Mothers Day, 2015

10355883_961040250596487_1439389964313407644_n 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
T2 Tea
T2 Tea
Pyjamas
Pyjamas

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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.

Your medal
Your medal

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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.

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

Spoons

Usually I am okay with the delegation of my spoons. You know, the ones those with relentless pain are given each day? You only get a few, so need to use them wisely. My daughter has started a program in the theatre. She absolutely loves it, and it has been a pleasure to transport her there. The other day though, I was still recovering from the pneumonia. Several nights of relentless coughing had made my spine excruciating, and my chest burnt. When one is running out of spoons, the promise of rest, of laying supine is tantalizing. ‘Ten minutes walk to the station, then an hour on the train. Once you round the corner to home, you can rest,’ I promised myself. Ha! There was a work vehicle outside, and a fellow cutting up steel. Yes, tonight is a splendid night to do several hours of building work, whilst your dog barks incessantly and your whole family hollers a metre or so from my home.

I am usually a considered person, not prone to losing the plot, but this particular night I did. It wasn’t much on the angry scale, but for me (who hates confrontation), it was spectacular! The pain escalated, and the noise was phenomenal. Now when one has no spoons left, one can get a bit beside oneself. I drank red wine, and turned up my stereo. I played Sam Smith at full volume. I paced. Pain makes one agitated. The only thing that helps me is silence and rest. I went through my list of strategies. Hot bath, liniments, Tens Machine, brace, etc. It has taken me a few days to gather more spoons. Every event has to have a break in between, each outing meticulously planned. Sometimes the best strategies can be brought down by the actions of others. The good news is I survived, and the noisy people have been introduced to Sam Smith, Indie Artists, The Old Married Couple and many more. Don’t mess with an overtaxed lady who is in excruciating pain! They were very fortunate that I was restrained and didn’t shove my collection of rusty and warped old spoons where the sun doesn’t shine!

Breathing

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.

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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.

Liebster Award

 

 

 

 

 

Liebster-Award-Discover-New-Blogs

The wonderful Jose Finemk has nominated me for the Leibster Award. Since I started my blog, I have been overwhelmed at the kindness and friendship shown in the blogging realm.

The Rules.

Thank the blogger who nominated you & answer their questions.

Think of 10 new questions and nominate other bloggers you would like to know more about.

Here are my answers to the questions asked.

1. What is the best photograph you took whilst travelling?

I have a few. Mostly they are of my daughter. Travelling with a fresh pair of eyes incites wonder and a thrilling sense of awe.

 

Making wishes for peace at Crystal Castle
Making wishes for peace at Crystal Castle

 

2. Where would you like to travel that you have never been before?

My soul is calling out for me to travel to London, Paris and New York. I have many wondrous places on my list!

3. Describe your blog in 5 words.

Love, survival, hope, colour and whimsy.

4. If you could speak a language fluently, what would it be?

Definitely Spanish. Such an expressive language!

5. What was the most surprising element of a travel experience? Something you did not expect?

The lightness of my being. There was something freeing about having only the essentials in a little suitcase and feeling okay with it.

6. What were your funniest moments of a journey/time in a new country?

My adult life thus far has been about rebuilding my body, and it has been an expensive endeavour! I haven’t travelled as much as I would have liked, but that is set to change! The furthest I have been is QLD and Adelaide!

7. What do you bring home after a journey?

Precious memories, clothes, jewellery and trinkets.

8. Camping, hostel or hotel? What do you prefer?

As long as I am having an adventure, I don’t mind!

9. Did you see an animal which you did not know of before? If so, which?

I have adored animals my entire life, and am familiar with many. My daughter and I did love seeing these little guys running about Currumbin Sanctuary, pinching food every chance they got!

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10. What’s your favourite colour?

All the colours of the rainbow!

