Raphaela’s Companions-Nicci Peverill

August 28, 2014December 30, 2014 raphaela99Leave a comment

Nicci Peverill owns Cupcakes in Camden, and runs food tours via her site, Made in Macarthur As if those two endeavours aren’t enough, she is also a resident writer at In Macarthur Magazine She is a whimsical nature spirit, resplendent with colour and art, flowers and fairies. “Often my biggest risks turn into my biggest triumphs!” She was born across the ditch in Auckland, and came to Australia at 27. She moved into Camden three years ago, and everybody has fallen in love, both with Nicci and her cakes! She has degrees in psychology and zoology, and after having her gorgeous daughter Liv, she brought her small business to fruition. She did an inventory of all the equipment she would require, and then practiced and refined recipes. “If you are determined, and have a love for something, anything is possible!”
She has a love of nature, and bakes from her heart, using natural resources. She is a storyteller, and clients open up to her, knowing their hearts are safe. It isn’t just about cake, but rather building a story around this ancient tradition. There is an affiliation between life and baking “Every wedding story that I tell- every event that I bake for- I really try and capture the personality of the people, whether it’s through a colour or a flavour. Food and emotion go together and food brings people together. I try to make the cake interactive. It’s not just about putting cake on the table.” She loves experimenting with flavours, and is a gluten-free expert, baking for local gourmet haven, The Epicure Store

Persian Love Cake and Salted Caramel Brownie.

I asked what triggered Nicci’s love of baking. “My grandmother did loads of baking for her family. It’s always been a love of mine. I looked at the skills that I had, I was pretty determined!” I asked Nicci about how she unwinds, as one of the challenges of running a home business is that you are always accessible. “I have to be strict with myself. I do really simple things. Livi and I go on nature walks after school. We also escape Camden and travel to the city or Southern Highlands, normally outdoors and centred around food, shared with other people. Every morning, gear yourself up with a good attitude. You might not feel great each day, but it is how you conduct yourself. Life is not an easy thing. You need to look after yourself. I see a lot of people not doing that. I think it is the most important thing, as a woman operating in society with all its demands. We have to take time out to look after our wellbeing, physically and emotionally. Most of the time I am pretty good at doing that, but other times I have to remind myself. It is having that awareness there.” There is a family link to depression. Nicci’s father was a Vietnam Vet who came back from the conflict with deep depression. When he passed away, she went through a dark time. She forced herself to get out into the world, rather than retreat. “It’s the natural stuff which helped, exercise and friendships.” She has a very happy life today. “So many people get bogged down with everyday life. You see it and you want to tell them!”

What is your vision for the next year?
“There are some amazing people who have moved into the area. I think it’s really started to change Camden, and we are on the creative map! Growing my gluten-free baking range. I always want to be a small boutique operation where people can come and get an old-fashioned cake. I will continue to experiment!” I have no doubt this cake artiste shall do all this and more. I am honoured to have a friend of such generous spirit, wisdom, love and laughter in my life.

Revising Life.

August 12, 2014December 30, 2014 raphaela993 Comments

Robin Williams has left us. My friends and I are all in tears. Those that bring laughter and joy are usually the ones who battle in private. Acutely aware of not wanting to burden the people around them, they say little of their struggles. They keep busy, running several projects at the one time, spinning the plates with only two hands. Their social life looks full and one witnesses the happy snaps, reassured that your friend or family member has had a week of contentment. Busy, busy, busy. Loathe to stop and sit quietly with their thoughts. Running harder and faster, with a full calendar and mind. A fleeting sinking feeling might appear, and they acknowledge the hidden anger, grief, pain and sadness within their psyche. Who to tell? Everyone is so busy. Everyone has their own stuff. I have to keep it together. I don’t want to have my depression dismissed by platitudes. It wont help. When I was in the midst of grave depression, what did help was acknowledgement. A hug, and sharing a pot of tea. Going for a walk in the sunshine and talking to a friend. It is a tremendously brave thing to do, to share that you are in hell. So very brave.

