Hitting the Wall and Bouncing off.

It was the end of  a heavy week, and I felt smashed.  I would have touched base with Serena over the Queen’s Birthday long weekend… I miss you so much. We probably would have gone to see a movie, then ventured to the park with takeaway coffee. We would have giggled and talked about a myriad of things, completely unrelated.

Sunday, I went to a Biggest Morning Tea to raise funds for the Cancer Council. My friend’s home was awash with balloons, bobbing at the ceiling. Bright yellow, they represented those we have lost to cancer. Bright yellow, like sunshine and trilling canaries and everything hopeful. It was a solemn moment, writing messages and names onto the balloons.

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We then released the balloons into the air.
We then released the balloons into the air.

Cancer may have threatened the lives of our loved ones, and taken some beautiful people away, but it can never steal the fight against this bastard of a disease. We will continue to fight you, smite you, sneer at you.

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The event raised over a $1,000 and I know that as long as there are people willing to stand up to you, the battle shall one day be won. I once toured the Children’s Cancer Institute. I saw young researchers crouched over cramped desks in stuffy rooms without windows. They were working twelve-hour days, and their commitment was without end. One day you will be no more, but their names shall be written in the annals of time. When I hit the wall, overwhelmed by how many I love are seriously ill, flattened by grief over the loved ones lost, I think of these researchers. I think of a young cancer patient I know who was part of a trial and whose cancer has retreated rather than advanced. To know what is happening behind the scenes-to have seen it with your own eyes-is a wondrous thing.

 

 

Sydney Opera Centre

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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.

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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.
Each wig takes a week to make. Every hair is hand-stitched.

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The books for the shelves are ultra-light!
The books for the shelves are ultra-light!
Model for a production
Model for a production

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Props for Aida
Props for Aida
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Okay, not just children!

 

The children were allowed to try on some of the magnificent costumes, which was a real treat!
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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.

Joy

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 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.

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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!
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.

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Creative Blogger Award

 

 

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The beautiful Rachael Ritchey has nominated me for The Creative Blogger Award.

I am humbled and delighted. Here are the rules.

Nominate 15-20 blogs and notify nominees via social media or blogs.

Thank the blogger who nominated you and post the link of said blog.

Share five facts about yourself to your readers.

Facts about me:

# I.  could easily be a hermit. I once was, but a gregarious daughter and a desperate desire to connect have encouraged me out of my cave. It has delighted me, what I have discovered in this new world. Kind, loving, creative people, who pull me back by the collar when I desire to retreat from an encounter with their opposite. I can’t imagine going back to drawn curtains and silence now.

#2. I am prone to deep, dark pits of depression and anxiety. I am a colourful human (with lilac hair at present),have a multitude of friends, and a wondrous life, and yet the past sneaks up on me like a highway robber. Being in chronic pain bears down on you. When you see a person with colourful hair and clothes, a colourful life and colourful house, rejoice. Their coded message is  that they have been through hell, and still wish to survive. I know it is mine.

#3. I don’t enjoy “empty time.” You know, the time between commitments, whether they be work or social. I seek out connection, where once I sought  retreat.

#4. I wish I had  a glittery wand I could tap to make everyone’s dreams come true. I can’t stand to see suffering.

#5. I love train rides and buses and all the characters you meet when you leave your car behind.

The Blogs I Nominate for the Creative Blogger Award

Cauldrons and Cupcakes You have helped me more than you will ever know.

Ever Upward This lady’s story is so important.

Lolo Lovina This lady rocks! Impassioned, with the voice of an angel

Nerd in the Brain Homeschooling, love and  kindness all rolled into one.

Holistic Wayfarer Beautifully written.

My Friday Blog This fellow is a joy and he also adores guinea pigs!

The Breakfast Drama Queen She is the Queen of breakfasts!

Edwina’s Episodes Love this lady!

Come Fly with me Thoughtful and Sensitive.

Vashti Quiroz-Vega’s Blog Delightful lady.

The Off-Key of Life Such varied and wondrous subjects!

Good Woman Heartfelt wisdom and Beauty.

Fourth Generation Farm Girl Just Beautiful.