It gives me pleasure to nominate the following:

Just a Thought

Afternoon of Sundries

Poetsmith

 Curving Towards the Centre

Kazblah

My 10 questions to these bloggers:

1. What would you most like to accomplish in 2015?

2. What is your favourite food?

3. What is your favourite colour?

4. What tv shows do you enjoy?

5. Favourite film?

6. Favourite way to relax?

7. Favourite Animal?

8. Favourite item of clothing.

9. Favourite book.

10. Where would you like to be in ten year’s time?

 

Redemption

I know quite a bit about addiction. I have had experiences with it, seen people I love go through it. Some survived, others did not. I loathe drugs. I would love my daughter to live in a world without illicit drugs. Ten years ago, two young men were picked up and arrested in Bali. In the early hours of this morning, they were executed. Monday night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of this, their last full night on earth. When you know the end is coming, and when, those hours must have stretched. Their homes in Sydney were not far from where I grew up, their high school nearby. Throughout the past decade, they have touched many lives, and have changed countless prisoners’ hearts. I was feeling quite sick last night, and couldn’t attend the vigil in Martin Place, a source of immense frustration. I wanted-needed-to be there, amongst others who regard the sanctity of life. I slept fitfully and as dawn broke, news came of their execution. I couldn’t breathe. By noon I was diagnosed with pneumonia. With a heavy heart and heavy lungs, I offered up prayers for these two men and their families. At the end, only an artist and a minister  faced the firing squad. They had long ago transcended being prisoners on death row. Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran, you will be remembered. Your redemption will be referred to in the coming difficult days and weeks.

My daughter’s Godfather posted the following, the words and sentiment perfect and heartfelt.

http://www.billcrews.com.au/index.php/2015/04/29/chan-sukumaran-death-what-we-can-learn-from-all-of-this/

Creative Blogger Award

 

 

creative-blogger-award

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

I am humbled and delighted. Here are the rules.

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

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

Share five facts about yourself to your readers.

Facts about me:

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

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

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

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

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

The Blogs I Nominate for the Creative Blogger Award

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

Ever Upward This lady’s story is so important.

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

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

Holistic Wayfarer Beautifully written.

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

The Breakfast Drama Queen She is the Queen of breakfasts!

Edwina’s Episodes Love this lady!

Come Fly with me Thoughtful and Sensitive.

Vashti Quiroz-Vega’s Blog Delightful lady.

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

Good Woman Heartfelt wisdom and Beauty.

Fourth Generation Farm Girl Just Beautiful.

Breathing Life Supportive and Creative.

The Showcase Bless this beautiful soul.

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

Home Made Naturally Exquisite.

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Making Time

My friend's yurt.
My friend’s yurt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Beach They Called Gallipoli

I shared a special moment with my daughter this morning. I bought her a copy of The Beach They Called Gallipoli by Jackie French and Bruce Whatley last night, and we sat down together to read it. Before we began, I commented on how young the soldiers were. “They were mostly boys,” she replied sadly. She talked about the nurses who served and comforted, and the power of crimson poppies to represent the sacrifice of the ANZACS. It was a challenge, trying to explain war when I don’t understand it myself. It was easier to highlight sacrifice and outstanding courage. “I want to go to the dawn service on ANZAC DAY,” she said. “Me too,” I replied. It is a beautiful book, published on this, the centenary.

Letting Go and the Art of Surrendering

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

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

Self-Acceptance

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I have had my weight remarked on twice in the past week. “Have you lost weight? You look like you have.” It was meant to commend me, most likely on an imaginary stringent diet and ruthless exercise regime. It had the opposite effect. Was I considered overweight before? Not as acceptable? My weight is like the tide, it fluctuates. I don’t weigh myself, nor focus on my weight. I couldn’t give a flying fig, frankly. I need to walk and do weight’s to combat insulin resistance and fragile bones. That is all.

I am a busy lady, and any available head space is filled with other concerns. I think of my friend with liver disease, who is doing everything in her power to keep well. The friend undergoing chemotherapy. So many friends enduring pain and illness. I think of friendship and shared meals and toasting with a good drop of wine. Weight is rarely stable for anyone. Surgery, illness, puberty, pregnancy, infertility treatments, menopause and a perfect storm of endocrine issues sees to that. My aim is to live and do it well. I remember being an adolescent, and feeling empowered by how underweight I was. Filling myself with water before the dreaded weigh-in, eating a dreadful concoction for breakfast that the other girls insisted set like cement and filled you up for the day. Walks were treks of pain, lasting hours. I can’t recall noticing anything of beauty on these hikes. That wasn’t the purpose of undergoing them.

Time has changed everything. I walk with my little girl, holding her hand. I actually take deep, fresh pockets of air into my lungs. I notice beauty. If I were to focus on my weight, I wouldn’t have time to live. I have been there, taking my pocket calorie counter to the shops, weighing and examining everything I encountered. I ended up sick and depressed. It was the opposite of life.