One cannot keep depression at bay by running harder. You stumble, and the black dog awaits the fall. Maybe we need to have a revision of life, and how we do it. Simplify, go back to basics. Keep Sundays as a day of rest and of connecting. Give more hugs, be attuned to the subtle nuances of our other humans. Pare down the commitments and be with those who fill your heart. You can’t afford to be punctured, to leak as though you were a sieve. This is your life that is at stake. Anything and anyone that compounds the darkness, must go, at least for now. I regret that life is so difficult, and for some, too difficult. I have lost many loved ones to suicide. My heart still aches. If I could have breathed hope into them I would have. If you are suffering depression, and are dismissed by the first person you confide in, keep going. Go gently in this world, beautiful people. Too much activity is just as troubling as none. Balance. These are things I am learning. Robin, we love you. We cherish the legacy you left us. As I sit with my daughter in the years to come to watch your movies, I will tell her about you. Bless you always and ever, and our love to those whom you left on earth.

24 Hours

July 26, 2014December 30, 2014 raphaela993 Comments

Yesterday I woke up feeling ill. My specialist has put me on a new medication, and I know I have to give myself time to adjust. It was bitterly cold and the sky was grey. Someone had smeared the sky with charcoal. My stomach was distended as the endometriosis grew, fed by this new drug, which I need. “Look at the big picture, Raphie,” I urged. Always look at the big picture. I felt the urge to scream from the pain, and the desire to clean and discard. I did both. Why the hell do we keep the things we do? Old numbers on scraps of paper, old ways of being. I put an angel who had lost her wings into the pile of donations. I had stored my maternity clothes in a special drawer. I looked at them, and wondered why I had held on so long. My subconscious must surely have been seared every time I went past that drawer, even if I was unaware. As I washed up, I exhaled heavily. A burden had been lifted. I then heard the ‘snap’ of my spine as I was dragged along the ground after my fall. It was as distinct as though it were happening then and there. “Oh my God!” I cried, bursting into tears. I sat with the memory a while. I assured myself that it was natural to have events, sounds, smells and more clamour to the forefront on the anniversary. On White Ribbon Night.

After school pickup, a friend popped in. She hugged me, and said how sorry she was that today was “the day.” It meant the world to have it acknowledged. This lady knows all about “those days.” The pain ramped up, and I was in a holding pattern of agony, fevers and chills. There was to be a meeting of gentle souls around the corner that evening, and I determined that I would go. I didn’t want to be home with my memories. The hostess is a vegan, and she had made this delicious main meal.

We laughed and talked about foster kids, homelessness, travelling, art and beauty. We sipped coconut water and made sure room was saved for this.

I didn’t stay late, and I gave my gorgeous friend a tight hug and thanked her. My mind had been summoned to wondrous places, leaving that dark building on a winter’s night. The pain was softened by the graciousness of a nourishing meal and a room full of good people. I went home and hugged my little girl, smoothing her tendrils of honeyed hair. “May your world be markedly different, my darling.”

Celebration, Sorrow, Gratitude and Everything in Between.

July 24, 2014 raphaela99Leave a comment

On this day, and on this hour, almost two decades ago, I was being bustled into a car, my head pushed down. I felt the cessation of life as I understood it. An event out of my control was going to slap me hard, and I would fall to my knees. Today is the anniversary of my being kidnapped. The bitter cold always reminds me, before I acknowledge the date. It was so cold… Life inside the old hospital-where I neither belonged nor felt at home- was contracting in. Within a few hours, the large ward and long staircases were replaced by a tiny bedsit, bars on the sealed windows. A butterfly already held in a glass jar was having her wings pinched by tweezers. Pins were about to be put in.

Tomorrow heralds the night I fell. I couldn’t fly, as my wings were pinned down. “I am embarking on the last adventure,” I reassured myself when my pleading was ignored. “This bastard has merely sped up my departure by sixty or so years. God speed to you, kiddo!” He hated the bemused smirk which spread across my face. I was holding my own. He hadn’t taken my power. He had tortured me in every way possible for several months, day in and out, but he couldn’t take my spirit. I was terrified, but even as I acknowledged my fear of heights, of pain and death, I kept my own counsel. July 25th is White Ribbon Night. I will commemorate those I have lost to violence. I will celebrate survival and hug my little girl. I will be haunted by memories and recall what it felt like to have soft rain tap my face on the way to the Catscan machine the morning of the 26th. I wept and I smiled. It is possible to have great sorrow and great joy coursing through your body at the same time. There is nothing like the anniversary of your kidnapping and attempted murder to inspire both. If you see me over the next few days, I will be the wild creature hugging everyone and throwing back her head in laughter. I will be the sorrowful girl keeping her own counsel and shedding private tears. I am both, and that’s okay.
http://www.whiteribbon.org.au

Writing 101. Day Seventeen: Your Personality on the Page.