Breathing Life Supportive and Creative.

The Showcase Bless this beautiful soul.

Mint Kitty Clothing I stumbled upon this glorious person one day and ended up bridesmaid at her wedding. A true creative.

Home Made Naturally Exquisite.

Once again, I have run out of time to feature everyone I would have liked to. Love to you all! xxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Making Time

My friend's yurt.
My friend’s yurt.

Sometimes, it feels like there is no time. Racing from one appointment and activity to the next. Friends come into your mind, and you determine to get in touch. The day ends, and by the time you remember (usually late at night), it is too late. I hadn’t seen a group of friends for well over a year. I used to go to a meditation on an old train carriage, placed in a friend’s garden. The foliage around it was moist, and frogs would hop onto you as you slid open the door. You would be treated to ambient music and twinkling lights as you arranged yourself in a chair. We would laugh together and tell stories. They cheered for me when I was going through IVF, and celebrated when I fell pregnant. When my daughter arrived, they cooed over her.

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It was time for a reunion. It was overdue. We met at a glorious place on the way to the Southern Highlands, hugging and chatting as though we had never been apart. Over a lazy Sunday brunch, eight women caught up, and then went to a yurt, owned by one of the ladies. There we sang, and laughed some more. We determined that there weren’t to be any more long intervals between catch-ups in future.

I have another group of friends who were my rock through the early days of endometriosis and infertility. We are all scattered about the city, and we remark often that it is best for society that we aren’t able to see each other frequently. We are noisy, cheeky and quite hilarious when together. Anything can happen, and usually does.

My friends made me do it!
My friends made me do it!

I love them more than all the stars in the sky, so impressed am I with their irreverence and spunk. We went to a high-end jewellery store to inquire about the cleaning of a necklace, and were treated with a look of distaste. One of the ladies below became impertinent, which provoked more giggles. These are the sort of people who encourage an environment where you don’t have to watch what you say. In fact, the ruder your train of thought, the better. Light relief in a world so heavy and grey.
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They haven’t had it easy, but then again, no true heroine ever has. It has propelled them to be funnier, try harder, have more empathy than your average woman.
I broke three umbrella’s in the storms that deluged Sydney earlier this week. My daughter started Term 2 of home schooling, and it was back to our hectic schedule.
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Our erupting volcano
Our erupting volcano

So far, we have made a volcano erupt, worked with clay, attended workshops and kids meditation and she has completed several online lessons. Trying to find balance is ever-challenging. I am working on it, and if I hit upon the secret to organization, I will let you know! One thing I do get, is that maintaining a social life is a necessity. Organizing catch-ups isn’t in spite of the hectic schedules we all have, rather it is so we can keep enduring them.

Letting Go and the Art of Surrendering

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I have always had a will of iron. I had to take control at a young age. Had to learn to eat and drink again. Had to learn how to walk. Had to rebuild the strength in my body, mind and soul. I hit all my targets. The same applied when I started correspondence school. Whatever I focused on, came to be. When I went out into the world at eighteen, I had huge dreams, and expected them to all come true, and in the allotted time. I was going to be a published author in my twenties, have several kids, a big rambling house and a strong body. As time passed, I saw the vision become clouded, as though someone had smeared petroleum jelly onto the camera lens. Instead of a tribe of kids, there was infertility. Rather than my body getting stronger, I slipped and fell, breaking my spine again. Instead of a large rambling house, there was a string of dodgy rental properties. Instead of peace there was turmoil. There were times when I lived on potatoes for a week, times when I had to walk miles home. Life was reduced to survival. The dreams refused to die, but they were tempered. The shoots dared to rear up from the soil. Spindly little things, they were, and I feared a downpour would flatten them. My saving grace was the removal of a time frame. Letting go of control. Having a tight schedule and discipline saved me as a teen. It wouldn’t work now. I was down on my knees as infertility and pain and uncertainty pounded me. I was pummelled. “I surrender!” I screamed.

