Party Plans

May 24, 2015 raphaela994 Comments

I had never attended a soiree/party-plan before I had a child. It might have had something to do with my being a hermit, but still… When my daughter was a baby, I received my first invitation, to a Tupperware demonstration. I grumbled and was cynical and quite frankly, a bit afraid. The demonstrator and I clicked, and she has become one of my dearest friends. She wasn’t pushy, and treated it as a bit of fun. I had no spare funds, so her benevolence was appreciated! Over the years, I have attended underwear, candle, jewellery, linen,makeup, body care, craft and many other parties. The invitations keep on coming. This past month, I have been invited to six candle parties. I can’t keep up, and therein lies the problem.

“You don’t have to buy anything.” You hear this when you say you are short of funds. However, I have heard women criticizing other ladies for having the nerve to attend their party without forking out cash. “You can browse through the catalogue online if you can’t attend.” The reason I am not attending is that I have no spare cash! It can be a minefield. I am cautious if I haven’t seen a person for a very long time and an invitation comes with an agenda. If I wanted a product, I would save for it and go out and get it without a party. Home schooling my child, these products now come with a debate in my head. ‘I could get a candle, or my child could attend a science workshop for a day with money left over….’ ‘I could get mascara or she could attend a term’s art sessions at the gallery.’ When I shop, I look for value above all else. I think most of us do. In my heart of hearts, I think giving girlfriends food and wine and giggles, then expecting them to make decisions on a whim is a little exploitative.

Then there is the ‘what did you order?’ question when you are looking through the catalogue. I usually try to find the cheapest thing in there. I am the proud owner of a useless potato masher (sold by a demonstrator who shrilly told me to ‘shoosh’ as I was trying to talk to a friend and she was eager to start her demo), useless kitchen items and dodgy products.

I wanted to be liked, approved of, and so I ordered more than I could comfortably afford in the past. I have put my hand up to host a party to help out my hostess. I received a round of applause and felt adored. Then reality hit. It is bloody hard work to host one of these parties. A thorough house clean, the buying of food and plonk, the catering… People would cancel at the last moment or simply not respond (I didn’t blame them). I have a tiny house, and am not confrontational so people knew I would understand. Awkward doesn’t cut it when describing a demo with less than six people in attendance. I have been quizzed by the demonstrator as to when the rest of the people would arrive. So, I spent more than I should at my own party- to make up for it out of guilt- on things I hadn’t needed a day ago. Often the people who I had helped out by hosting my own party were no-shows.

There are so many of them these days, it is dizzying. People only have so much time and money. I will go to something I am curious about or believe in, but I wont go to them all, not anymore. That is not real. I have only hosted three parties and I felt uncomfortable each time. I didn’t want my friends to feel that they needed to buy anything in order to see me. I didn’t want them to spend more than they had. I have a ‘no party plan’ policy now, and refuse to host. Please don’t be offended if your friend doesn’t want to attend your party. She is probably struggling with her budget as it is. She is being sensible. She is being honest and she would love to catch up with you without being sold anything. It is another expense, that some families can’t afford. Please be mindful. I think party plans have their merit, but when one is being hit each day with an invite, one has to politely decline.

Grief and Homecoming (Part 2)

May 18, 2015May 18, 2015 raphaela99Leave a comment

A woman with auburn hair was walking in front of me. She was holding the hand of a little boy. For a moment, I thought it was you… I kept seeing you everywhere. In the shops, in the park. You can’t be gone! The horrible realization struck me afresh.

You should be living in Balmain with your boys, your heart condition carefully monitored. I should be preparing to meet up with you, to share a meal for your birthday. The tears came as I sat in the park. Grief absolutely flattens you, like a tidal wave. It was a physical pain, so much so that I felt winded. What sets it off on any given day is a mystery. I went from weeping to laughter when I recalled you telling me about a party your eldest had attended. He was going to a religious preschool at five, and upon seeing the procession of fairies alighting from cars outside the venue, he hollered, “oh no! Not another #$%^&*# fairy party!” You were aghast, as all the mums heard him, though laughed uncontrollably on the retelling. Wiping my eyes, I went to get my daughter.

