Category: Joy

Seeds and Growth

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They certainly did not know that we were seeds! Seeds containing the most fragrant, vibrant flowers. This life, it can get so ugly. I have had my body smashed up, bloodied and ground into the dirt. I have been saved by garden mulch. When I am out, and find it has stuck to my shoes and clothes, I am not in the least irritated. Rather, I am grateful for being reminded of the time it saved my life. If I had landed on concrete, I would be gone. The mulch softened my fall, allowing me the opportunity to live.

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The battle was far from over. There I’d be- lovingly attending my budding garden- when a slug would come along and eat the shoots. Pesticide was poured over the dirt, and it seemed that everything had died. Over and over again. Little did they know that there were slumbering seeds buried way underneath the mulch. They couldn’t destroy what would flourish underground! As a grown woman, I have tools to keep the pests at bay. I have a little fence (not white picket in nature), and those seeds are about to rupture. No matter what they do, they can’t access those seeds. I think it’s time for us all to bloom. I will scoop up a handful of mulch, and give thanks.

Retreat and Refreshment.

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This was me at the end of term 2. I was hanging out for the school holidays, longing for days at home. The last week of term, I was in the city five times for workshops, shows and other commitments. It is a journey of almost two hours each way. I would curl up in the shower each morning, allowing the heat to wash over my spine, willing myself to get going. When you are in that level of pain, you operate on automatic pilot. The promise of a two week break got me through. We have been for walks through our beautiful town, and have had plenty of home days. It has been bliss.

 

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Getting the house in order and planning for Term 3 has been wonderful. Resting when I need to, and playing with my daughter has been a treat. Life gets so busy; too busy. There needs to be retreat as well. I don’t know how anybody with a massive amount of daily pain does it. I certainly don’t know I get through!  I do it because I have to. I am grateful that I still can.

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This is sometimes where I find myself. I have to rest, and connect with my daughter. I need to lay flat, as it’s the only way I find relief from the relentless pain. It is frustrating when there are so many marvelous things going on, and so many special friends to see. Those closest to my heart are those whom understand and patiently await our return to society. I appreciate them with all my being. No pressure, just love. I am starting to let go of feeling bad if I have to have a day in bed to recover.

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These are indeed the best moments; the pockets of time where we can heal and grow strong. On my walks, I have been able to appreciate the sound of the bell birds and kookaburras, the sight of llamas, horses and cows, and the pleasantries exchanged. I have caught up with friends I haven’t seen for well over a year, and it is as though no time has passed. We pick up where we left off, and there is nothing but love. I will keep going on this strange and wonderful journey, and during term, whirl around from event to event. In the holidays, I will continue to retreat into the mists, emerging refreshed. It is how it has to be.

 

 

The Time I Won a Car!

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I didn’t get my driver’s license until after I had my daughter. I was too busy having surgery in my earlier years, and besides, living in the city, it was more convenient to take public transport. I started receiving driving lessons whilst undergoing IVF. The instructor was a tiny little lady with a Cockney accent and a bubble car. She had to sit on a  cushion whilst driving (as did I). I failed my first driving test as the gruff instructor was frustrated that I hesitated when he ordered me to go right at a notorious intersection. The next time I sat the test, I passed. I was praised by the female instructor for being cautious at the same intersection!

I was in need of a car, so imagine my delight when a local pharmacy rang, congratulating me for winning a car in a competition I had entered months before and forgotten about. A junior assistant spoke with me, and said I could pick it up from the pharmacy within a few days. Excitedly I texted everyone I knew. “My luck is turning!” I relayed. Friends congratulated me, and we all anxiously awaited the date of delivery. I was asked many times what kind of car it was, and I answered that I didn’t know, as I hadn’t asked. “Who cares! Its a new car!”

I went down to the pharmacy, anticipating that it would be sitting in the car park, wrapped in a huge bow. A lady came out of the stockroom with a box. I had won a car alright, a bright red toy coupe. My toddler was impatient as I put the blasted thing together, and then excitedly banged into every corner of the house as she ‘drove.’ I had to laugh, even as I sheepishly sent out another message to explain my mistake.