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As soon as I uttered those words, the kaleidoscope in my hands turned, and a beautiful geometrical pattern took shape. Everything about it was different to what I had stubbornly cleaved to. The colours were somehow more vibrant. Perhaps, it was a portent of things to come. I didn’t want the next decade to be remembered by a series of operations, disappointments and scars. As I was admitted to hospital yet again, I had to believe that this provided another step  to where I wanted to be. I had to surrender all control, yet hold onto the kernel of my dreams. They had after all, given me the fuel to keep going. Life is very different to where I thought I would be at this age and in this year. Yet as I reflect on the friends I have met, the miraculous daughter I birthed, the fact I am still able to walk, and am a published author, I can see it is damned near perfect. It is hard to surrender control. It is hard to accept that the vision has evolved and changed. It is scary. When you hit a target after the storm has pummelled your home, it tastes that much sweeter. Don’t give up! Don’t you ever give up.

Seeking Movement and Colour and Life (part 2)

Easter Monday, I needed to escape all the jobs that needed doing. I needed to watch my child have fun, and for her to carry me along in her whimsy. My friend Annette, and her son, were coming along for the ride. At the station I met another friend and her son.

It is like no time has passed when you meet old friends.
It is like no time has passed when you meet old friends.

This lady is a professional dancer, and doesn’t walk through life, she saunters. The horticulturist, dancer and writer boarded the train with their kids, and struck up a conversation with these delightful people.

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One of the ladies was a pharmacist from Missouri. I asked where these friends had met, and it turned out it was on a Pandora cruise! Seeing my puzzlement, my new friend Brenda handed us several precious bracelets.

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Her late fiancée had bought quite a few pieces for her collection. They were holy. They weren’t  inanimate objects, but relayed stories of times past and dreams yet to be fulfilled. Each bead held a piece of her soul, and were embedded with his devotion. We shared details of  our lives. There was laughter and connectedness.  My dancer friend departed with her son, as did Brenda and her friends.

This was on a stall in the ladies' at Museum Station
This was on a stall in the ladies’ at Museum Station. ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life! Live!’

 

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At Hyde Park, munchkin wanted to prove how strong she was.

 

Then she ran into the fountain.
Then she ran into the fountain.

 

We met a contortionist
We met a contortionist
We also met 'I am basketball man'
We also met ‘I am basketball man’

 

 

We wandered into the MCA
We wandered into the MCA

 

We couldn't resist purchasing some delicacies from this chocolate shop
We couldn’t resist purchasing some delicacies from this chocolate shop

 

 

 

 

Can you believe this is chocolate?
Can you believe this is chocolate?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walking up to Susannah Place, we stopped at many wondrous shops, and admired the architecture along cobbled streets.

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We had ice cream and saw more beauty, more colour, more life than we could absorb.  The whole day was unscripted. That is what made it so glorious. There are more good people in the world than bad, and more wonder than you can possibly imagine. I love seeing Sydney through a child’s eyes.

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Seeking Movement and Colour and Life (Part 1)

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I was meant to see Rod Stewart last week but due to circumstances out of my control, I couldn’t go. I put my granny knickers back in the drawer, and purchased two tickets to a charity screening of Cinderella instead. Saffron from Kid About and  Kaity are two local businesswomen who joined forces to raise money for Kids of Macarthur Health Foundation.  They put together a magnificent event, resplendent with face painting, photo props and raffles. My little girl and I  went beforehand to Coco Cubano and  shared a platter. Munchkin had a mango drink and I had a Mojito. We had endured a crazy schedule that day, starting off at drama lessons. Now to get there, we have to catch a train through the suburb where I fell. The building is right near the railway line, and visible in all its glory. Every week, I hold my breath, and shudder with conflicting emotions. Gratitude that I am alive two decades after the event. A feeling of absurdity that I am taking my daughter to her activities past the building which held the ledge which held the villain…A feeling of defiance. ‘Up yours! I am still here!’ A feeling of sorrow. ‘I was so little…’ I took this grainy picture and somehow it seemed fitting. The scratches upon the train window are evident. It is grainy as the building whizzed by, much like my life on that particular evening.

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Anyway, we had been to drama and then guitar lessons. Mummy’s spine was beyond agonizing. I leant over toward the seat in front for some relief on the bus. Mummy needed a Mojito by the time we got to our pre-movie café.