June 25, 2014 raphaela994 Comments

I have been recovering from pneumonia, and have missed quite a few days of the writing challenge. I tuned in today to be asked the question, what are you scared of? I was asked to address one of my worst fears. I don’t have a terror of dying, nor of public speaking. Snakes and spiders don’t scare me. Its heights. That is my Everest. I don’t have the gossamer wings I’ve always craved. I don’t even have invisible wings. In preschool, a group of children dared me to swing upside down (on my coaxing), from the monkey bars with no hands. This occurred back in the good old days of metal cubes soldered together over a pad of cement. None of that springy material as ground-cover. Sure enough, I soared head-first to the cement, and went splat. Concussion and a nose ripped open, requiring stitches. I decided heights weren’t for me.

I had nightmares for ten years about being thrown off a balcony… Then it happened. Even as I was in the experience of being set down on a ledge, I couldn’t quite believe it. It was an out-of-body experience. My nightmare was a reality. When I fell, time and space seemed to disappear and it took forever to hit the ground. I knew it was going to hurt and may well be fatal. Was the nightmare a precursor to this fated event? It seemed too coincidental. It was cruel to be spirited out of the world-siphoned away from your body- by an act that happened to be your worst fear. I survived, and of course, my fear of heights grew. Twice I have fallen and twice have been broken by the experience.

My fear was so great that I couldn’t venture past ground level at the Queen Victoria Building, nor of most places. Anywhere that had an open centre and a railing or balcony, well, I couldn’t do it. I am markedly better now. It has taken a long time. There are some places and experiences I will never allow myself to encounter, and I don’t need to. I have nothing to prove. Walking up a staircase after having been jostled up one, going up an escalator, and walking anywhere near a balcony is triumph enough. I am a nervous flyer. My child squeezes my hand, and bless her, talks me through it. Its the take-off and landing which scares me. When we ascend and are in the clouds, I relax. There is nothing to fear up here. I am embraced by clouds, and can relax, the fine opaque film reassuring me. I am above it all now. Concerns, terrors and nightmares.

I have a daughter who adores climbing. I watch her at gymnastics, climbing up the rope, all the way to the ceiling. I attended a playgroup party at a softplay centre when she was three. I heard a little voice call out “look at me!” I looked up to see my child waving. She had crawled through three levels, found a gaping hole in the mesh, and had pulled herself through it. She was now standing on top, with nothing around her. “Stay still! Mummy is coming!” I called, in my best sing-song voice. My heart thudded as I made my way through the hellish levels of toddler fun. She thought it was hilarious, and I needed a stiff drink. Somehow we survived the experience. Its amazing what you can do when adrenaline kicks in. I have gotten used to seeing her climb at every opportunity. I may not have wings, but will do everything in my power to ensure whatever I have ever been through holds no tool that could clip hers.

It Will Get Better

June 13, 2014June 13, 2014 raphaela99Leave a comment

I am recovering from pneumonia, and per chance, had a brand new book to read. It piqued my interest when I read the title, promising, It Will Get Better.

It has been a challenging year, and I accidentally (oops), put a dear little boy guinea pig in with five little girls. The result being that I have been kept rather busy throughout my convalescence. I finished Stella Gibney’s book in a night. Stella, you and I would be great friends if we met in person. If I can be half the lady you are, I will be happy. In some respects, I am at the beginning of a journey, and your book has become my guide. I am humbled and I thankyou. You are a survivor, a heroine, and have given me light. Thankyou Stella Gibney. It will get better, kids! Stella has declared it thus.

Winter.