I was bemused to receive her worksheets. She had felt sorry for Dr Karl, as he didn’t have much hair, so she thought she would style him. She asked a lot of questions about guinea pigs which he answered concisely. When I asked why she had focused on guinea’s, she replied huffily, “they are a biology topic!” I took her for lemon gelato, and then she climbed trees in the main street.

We went home, and I received a message from Serena’s mum. She had sourced a Japanese Cherry tree. It became extinct in Japan and one specimen was found in an English garden in West Sussex. It was propagated from that tree (many more are now back in Japan due to this one specimen). Serena’s family were going to plant it tonight, and scatter her ashes around it. Serena was a world citizen and ardent traveller. She would have loved this. I looked through old photos, and lit a candle for my friend.

You said in your school yearbook that you wanted to be remembered for as long as possible. Oh darling, you shall be. Until we meet again, happy birthday Serena. I hope you can hear me sing to you.

Grief and Homecoming

May 16, 2015May 17, 2015 raphaela994 Comments

11225864_963162780384234_420360280_n — Today was your birthday

The 15th May was your birthday, Serena. You would have turned 41. This time last year, I was wrapping your gift, and my daughter was writing in your 40th birthday card. Tonight, we were getting ready to take you out for dinner with the kids. There was no indication that you were sick at all. Six months later, you were gone. I wish I had told you how much I loved you, how valued you were. I hope you knew. What would we do differently if we had known? I was grateful that my daughter had a science workshop. It meant getting up early, and taking a train and bus to Balmain. It meant escaping.

We had breakfast in a dear little café.

I had wilted spinach and mushrooms on sourdough bread. It was spectacular. Serena, you loved Balmain. You loved the city. I took my daughter to her workshop, run by a wondrous educator called Luisa. Dr Karl Kruszelnicki was going to answer the kid’s pressing questions. My daughter gave me this look, as she ushered me out.

I was left to wander the streets of Rozelle and Balmain. It is such a happy place, filled with beloved dogs, families, musicians and art. When I was eighteen, I lived here, in an old stable. I lived close to the wharf, and remembered my first home fondly. There I was, living in a stable, and my landlord was named Moses. I wondered what it was like now? I walked down Darling St, until I came to the series of stables.

11253828_963042190396293_403813207_n — A beautiful idea for the base of a tree in Rozelle.

I moved one cold winter night into Balmain, and our neighbours greeted me the next morning with coffee and toast. They leant me furniture, and were so very thoughtful. I shuddered when I thought of the neighbour who had died after I moved out. She had been sitting up in bed, playing a computer game, when a person unknown had shot her through the window. I was devastated when I learnt of her passing. She had loved Balmain, been there all her life. She was her husband’s sweetheart, and he unabashedly told everyone he met. Grief, there it was again. Sorrow as I looked at the home in front of the stables, where she had lived for twenty years in a quiet street in a leafy suburb. She left a lasting impression with her kindness and warmth. I have told my daughter about you. Another neighbour, Sid, had hidden about ten wild cats in his stable, despite the fact we weren’t allowed pets. He gave me a television set he had fixed up because I was kind to his felines.

I wondered why I had ever left this gorgeous place. It still feels like home. I was uncovering parts of myself when I lived here, my fingernails cracked and dirty after digging through shattered fragments of my psyche. I remembered when I sat in the park, elated, after having gone to the shops by myself. It was a very big deal. Living in this little village had made me brave. I walked for hours, up and down Darling St, and through laneways groaning with greenery and flowers. I was trying to escape the heaviness in my chest. I knew it was only a matter of time before the heavy clouds released their burden.

Controversy

May 13, 2015May 15, 2015 raphaela992 Comments

You want to know what the most controversial post I put on Facebook was? It may surprise you to know that it wasn’t about religion, politics nor mothering. It was about…Punch bowls! I will give you a moment to digest that.

I found a marvellous photo on Pinterest about how to repurpose your old punch bowls, seeing as they rarely get used these days. Turn ’em into birdbaths! Brilliant! I excitedly shared this idea, only to be shouted down. “I would never do such a thing to a family heirloom! How dare you!” I was astonished by the replies. When I scrolled back to my post, there was a vigorous debate going on. I was fascinated, and thought about the storm whirring above my head. I came to the conclusion that the reaction wasn’t really about punch bowls. That would be silly. It was about stress and pressure and exhaustion. Misplaced cries carried in the wind.

