Category: Joy

Light it Red for Dyslexia

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It’s that magical time of year again! This is what I wrote last year. The other day, my daughter read a whole lesson plan out by herself! It has taken eighteen months of frustration and tears to build her confidence, but she now believes that she can do it, in her own time and way. We have tools in which to help her, and her involvement in drama, the arts and singing have contributed greatly to her heightened self-esteem.

She joined the RSL Rural Commemorative Youth Choir, and it has given both her and I such joy. The choir had a camp at Cockatoo Island, and sang at Government House recently, Damien Leith and Mrs Hurley singing alongside them. My daughter was so buoyant after this experience, it was hard to recollect a time when her confidence was at rock-bottom.

When she has a dramatic performance, she learns her lines by singing them to a beat. When she learns songs, she tends to do so quickly. It has been fascinating, observing how she learns and also humbling. She walks with a skip in her step and her head held high, just as I dreamed she would.

For more information on Light it Red for Dyslexia, click here.

An Angel left a parcel

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I was watching a show the other evening, as there was a segment I was interested in. It was uplifting and joyful. Afterward, the show revealed what was coming next. I recoiled as though I had been punched in the stomach.  I knew I’d have to  watch it after the commercials. The damage had been done, and the memories had burst forth. I knew I had to see it through. 

As a fourteen year old, I was in the esteemed clinic mentioned in the segment. I had no definitive diagnosis, other than that I wanted to live, and kept tenaciously holding on. For a year, this clinic became my home. A man twice my age (and a heroin dealer to boot), prayed on me. Nobody stopped him; nobody cared. I saw many things that were unjust, corrupt and plain evil in this place. My part in this story ended when I was thrown off a building. For the next decade, I campaigned to ensure that such horror never recurred. I tried to ensure it never could.

A few years ago, several young women came forth to tell of the horrific sexual and emotional abuse they sustained at the hands of their therapist. These young women were a part of the eating disorders unit. They were threatened with not being able to see their families in some instances, and some were highly drugged. The place they had come to heal (and for which they had paid a fortune), had let them down. Tragically, one young woman took her life afterward. Sworn police statements obtained by the network detailed a series of complaints about the doctor from clinic staff. This was years before the full horror was uncovered. The clinic did nothing. He has been released from jail after serving two years, and will be free to practice as a doctor in five years. 

After what happened to me, I was assured that children would never be put in with adults again. I was assured that a Patients Charter of Rights was now in place and that such things would never be allowed to happen again. I watched the segment, feeling ill when I saw the clinic appear on screen. I also felt numb; hollow. This should never have happened, particularly as they were warned years prior as to this doctor’s behavior. I had nowhere to put the feelings that came up by the next morning, and life commanded that I participate. 

I came home that evening to find a parcel on my doorstep. There were flowers and a card, herbal tonics, essential oils and a tea flower, all nerve tonics. Restoratives, put together by my dear friend, Natasha, who happens to be a herbalist. She knew nothing of what I had watched the night before, nor how desperately I needed her parcel. I put the flowers in a vase, and prepared the maximum number of drops. I sprinkled the oils into my hands and breathed in the aromas. 

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How did she know that I needed a parcel at my door? Humbled by her kindness, I slept well that night. It is heartbreaking to know that others have suffered at the hands of this place. It should never have occurred. I think of all the correspondence I entered into, the statements I gave… It takes others to turn a blind eye for evil to triumph. Sometimes, memories can’t be vanquished, but the tempest can be soothed with tinctures, aromatherapy oils and the love of a dear and thoughtful friend.

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The Secret Garden

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I was asked along to a talk at the North Sydney Community Centre this past week, to hear Wendy Whiteley and the esteemed journalist, Janet Hawley, talk about the paradise behind the lush tome, Wendy Whiteley and the Secret Garden. Janet has written a heartfelt and intelligent book about her friend, and also of the remarkable history of Lavender Bay. Jason Busch’s photography is outstanding! It is the ultimate coffee table book. Wendy appeared first, her hair wrapped in an elegant black scarf, a sprig of lavender pinned to her jumper. She had a commanding presence, and hypnotic crystal-blue eyes. Janet Hawley sat next to her, an elfin lady with a dulcet voice, and to our delight, Costa Georgiadis from Gardening Australia was the interviewer. He confessed that he had only been to the garden for the first time the day before. He had fallen under it’s spell in an instant, and plans to help out there for many a year to come.