June 2, 2014December 30, 2014 raphaela99Leave a comment

Winter, it’s here again. Yesterday heralded the changing seasons, brutally and abruptly. The sky was grey, and morning and dusk were shrouded in a fog. The rain poured down, and the wind was icy. No easing into this season. The green and vibrancy of the garden receded and everything appears to be withering in preparation for death. Before I was abducted all those years ago, when my home was a mouldy old icebox of a room, I recall climbing under the grey blanket, pulling it up to my chin, and hugging my knees to keep warm. I remember the cold. The sort that gets into your marrow. I was so cold in the months leading up to the lightning strike. When I woke on the ground, I was shaking from being utterly exposed. I have never liked winter, and as a child would get as close as I could to our gas heater. I remember the delicious comfort when I was wrapped in foil by the paramedics to entice heat into my broken body. Since my fall, I have dreaded winter. Not only for the abysmal memories, but for the ramping up of my physical pain. Spinal arthritis doesn’t take too kindly to frosty mornings.

The anniversary is coming up, and strangely, I will rejoice. Rejoice that I am here, and my book was published. After this watershed, I will celebrate my daughter’s birthday. She was born in winter. The only event of beauty throughout my life’s winter’s. Her birth has replaced the scarred, knarred horrors. She was born at the tail end of winter, and heralded the arrival of spring, of birds nesting and flowers in bloom. I will go for walks in a coat and hat, make soup and celebrate the best of this season. Time brings healing. I know that winter won’t trumpet the end of my life, as I once feared. I wish I could reach through time and space and tell that young girl.

My Spine, Part 2.

May 29, 2014 raphaela991 Comment

When I broke my spine again, I had a small child to look after. I should have been on bed rest, followed by bracing and possibly in a plaster jacket as well. When driving, I would psyche myself to go through a roundabout, as the pain would make me scream when I turned the wheel. Once a week my daughter would go to occasional care, and I would crawl back into bed. ABC kids was a godsend in the months that followed. I had to take heavy-duty painkillers, and relied on buses to ferry us about as driving was out for the most part. My daughter and I danced in a coordinated manner, and she would help me in so many ways. It made our bond stronger, and she reflected the enormous pride she felt in assisting me. I could either sink or swim, and my child kept me buoyant. Pneumonia followed, as I couldn’t breathe from the base of my lungs. Home Care sent a dear soul to clean up my house once a week. I looked out the front window, and saw an elderly lady struggling up the three steps to the front door. She would groan, trying to vacuum and wince when she mopped. We ended up having cups of tea on her visits, she regaling me with stories of days gone by. I couldn’t put her to work!

My local neurosurgeon says that he cant operate for pain relief, as it simply wouldn’t help. When structurally I am unable to walk, or breathe, then we will go in. He encouraged me on my last visit, telling me I am doing a good job. I have to keep moving, and exercise every day. Whether it be a walk, swim or visit to the gym, it helps. I feel connected to a body I spend quite a bit of time attempting to escape. I do weights, and work out on the cross trainer, as it doesn’t provoke agony afterward. A scientist friend put me onto Zen Spray by Martin and Pleasance after I broke my back again. I find it helpful, and it can be used on fracture sites. I have a lumbar brace, which holds me together and provides some comfort. I use a walking stick, as without it, I fall over, particularly when tired. I have learnt not to compare my days with others. Anything accomplished, whether it be sitting at my desk, or pegging up washing, is a triumph. I take medication to help with the pain at night so I can catch a few hours sleep, and if I have a busy day coming up, I have to plan for it. That means resting before and after, just laying flat, and pain killers. I have a TENS machine, which I use frequently, and wintergreen oil helps soothe the arthritis.

I will be trialling new hormones to compensate the bone loss in the next few months, and seeing my neurosurgeon at St Vincent’s. I feel blessed. When I suffered the breaks through the thoracic region, my right arm couldn’t be lifted high, and I suffered constant tingling. It is somewhat better, enough that I can write and grip things. Positive self-talk is a must for the mornings I crawl to the bathroom. “You can do this!” I insist. When I am out and the pain ramps up, I work out how much longer I have to be upright before I can rest. Funnily, it helps. “Almost there!”

One wrong move, or carrying too much weight, and I can feel (and hear), the scaffolding go. I have come home from grocery shopping in agony, which nothing tempers. Relaxation music and meditative cds are a blessing as I try to escape the pain at night. Bowen therapy has also been a help when the pain isn’t acute. It is worth trying to maintain your mobility and limit the daily pain. I know what it is like to feel helpless, to have pain drag you down. I know what it is like to feel isolated, removed from the wonderful things going on outside you. Be kind to yourself, surrender when you need to, and do something that shall help you feel good. It is a mental battle, living with pain. Be your best advocate.