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I met many familiar faces at the movies, including Nicci, our cupcake aficionado.

 

I didn’t know what to expect with this retelling of Cinderella and it was beyond my imaginings. It held all the little girls spellbound, and the ladies gasped at the visual feast on-screen. The settings were  beautiful. The villains were beyond contemptible; vile and  bitter. Fortunately, they didn’t take Cinderella’s light. She didn’t end up a twisted old bat, wounding others as she had been. She became more of who she was inside. May that be the case with us all. I am so glad we went, to support our friends and the wonderful organization who was benefitting, and to see Cinderella come into her own.

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Luminosity

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Last night, we went to Luminosity at Australian Technology Park. It had been a rough week  on many levels, and I dragged my aching bones out of bed to get ready. There was no way I was going to miss an event run by Endometriosis Australia. This wretched disease has taken so much from my life. My battle is over after a vicious ten-year fight from the time of diagnosis until I went into premature menopause. My fervent wish is that our girls don’t suffer as we did. My daughter and I walked into a foyer bustling with activity, yellow balloons and friendly faces.  I caught up with a dear friend, Naomi, who had been an inspiration to me  before I started my IVF journey. We embraced, and it was felt on a cellular level. I will never forget visiting her after she had yet another surgery at RPA, a lady of dignity, reclining in a chair and smiling in spite of her pain. It was the first time we had met in person. I met the marvellous Donna, who had also organized the Luminosity event in Melbourne on the 7th March. The volunteers were all awe-inspiring.

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I sampled the most delicious raw food, and we got our fluoro paint on. I made  friends with women who shared their endo journey’s and we swapped numbers at night’s end. My daughter chased boys around, and put me to shame with her hula-hooping.
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We entered the main room engorged with music and neon lights, and I basked in the glow of over a hundred people who have been affected by this disease. They were glowing for real! Some had endured twenty years of agony, had their bowels resected, had been on  a litany of powerful medications, had been burnt, lasered, cut open and had IVF. They were heroines at Luminosity. We watched amazing performances, even an acro-yoga display. With a fused spine, I wasn’t bendy, but I loved the stretches. I loved feeling a part of my body, at one with it. A body which had harboured disease the size of oranges, and had the consistency of elastic bands.My daughter thanked me for the lovely girl’s night she had experienced. I promise you, little one, that if your tummy aches when you are older, I will be watching. I will get you the best help. I pray I don’t have to. To find out more about endometriosis, or to donate either time or money, go to Endometriosis Australia.

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You Sent Butterflies.

IMG_6205 Serena, I remember when you won the pair of purple boots. You were so thrilled. You used to win everything you entered, though in the end, you lost your life. You had an eventful life, and some parts of it were bitterly unfair. You found comfort in butterflies. They were your totem, fluttering about  whenever we walked or sat at the park. I  gave you a purple butterfly mobile on your last birthday.

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Every year we did the Challenge Walk together, me complaining as we reached the peak which held a painted blue tree. Dead, yet alive. You would laugh, and point to the wrong flag, convincing me that I had done more km’s than I had. I fell for it every time. 2014 was to be our last year together on the walk. If I had known that, I would have hugged you tighter upon meeting, shouted you lunch afterward and organized a band. This year, one of our beautiful friend’s and her girls joined us. We acutely felt your absence, and I kept looking for you. So many  women with cedar hair looked like you from the back. The girls and I chatted, and we laughed. We fell silent and then talk turned to you. We were followed by butterflies the whole 6km’s. I wanted to cry, and scream at the unfairness of a young woman leaving this earth halfway through her life. I did so inside my mind; silently, respectfully. As long as butterflies remain in the world, so shall you. I anticipate bumping into you wherever I go. Instead, I am surrounded by butterflies and memories. I signed up for 12km’s by accident. You would have found that hysterically funny. When the time came to continue on, or pull out, I hid my registration details under the bag I was carrying, so I wouldn’t be forced to go around again. I had seen my butterflies and that was enough.

We came home and put our blingy slippers on.
We came home and put our blingy slippers on.