The garden in question was started over twenty years ago, after personal tragedy touched the artist and muse’s life. Wendy’s husband, the great artist Brett Whiteley,died in 1992, after which Wendy turned her attentions to the wasteland in front of her home. Her daughter, Arkie, was an ethereal spirit, and fine actress. She encouraged her mother’s endeavors; buying her plants for the project. Tragically, she succumbed to adrenal cancer. Losing her only child saw Wendy turn to the garden once more, for comfort and reprieve from the agony of her loss. The garden was built on land adjoining Wendy’s home, which was owned by  Rail Corp and later leased to North Sydney Council. It was neglected and overgrown with weeds. Wendy used her own money to turn it into paradise. Visitors from all over the world come to relax in this spectacular garden, and all that is asked is that they’re respectful and take their rubbish when they depart.

In a sensible outcome, the State Government has extended the lease to thirty years, with a thirty year rollover clause. Wendy would love to be given assurance that a stable of sturdy volunteers shall keep up the garden after she departs, putting in money, resources and time. She needs to have a website constructed, so that people can have a central point to gather information and leave feedback. The Secret Garden will also require a generous soul to manage its social media.  This glorious garden is her gift to Sydney. I believe that a dream team of volunteers shall come forth, and help out in the decades to come. I hope that the State Government can commit in the longer term to her vision regarding the necessity of parkland by Sydney Harbor, to bring in tourists and for the pleasure of locals. How awful it would be if Sydney were to lose it’s soul to developments suffocating every square patch of green land.  It was a daring act by Wendy, to create our first guerrilla garden, and I am in awe of her commitment. She turned a wasteland into a place brimming with life, and her grief into an exquisite  garden. I shall never forget meeting the iconic Sydney artist with the hypnotic blue eyes and the wondrous Janet Hawley.

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Wendy Whiteley and Janet Hawley

-Photography by Jason Busch

For further information, click here.

Happy 11th Birthday, Sweetheart!

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My darling daughter,

I dreamed about you for an eternity before you arrived. Throughout each endometriosis surgery and treatment, the visage of you kept me going. IVF was brutal, and resulted in me being hospitalized for weeks, and hope was hard to find. After three disastrous cycles, I had no idea what to do next. I heard the ‘thud’ of the local paper hitting my doorstep, read that a new clinic was giving a talk, and the rest is history! I nearly lost you at 19 weeks; I was put in a room down the far end of the maternity ward after my waters broke and contractions started. The next 24 hours were the worst of my life. In what can only be described as a miracle, the rupture sealed, and my contractions stopped. You were holding on tenaciously, just as you did when an embryo.

I was going to have a planned caesarian, a result of my spinal injuries and other complications. A month beforehand, you were in the breech position, and decided that you would flip yourself completely over when the car broke down on the highway! Full of surprises, you decided to arrive shortly afterward. I was in full labour for over 24 hours before I decided to get to hospital. I was so used to endometriosis pain, I thought these pains weren’t the real deal! Rushed into surgery, I felt discombobulated. Oh darling, when I heard that roar of yours, I was in heaven.

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Since your birth, you have been brimming with energy that cannot be contained, nor should it. Your kind heart has always been apparent. I recall when you were 18 months of age, and I took you to see a dear fellow who was dying in a hospice. You grabbed a hold of his hand, as though you sensed he needed your comfort in his unconscious state. You talk to the homeless, eager to hear their stories. You can’t stand bullies, and are the first to stick up for anyone under duress. When our dear friend passed in 2014, you flitted between the pews, consoling the mourners. You have never been frightened of death, hospitals nor the homeless. Maybe it’s because you know how to live; a gift you were born with.

I used to worry (freak out), when you would climb to the top of whatever took your fancy in that particular moment. I soon grew out of that. If I stopped you seeking the apex, I would be stifling who you were born to be. We have a tree out the front of our place, and I love hearing you talk excitedly of what you can see from your vista. You cartwheel, run and climb your way through life.

An artist, you see the beauty around you, and feel it is important to tell someone that you appreciate their dress, hair, style or home. “We have to compliment strangers, mum,” you say, “it makes people feel great!” You sing like an angel, and want to be a singer/actress when you are older. I have no doubt that you shall be.

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You are astute, a model of discernment. You know instinctively who is meant to be in our circle, and who isn’t. I know to trust your impressions. I have seen you grow in confidence since I started homeschooling you, and I am so very proud of who you are. You are at your desk before I have had my coffee most mornings. You love learning. You love your birds, your room, your friends. You love life, passionately and unequivocally.

You are an organizer, and have a place for every treasure you possess. You actually love cleaning and cooking! I have no idea what I did to deserve you as a daughter, but I am glad I did it! I can’t believe a decade has passed since you were born. Boy, have we had adventures! We have also had our share of trying times, and despite my best efforts, I haven’t been able to shield you from disappointment and pain. Your ability to emerge from such astounds me. Keep it up, sweetheart. I know you will get to your destiny, and it shall be glorious. I will be right beside you, cheering you on.

