 1st May.
There has been a bit of outrage about the proposed Australian $5.00 note. This is what we are getting.
This is what many of us would prefer.
Whimsy is an essential component in leading a tolerable life. May your week contain much whimsy!
There is never enough time, have you found that too? As an aside, we often tell ourselves that now isn’t the right time. I ask myself, when will be the right time? Do we wait for the planets to be aligned? Sometimes, you have to plunge straight in. I don’t know where time goes, I honestly don’t. 24 hours has glorious potential when I wake at 5am, but I soon run out of sand. My daughter and I are planning on opening an Etsy shop by the end of the year. I have a desperate need to take her to the opera, the theatre, each and every cove and parkland around Sydney. I can’t sit still. I am afraid to stop. The truth is, I don’t know how to anymore. I find my release by helping her locate her point of peace. We went and saw The Peasant Prince yesterday at the Monkey Baa Theatre, and I watched the joy on her face as she “got” the lesson regarding never giving up, believing in yourself, and trusting your instincts. I realized that my point of peace is wherever she is.
I am sometimes terrified of failing her. The worst moment of my life was when I almost died after surgery when she was three years old. They let her ride with me on the trolley, and she stroked my hair on the way to theatre. I am her teacher, her guide and her parent. I am everything to her. I have been putting off having medical tests because I am quietly afraid. I have been waking in the middle of the night, crying in pain. People don’t witness this war going on within my body. It is getting worse. If I fall down, there is nobody to pick up the gauntlet. What occurred with my last surgery scarred me. It was close. I had bigger surgeries, before I had her, but I was filled with the bravado of youth and had nothing left to lose. Now I have everything. I keep on keeping on, but shall get the tests done and see a surgeon. I am on Lyrica at present. I don’t know if you know of it. It was designed for epilepsy, though is also used for neurological pain. It has knocked me about as I get used to it! I am willing to try anything. The bone and metal shards left in my spinal canal literally feel as if I have been knifed in the back. I guess I had been, many years ago.
My daughter is on school holidays, and as we walked to the park today, I stumbled. I told her to go ahead as we were meeting friends at a playground. After she left, I looked down, and there was this nest.
Lovingly created, the chicks had flown and it was discarded. I picked it up, and carried it to the playground. I have always found nests to be my symbol of hope. One dropped to my feet when I was despondent during IVF. I still have it. Every time I have been in hospital, a dove has perched on the windowsill of my room. It can’t be coincidence. As I caught sight of my daughter playing with her friends, the pain diminished. I brought the discarded nest home with me. My evenings may be filled with pain and I may no longer be able to sit on a bench without back support. My lungs may struggle, and I may find it all hard and lonely. However, when I look at a nest or a bird, my resolve strengthens.
Sometimes we have to grab time back; either that or smash the hourglass. Sometimes, time can seem to stop. It does for me when I see a transcendent performance, or delight in the antics of my child or pets. Referring to pets, that includes our hermit crabs. They can be enormously entertaining and run like the wind! The only relief I have is to seek out beauty. It is the source of that which is mightier than this merciless pain. If you look hard enough, you will find it. If you close your eyes and concentrate, you can stop time.
I found the following pages that I wrote around twelve years ago. This was long before I became a mother; long before my child was in the school system and long before she was found to be dyslexic. I was around ladies who had been wounded in childhood, and through their own tenacity, had survived. I was around women over eighty whom I wanted to emulate in older years. Apparently, I never did like party plans! Reading through my summary of this particular week has me convinced that there are signposts along the way, indicating where we shall find ourselves, and who we are destined to become.
‘I gave Irma some photos, and she adored the images of her three friends, but at 83 years of age, was terribly critical of herself. “My neck is so wrinkled!” she cried. This distressed me, as I admire her in her deep-blue suit, straw hat atop her soft white hair.
We picked up Helen at the hostel. She is a strawberry-blonde with an impish face. She was excited on her 60th birthday; the giddy enthusiasm of a lady who has rarely had a birthday celebrated. We took her to see Murta in the nursing home. Helen leant over, and gave the grand lady a kiss. “I am praying to be taken home to heaven,” 99 year old Murta advised. “I just don’t understand why he has left me here!” “We cant bear to let you go yet,” I whispered. “When a nurse, the tea or cleaning lady enters your room , you greet them so warmly. You make them feel important and loved. You listen to them; you are doing important work.” Her eyes rimmed with tears as she talked about her dear friend Rex, who had recently died. “I had known him since he was a boy; long before he married Gwen…I have a card here to send to her, and I just don’t know what to say! I shall miss Rex forever. How can we go on without him?”