My Spine.

May 28, 2014 raphaela99Leave a comment

Since my back was broken in the fall at fifteen years of age, I have had almost twenty years of intense pain. Operations, grafts, casts, hardware, braces, physio…I have endured pain that I never would have imagined. I lead a ridiculously full life in spite of it all. At fifteen, I had a hip graft and Harstshill rectangle wired in. The next year, the hardware was taken out as it had slipped out of place. At seventeen, I had operations to save my life, as my spine had collapsed, crushing my stomach, heart and lungs. At twenty, I had surgery to remove the rods screwed alongside my spine. Nobody knew how I would cope or be able to hold myself up without them.

I had further surgeries to shrink the three remaining discs after they bulged out. I went through pregnancy with metal filings and chunks of bone lodged in my spinal canal (too risky to remove), and a spine made out of old hip and rib grafts, fused from the thoracic region down. I would have endured hell itself to have this child. I went to the physio department of my local hospital regularly, and did hydrotherapy daily. Some days, the pain was disabling, and I was in a wheelchair toward the end of my pregnancy. I developed gestational diabetes and had to inject insulin, and when I went into labour, my sugar levels were uncontrolled. The obstetrician couldn’t risk a general anaesthetic, and we had to chance administering a spinal anaesthetic. I was warned that there was a risk I could be permanently paralysed, and they only had one opportunity to get it in place. I breathed deeply and didn’t move an inch, and it worked!

Throughout the next year, my spine was weaker, and as my oestrogen levels dropped-the result of medication I was taking for endometriosis- my bones weakened. I slipped over when my daughter was two, and heard a frightful snap in my back. The pain was so intense, I could hardly breathe. With no-one else around, I had to pick myself up, and take the stroller back to my car. I drove home, knowing that I had broken my spine. I certainly had, from T10-T12. For those who have injured their backs, the following will make sense to you. In my MRI report, it stated, “At C5/6 there is arthrosis bilaterally, contributing to foraminal narrowing on the right (foramina are channels where nerve roots exit the spinal cord). At C6/7 posterior broad based disc osteophyte (bone spur), protrusion is seen. In the thoracic spine, there is anterior wedging of T7 vertebral body with approximately 30% loss of height anteriorly. Subchondral bruise related to the left T6 costovertebral junction, being degenerate in nature. In the lumbar spine, posterior step deformity of L2 relative to L1 remains. Disc dessication (dried up discs), are present at L5/S1. At L4/5, there is a degree of facet arthropathy of the large ligament in back. L3/4 there is again arthropathy associated with scar tissue related to previous laminectomy, involving much of the upper lumbar spine. At L2/3 the facet arthropathy indents the posterior aspect of thecal sac (the membrane surrounding the spinal cord).”

The report above was tabled almost five years ago. Things have gotten worse. Being in early menopause has made the pain more intense and my bones more fragile. An attempted murder half a lifetime ago, and I deal with the aftermath daily. I can handle the pain, but what hurts is not being able to go horse riding with my daughter, nor skating, nor cycling. If I fell over, the damage would be catastrophic. How do I cope, and what have I learnt? I will tell you in my next blog piece.

I Am Thankful.

May 19, 2014June 26, 2014 raphaela99Leave a comment

I am thankful on this gorgeous autumn day.

Firstly, for this little fellow. His name is Bristem and I found him at a fete for $3.00 on Saturday! Handmade in Nundle, he is the inventor of new games for the elderly to play in ‘Elador.’ He waits patiently for a friend to come by and see if he enjoyed his new card game. Wouldn’t it be lovely if folks that invented games for our lives had Bristem’s good intent and his friendly features? A girl can dream!

I am also thankful for tie-dyed doilies. Where have you been all my life?!

Also, tiny fairy doors, leading to magical portals of splendour. We all need to escape now and then! The news is filled with stories of truth being released from hidden corners; people finally granted the peace which being heard conspires. The survivors of Robert Hughes, and now Parramatta Girls Home… I hope they find a friend like Bristem, devising fun games to take them away from the memories. To have the colour come back to their lives, as bright as my new doily. To have a means of escape as handy as my little fairy door. Most of all, I hope they have a new beginning. I am thankful that they held on. I am thankful for their bravery and stoicism. I adore living in a world with these souls.