Love, your very proud mum. xxx

City 2 Surf for a little boy named Archie

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Walking is magical! It is a free tonic for what ails you. I have walked through grief, depression, feeling lonely and lost. I have walked when I am happy, laughing with friends. Yesterday, I walked for a little boy called Archie. I met his beautiful mother at a kid’s party a while back, and adored her on site. I had never entered City 2 Surf before, although it was on my list of things to accomplish. When I saw that this mum was raising money for Bear Cottage, I had the incentive I needed.

We caught a hire bus from our town with the most wondrous group of people. Before we knew it, we were in the city, ready to go!

 

 

My daughter and I paced ourselves, after I realized that 14km is a long way, and it would be best not to peak in the first hour! We didn’t want to show anyone up! I was silly on heavy painkillers and had my trusty TENS machine stuck to my back. It was a thrill to walk the city streets and go through tunnels without the interference of cars. People took their jackets off and they were in piles, of which the homeless could look through for one their size. Sydney isn’t a cold metropolis; this was shown through many kindnesses I witnessed. Encouraging strangers and helping those who were struggling. We stopped to chat to enterprising kids on their lemonade stands and made a sneaky detour to a service station for chocolate!

Heartbreak Hill came into view, and my daughter chose to cartwheel through a large portion of it! When you started to slow, there were bands playing awesome music to get you back into the swing of it! Archie was never far from our thoughts, an angelic little boy with an infectious smile and chubby cheeks. He and his family had spent a lot of time at Bear Cottage, and they wanted to raise money for them, whilst paying tribute to their little boy.

 

 

We met so many amazing people, and the people of Sydney felt like a big family, rather than a large group of strangers. When we saw the finishing line, we squealed and hugged each other. It’s funny how you can cope with such a big walk, but when you cross the finish line, your legs feel like jelly! We stumbled into the Bandaged Bear tent, where we were fed and given refreshments. We met up with the rest of the team, and found that Archie’s mum had injured her leg. She was being so brave, in spite of the pain. She has a long history of being brave.

 

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It was an amazing experience, to be part of a team of beautiful people, and to finish what we started. “You can do anything!” I whispered to my daughter, “this proves it!” We had a bath filled with Epsom salts, and lit a candle for Archie last night. I am sure he carried everyone through. Donations are still open for a few weeks. If you would like to make a donation to Bear Cottage, you can do so here.

 

Raphaela’s Picks of the Week

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A parrot with a villainous cackle!

This is a heart-achingly real piece about how it feels to have difficulty with fertility.

I found this Cube Test fascinating.

This video, wow!

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Confessions of an introverted extrovert.

A gorgeous dog with a butterfly on it’s nose.

 

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Felting with The Magic Weave

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I had always loved felting, and longed to learn how to do it. It was one of those things you have a curiosity about, and throw on your bucket list. After twenty years of hankering, I finally had the opportunity to do something about it! There I was at the Gnome Convention in January,when I felt pulled toward a market stall, selling the most beautiful felt angels and castles. I got talking to the felt artist, Cristina, and she offered to come to my home to hold a workshop. I turned over her details many times, keeping the slip of paper on my desk. Life was busy as usual, and I became annoyed with myself as the weeks passed. I had to get over my mental block, and stop seeing holding a workshop as an indulgence. It’s silly, the limits we put on ourselves! I contacted Cristina, and a date was arranged.

Cristina and her partner, Frank, came early one Sunday morning, and I felt as though I had known them forever, such was the ease of our conversation. The other attendees arrived, and we began. We concentrated on wet felting. I felt the stress leave my body as I arranged felt onto a line of bubble wrap. There were no other thoughts, nor anything to do, other than gently playing with the fibers, in order to make them compliant to being styled. The ladies shared experiences and laughed as we rolled our precious bundles of wet felt.

It was a tremendous thrill to make something with our own hands! Hands which spend their days working, gardening, hugging, picking up after others, cleaning and generally being of service. Those hands were on their own time, and they were creating pretty and colorful felting! We shared stories, and our eyes welled up upon hearing Frank and Cristina’s  love story.

Cristina also showed us how to make flowers, balls and jewelry. It is the start of a beautiful friendship, and I am going to attend more of her workshops in the future. To see what all the excitement is about, visit Cristina’s Etsy shop.

I was able to take what I learned and show my daughter, much to Cristina’s delight. It is her dearest wish that her knowledge be passed on and the art of felting continue for a very long time. Seek out an artist at your local markets and adopt them! It is one of the best things I have ever done!