I took her hand, “write what you just said. Rex was one of your dearest friends; tell Gwen about the times you recall; the qualities that summed him up.” Murta clapped her hands. “What a wonderful idea! Yes, I shall!” She praised my woollen jacket, and I remarked that I had recently bought it. “Arent you a bloated capitalist?” she teased, then nodded approvingly when I said that it had only cost a few dollars at the opportunity shop. She looked wistful as we farewelled her. “Yes, I am here for a while longer… I must be patient.”
I took Helen to dinner. She talked of the health difficulties which made her walk with a cane, and of future surgery needed for cancer. No fuss, just the facts. She would have brushed away sympathy. A lady who had lived in scores of orphanages would never have it in her mind that those who love her want to care for her and are actually interested in the goings-on in her life. She devoured her dinner as though it were her last meal, and I carefully inquired as to where she had lived. “All over; Queensland, Melbourne and Sydney. I lived in fifty homes…” Her voice grew soft. “Sometimes, I got warm flannelette sheets. They would hit me if I was naughty;didn’t make my bed properly or forgot to scrub my face. But, they gave me flannelette sheets sometimes.” It were as though her mind was torn between the memory of the beatings and the comfort of the sheets. Why can’t the nightmare people be bastards all the time? Why must they confuse with gifts and smiles before bearing down with fists?
Helen’s parents had given her away, and kept her younger sister. She holds no bitterness, for she is a sixty year old child. She shall never be old and embittered, a hard crust forming around her heart. Her eyes focused on a spot on the wall, as though she were being pulled into the past. To bring her back, I started a roaring rendition of ‘Happy Birthday.’ A fellow at the next table sang along, and I smiled in appreciation. The more folks made a fuss of Helen, the better. A lady volunteered to take our picture, and Helen had a smile as wide as the Harbour Bridge.
I was invited in when I dropped Helen back at the hostel. Dolls were seated at the dining table and across her bed. She introduced them all by name. Some had name tags pinned on their dresses so she wouldn’t forget. There was an enormous board over the telephone with important details of bank accounts and numbers written in big letters by her social worker. She brought out her little budgie, and excitedly showed us what she had bought herself for her birthday. Snow White and the seven dwarfs stood inside a box, waiting for Helen to find them a place.
Postscript: Helen and Murta have been gone for a long while now, but left a gold-embossed stamp on my heart. I am so glad that Helen got to meet my daughter. Murta passed when I was going through IVF.
Firstly, I want to wish you a peaceful Easter. For me, it is a time of contemplation and restoration. I wrote the following for Siren Empire about the season, and what it means to me.
I took my daughter to the Royal Easter Show at Olympic Park yesterday. It was a glorious day; the sun was beaming down and we had to find shelter to coat ourselves in 50+ sunscreen. The Australian sun is unforgiving and you can burn quickly!
My daughter fell in love with these hermit crabs, which we simply had to adopt! The little shop ‘crab-sat’ them until we were ready to leave. They are amazing little critters, and can run fast when they want to!
These pictures capture the mastery of the cakes that were on display. Aren’t they stunning?
We had a tour of Sydney’s upcoming Metro Rail. It is spacious and well-designed, inspired by the system in Singapore. I can’t wait to go on adventures on it!
My daughter was entranced by the art on display.
We ate strawberries dipped in chocolate, talked to a myriad of fascinating people, and admired beautiful animals and fresh produce! The food on offer was too tempting, and I was as gleeful as a child when we reached the show bags! I now have enough toiletries, tea and snacks to last a year! Our Sydney Royal Easter Show has a proud history, and I love the feeling of connection you receive from being there. You meet people from all over Australia and the world. You can ask questions of authorities on anything from gardening to food security.
I love this city, and am proud to call it my home. It has at times, been a love/hate relationship. I lived in the city, though for the years I was a hermit, I didn’t engage readily with it. I was a hermit, in an(albeit colourful), shell, much like our hermit crabs. Sydney seemed cold and hard and unapproachable. Now it feels like home, and I feel like I have a place in it. At Easter, I tend to reflect on what has transpired; on the people whom I have loved and are no longer here. I think of survival, redemption and being rebuilt. I think of fresh starts and hope. I pray for peace. This Easter, may this peace descend on us all, and remain in place.
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!
RAPHAELA ANGELOU 