Remember the grief after Princess Diana died? There were people weeping in the streets, inconsolable. The grief was certainly for her and her boys, but also for the individual person. The tears that they hadn’t been able to spill prior over the loss of loved ones… It gave people permission to console, reach out and sob. Now we have the internet, we have thousands of tunnels into the deep recesses of our minds. Anger, fear, grief and sorrow are syphoned out into the light. It isn’t just about punch bowls. When somebody becomes outraged at a seemingly innocuous post, remind yourself of that. Tread gently, with compassion.

I became a model

May 12, 2015May 13, 2015 raphaela995 Comments

I was asked to model at a Pink Lipstick function to benefit the excellent Mater Dei School. The clothes were exquisite, from a darling little shop called Sarita’s, A Collective Emporium. I immediately said “yes!” I then freaked out for about five minutes. The usual suspects of intruding thoughts rapped on my head. “Oi you! How very dare you think you can be a model! You are a short old boiler with a limp and cane! Sure, you eat your veggies (we know you are a vegetarian, duh), but you also drink wine, eat chocolate and have a penchant for salt and vinegar chips! How very dare you!” I told the usual suspects to bugger off. I was doing it.

11216328_958944317472747_1157159951_n — Salt and vinegar chips

My daughter cheered at the rehearsal, enthralled and proud of her mum. If I want to set a good example for her, I have to live it, and not let silly thoughts dampen my life. The day came, and I went to the function centre with a fellow model.

11245167_960511850649327_1163865281_n — Sharon’s Photography

The Green Room was filled with women of all shapes and ages. They all looked glorious. They were all celebrated. I felt myself tearing up when they walked onto the stage to rapturous applause. I was on three times. I tripped over at first, then got confused and instead of scooting around to the back of the stage, I ended up in the kitchen! Flustered, I eventually found my way. I had my own fan club in the audience, and was met with hollers of “go Raphie!” I didn’t know where to look, so did the model thing of gazing into the distance intently.

It was nerve-wracking, and a great deal of fun combined. I had to get over myself; celebrate who I am and the gorgeous hats, vests and cardigans I had been clothed in. It’s as easy and as hard as that. Nobody was commenting that I had a cheek, being on the stage. The critics weren’t shouting ‘how very dare she!’ So what if they were? It shouldn’t affect me, nor alter my world in the slightest. If I want my daughter to walk with her shoulders back and head raised, I need to lead the way. Even if it means leaving a trail of chips.

A Food Tour

May 12, 2015May 12, 2015 raphaela993 Comments

My friend Nicci organized a Foodie Road Trip. I climbed aboard the bus with eighteen other ladies and our very patient driver. Our first stop was Eveleigh Markets at Carriage Works. It was sensory overload! You have to do a circuit of the market before honing in on individual stalls. There was a party atmosphere with music and puppies with woollen jackets. Great value and the variety was wondrous. Tables and chairs are assembled in the centre, so you can stop for breakfast.

Our next stop was Salt Meats Cheese at Alexandria. We were to take part in a three course Italian Cucina Regionale class and lunch. We explored the foods of Calabria. My being vegetarian posed no problem for our instructors, Manuela and Sarah. We were regaled as Manuela told us stories of raising her own family, and the feasts she would create. Making pasta from scratch is indeed therapeutic and I was delighted that the Maltagliati (badly cut pasta), was meant to be badly-shaped! We devoured the antipasto before beginning on the pasta, mine flavoured with chicory and cherry tomatoes. It was as good as it looks.

The sound of laughter on a drizzling Saturday afternoon was magical, as we imbibed in rich red wine and light white’s. It reinforced that this is how weekends were meant to be spent. Enjoyed with people you love, making food from scratch and lingering around the dining table. We shared dreams and fears, lives and bread. Nobody was in a hurry. Manuela and Sarah were lovely, even gifting us recipe sheets so we could attempt to recreate this wondrous meal.

Afterward, we went down the street to Vicinity Bar and Dining. Nicci and I had an English Garden cocktail, the taste subtle and delicious. A delightful end to a beautiful day.