 

Christmas in July

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We have some English ex-pats as friends, and they invited us to Christmas in July celebrations. My mate Dianne loves Christmas, and couldn’t wait to revisit it at the halfway point in the year. Out came her glorious white Christmas tree and decorations. There was enough food to feed several families, and my daughter devoured five Yorkshire Puddings, declaring them a winner! The feeling around that table is one that I delight in, laughter, irreverence and warmth. Hilarity ensued when I found myself locked in the bathroom, unable to get out as the door handle was missing! They heard my little screams eventually!

There were games aplenty, which produced more laughter.

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Oh, and a snow fight indoors! It was eventually taken outside. I loved that the family couldn’t care less about the mess left behind. They were living in the moment, and it was great fun!

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These Brits mean business with their snow!

Santa even made an appearance, to everyone’s joy, and we were each given a gift, as a sort of incentive (bribe), to behave until December 25th.

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I feel overwhelmed that I was welcomed into this family’s celebration. They do real, they know that mess can be cleaned up, and that it is great fun to make! They play games and have fun. They laugh at guests who get locked in their bathroom. I adore them, and I love that Christmas can occur in July.

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25th July- The Magic and Mystery of Numbers

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I thought I was going to die on July 25th. It was not a destined date, rather a number shooting forth like a musical note from a crazed fiddle player. I was held against my will in a number seven apartment, on a number seven street. I fell at seven pm on the seventh day of the seventh hour on a date adding up to seven. I was in a new cycle of seven, according to numerology. I wasn’t at sixes and sevens’ only sevens! Out of curiosity, I investigated and believe that it must have meaning.

The other day, I visited a friend’s cafe and opened a delightful magazine, called Happinez. Can you believe, they had a story on July 25th? It is termed an Out of Time day. The old year ends the day before and the new year begins the day afterward. The Sun and Sirius are aligned on July 25th, which is why the date has relevance. Google it!

As much as I find all this research into the significance of numbers fascinating, July 25th also brings up memories. It is winter in Australia, and the nights can be bitterly cold. I recall I was dressed in white trousers and jumper. I never dress in white, and wonder why I had on this particular evening. Everything seemed to happen so quickly. Being jostled up the stairwell, trying to talk him down. Being choked into unconsciousness. The fall. The fall seemed to defy time as I understood it. Waking on the ground and having him attempt to finish me off.

Every year a feeling of discontent rises in me, particularly since I have become a parent. You see everything differently, including your own trauma. Memories re-emerge as winter chills my bones. The hand-woven blanket I had shaken to refresh, has now been pulled close to my body, cocooning me. Normally, I would retreat on July 25th. I have always felt the need to mark it in some manner. I have been back to the site, and left flowers. I have written that young girl poetry. I light candles and give thanks that I am here. I have been to dinners with my daughter and danced in celebration of having survived.

He brought me to that dark building with the intention of killing me. He had decided that I would not see July 26th. A cacophony of emotions rattle inside my soul. I need to hold the numinous creature I birthed close, and give thanks. I am so grateful that I got to grow up. I feel despair, rage and everything in between. So many surgeries. Hundreds of hours of physical therapy, body braces and casts, wheelchairs and Intensive Care Units. A lifetime of physical pain. Weakened lungs and renal system. A small fortune in medical bills. This is the legacy.

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It is also a day of defiance. It may have been marked as the day I would die, at all of fifteen  years of age, but I still got to decide the lightness of my being. I look back and am amazed at how brave I was. I was cheeky, with a serving of bravado on the side. He couldn’t take the ‘Raphiness’ out of me.

I was online recently, and saw tickets for the Helpmann Awards, Australia’s night to honor standouts in theatre. I promptly got tickets for my daughter and I. Tonight, as the clock strikes seven pm, I will remember the girl who fell. I will be celebrating theatre of another kind, the little girl from my dreams by my side.

  

No Need for Escape

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True, dat! Most of those I adore have toxic people and situations in their lives that they feel they have to endure. They are pleasant when they want to be assertive; indulge when they yearn to say “no.” It is frustrating, draining and exhausting. These extraneous demands take precious time from our lives; time we aren’t going to get back. You were built to progress, to keep moving. We aren’t built for stationary situations and toxic people. Why do we put up with so much? To get an occasional pat on the head and be told we have behaved according to expectation? So they won’t get angry?

I have lost several people in the past six years whom I adored. Some I expected to travel with my entire life. It is too short for nonsense, this life. How about we make up a list of those with whom our heart comes alive? How about we prepare a list of those with whom we recede into the shadows, deflated? What a difference, hey? How about we start to create a world with only those in the first list. How wondrous that would be! This is your precious life, and it goes so quickly. Too quickly to put up with nonsense. I want to take my next vacation for pleasure, not for escape.