I haven’t been driving this year, partly because it is cheaper to get around with public transport, though mostly due to my spine. My right leg and foot goes numb and are painful, and the medication I am on makes me feel spacey. I look forward to driving again, and having  more independence. If I ever win a car in a raffle, I shall be asking whether it is a toy or not!

The Wish Game App

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 I have always had a healthy cynicism regarding the positive thinking movement. I think most survivors do, having repeatedly heard such chestnuts as “forget the past, look to the future.”  I once took a call at a luncheon from the IVF scientist in charge of taking care of my two precious embryos. They informed me that one of the two had perished. Heartbroken, and left with one chance of successful implantation, I went back to the table. “What’s the matter?” a companion asked. I told them the news, and they smiled. “Chin up!” they said, and went back to their conversation. I felt dismissed, and certainly my grief was unheard. I felt almost embarrassed, as though I shouldn’t have had a reaction at all. Platitudes don’t help, and are almost certainly entirely damaging when one is fragile, whether it be through grief or other trauma. Positive thinking can sadly be an escape for those who aren’t comfortable supporting and hearing another’s pain. Throw a person a platitude and then walk away. Being happy and planning for the future is altogether different.

It was in this spirit that I tried out this particular app. I was cautious, not expecting much at all. I punched in my desire to travel, and was pleasantly surprised at the result. The game took me through my desire, and then looked at how I may be sabotaging the realization of this goal. I realized that I have a fear of flying, and also am hesitant about travelling due to my health. Even the hassle of obtaining a passport has put me off! Once I looked at all the obstacles, the game allowed me to break down the steps into workable pieces. It is going to send me reminders on the dates I set! I see this game as a useful tool to get me to where I want to be. When you look at your dreams, they can seem too big and overwhelming. It is only when you break them down that you can see a way to achieving them.

The Wishing Game App is available here.

Raphaela’s Picks of the Week

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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!

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Vintage Clothing and a Ballerina!  https://www.buzzfeed.com/xmonix/this-ballerina-is-mixing-ballet-with-vintage-2efu6

Sacred Whinging Spot

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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.

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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!

Raphaela’s picks from the Internet this week.

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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!

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Hello Kitty Café, Friends and Sydney

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Sydney in Autumn is a sight to behold. We walked around to drama, dodging trucks and construction of the light installations for Vivid, which starts this weekend. There were buskers and tour groups taking in the history of The Rocks. My daughter has a ritual before her class. I give her money and she buys a strawberry donut from a takeaway shop at Circular Quay. The elderly Vietnamese man sees her approach, and has the donut in the bag before she asks. My daughter says they are the best donuts in the world. We weave our way through wedding parties and photographers, my daughter entranced by the gowns, but grossed out by the romance and smooching. I call our day in the city my caffeine day. When you have such extraordinary coffee and barista’s at your disposal, why wouldn’t you indulge? To redeem myself, I order the best salad in Sydney. Spoilt for choice, it is hard to settle on one, and they are a triumph of assembly. The sort that you wouldn’t bother making yourself at home, unless you had a spare hour or so.

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Scenes such as the one above take my mind off my physical pain. Thank heavens my daughter’s balance is better than mine! On this particular day, I decided to travel over the Harbour Bridge on the train, to see friends. I insisted we try the quirky Hello Kitty Café at Chatswood.

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My friend and I are under the care of an endocrinologist. Both of us are sugar-impaired, shall we say, and we try to behave. This was something of our last hurrah on that front, which is just as well.

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Yes, I drank/ate the Freak Milkshake above, and was suitably buzzing and silly afterward! To my delight, they had a tofu burger on the menu.

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It was a sweet little café, and we enjoyed our outing. It has taken me two days to get over our big day out, but you gotta live, right? I had seen this place had opened over a year ago, and determined to go one day and check it out. It niggles at you, doesn’t it? The events you miss and promise to get to the next year, the things you want to do and people you want to see. Sometimes you just have to do it. We are looking forward to the next adventure! Sydney is brimming with them!

Trust, Resistance and Princess Stubborn.

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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!

  

MRI’s, a Painting and Pegs!

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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.

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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.