Mothers Day, 2015

May 10, 2015May 10, 2015 raphaela992 Comments

I met Serena when my daughter was a year old, and we always did Mothers Day together. When the Mothers Day Classic hit our town four years ago, we walked the track side by side. She was the first to bow her head and reflect when the minute of silence began. She was there last year, and now she is not. I saw her boys yesterday. Oh darling, they are growing up. They are being cared for and loved. I wish you were here. I always felt like I didn’t belong when it came to Mothers Day. Ten years of infertility and no family will do that. You helped me find my place. We would go to a local historical farm after the walk, eating gozleme, patting the horses and watching the kids on the rides. I would hug you and whisper ‘Happy Mothers Day.’ You were a superb mother, tending not only to your own children, but taking a real interest in your school and the kids therein. You were there more than you were at home. I hugged your little boys yesterday, talked to them and looked at pictures of what they have been up to. I still can’t believe you aren’t here. This morning, my little girl ran into the bedroom with gifts, cards and art. Expressions of love. My heart was with you. If I could have given you a piece of my heart so you could be here today, I would have. In a heartbeat.

My daughter's art work — My daughter’s art work

I had my coffee and my little girl and I went to the Mother’s Day Classic. I was expecting to see you, and was bereft when you didn’t show. I kept seeing you everywhere. My beautiful friend Di, is undergoing chemo at the moment, and her little boy is unwell. She so wanted to do the walk this morning. We walked for the pair of you. Two girls from the UK, who made your home in Sydney. Serena, you loved this place more than most Aussies do, and I certainly know Di does. The sunshine means more to you, as does the scenery. You can become jaded when viewing the Opera House and Harbor every week of your life. You become spoilt. We bagged a medal for you both.

Afterward, we tried to get into the farm for our traditional lunch, but the crowd was crazy! Instead, we went to a takeaway, and got potato scallops and pineapple fritters covered with cinnamon. Now, I am going to light a candle for you and Di. I will also light a candle for all those separated by death from their children; for those with sick children and those whom are undergoing cancer treatment. For those who are single mums, and those removed from their own. You are all remembered today.

Here’s to mothers, aunts and females. You matter, you always will.

Breathing

May 6, 2015May 6, 2015 raphaela993 Comments

I woke up last week, battling to breathe. I have had struggles with my lungs in the past, to the point where I have suffered respiratory arrest. Of course, this didn’t stop me smoking unfiltered Turkish cigarettes as a youngster, a fact that now makes me cringe. The damage that my spine has suffered has compromised my breathing, so if I catch a virus, I feel it ferociously. A doctor who administers Botox on the side was able to see me, his secretary pulling faces as he repeated orders that she had already seen to. He had forgotten that she can pre-empt his every move. He is a raconteur, a larger-than-life medico. He was straight onto what needed to be done to help me breathe.

I started on my steroids and various medications, unable to lift my head from the pillow. My little girl put the washing out, fed me and schooled herself, using online resources. I was drenched in sweat from my fever, and drifted in and out of disjointed, fitful sleeps. A dear friend who is undergoing chemotherapy brought around soup and rolls. “I think it was Auntie Di,” my little girl said as she brought in my lunch. “She had a scarf over her face.” I was so glad she did! The next day, another friend left a bag at the back door. This lady is a single mum, and not well herself. To have friends call around when they are going through tough times themselves…A little girl called Blossie popped in with her mum to visit, and word of my pneumonia even hit the street. We found a little doll and card lovingly placed in our letterbox, overflowing with a local character’s best wishes. People offered to help in any way they could. It meant so much. To know people cared, and we weren’t alone. I am overjoyed that my daughter is able to see such striking examples of kindness. I could have got worse, and needed to be in hospital, and the assurance that friends were nearby helped alleviate a great deal of worry.

A container of soup is much more than it’s ingredients. It’s the energy of love, comfort and support. It says that you care, and want to nourish your loved one. Thankyou to my beautiful friends for being there. It’s back to the real world this week, and though I still feel weak, I am bolstered by the kindness shown. At this stage, my doctors won’t operate to provide pain relief to my spine, as it simply wouldn’t help. It is only when mechanically I need to be rebuilt so I can breathe easier that they will go in. I just need to get through winter, and then I will be okay for another year. I reckon I can do it! I have been reminded that I am not doing it alone.

Creative Blogger Award

April 26, 2015 raphaela994 Comments

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

April 24, 2015 raphaela992 Comments

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.