Easter Monday, I needed to escape all the jobs that needed doing. I needed to watch my child have fun, and for her to carry me along in her whimsy. My friend Annette, and her son, were coming along for the ride. At the station I met another friend and her son.
It is like no time has passed when you meet old friends.
This lady is a professional dancer, and doesn’t walk through life, she saunters. The horticulturist, dancer and writer boarded the train with their kids, and struck up a conversation with these delightful people.
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One of the ladies was a pharmacist from Missouri. I asked where these friends had met, and it turned out it was on a Pandora cruise! Seeing my puzzlement, my new friend Brenda handed us several precious bracelets.
Her late fiancée had bought quite a few pieces for her collection. They were holy. They weren’t inanimate objects, but relayed stories of times past and dreams yet to be fulfilled. Each bead held a piece of her soul, and were embedded with his devotion. We shared details of our lives. There was laughter and connectedness. My dancer friend departed with her son, as did Brenda and her friends.
This was on a stall in the ladies’ at Museum Station. ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life! Live!’
At Hyde Park, munchkin wanted to prove how strong she was.
Then she ran into the fountain.
We met a contortionistWe also met ‘I am basketball man’
We wandered into the MCA
We couldn’t resist purchasing some delicacies from this chocolate shop
Can you believe this is chocolate?
Walking up to Susannah Place, we stopped at many wondrous shops, and admired the architecture along cobbled streets.
We had ice cream and saw more beauty, more colour, more life than we could absorb. The whole day was unscripted. That is what made it so glorious. There are more good people in the world than bad, and more wonder than you can possibly imagine. I love seeing Sydney through a child’s eyes.
I was meant to see Rod Stewart last week but due to circumstances out of my control, I couldn’t go. I put my granny knickers back in the drawer, and purchased two tickets to a charity screening of Cinderella instead. Saffron from Kid About and Kaity are two local businesswomen who joined forces to raise money for Kids of Macarthur Health Foundation. They put together a magnificent event, resplendent with face painting, photo props and raffles. My little girl and I went beforehand to Coco Cubano and shared a platter. Munchkin had a mango drink and I had a Mojito. We had endured a crazy schedule that day, starting off at drama lessons. Now to get there, we have to catch a train through the suburb where I fell. The building is right near the railway line, and visible in all its glory. Every week, I hold my breath, and shudder with conflicting emotions. Gratitude that I am alive two decades after the event. A feeling of absurdity that I am taking my daughter to her activities past the building which held the ledge which held the villain…A feeling of defiance. ‘Up yours! I am still here!’ A feeling of sorrow. ‘I was so little…’ I took this grainy picture and somehow it seemed fitting. The scratches upon the train window are evident. It is grainy as the building whizzed by, much like my life on that particular evening.
Anyway, we had been to drama and then guitar lessons. Mummy’s spine was beyond agonizing. I leant over toward the seat in front for some relief on the bus. Mummy needed a Mojito by the time we got to our pre-movie café.
I met many familiar faces at the movies, including Nicci, our cupcake aficionado.
I didn’t know what to expect with this retelling of Cinderella and it was beyond my imaginings. It held all the little girls spellbound, and the ladies gasped at the visual feast on-screen. The settings were beautiful. The villains were beyond contemptible; vile and bitter. Fortunately, they didn’t take Cinderella’s light. She didn’t end up a twisted old bat, wounding others as she had been. She became more of who she was inside. May that be the case with us all. I am so glad we went, to support our friends and the wonderful organization who was benefitting, and to see Cinderella come into her own.
You can’t breathe life into someone who is lost. Believe me, I have tried. I have been privy to someone I care deeply about being taken down. At first by addiction, and then mental illness. I am grieving although the person lives. If you are not careful, their reality becomes yours, a closeted, nonsensical, grey world. It holds no colour, no engagement, no life. I could feel myself becoming pulled into the mayhem this Easter. A land where money is of no consequence, rules are for other people, and laying down staring at the ceiling is what one does for 48 hours. If you are caring for somebody in this situation, coaxing them to eat, to live, to fight, can be exhausting. Best be careful that you don’t go down too. You don’t see it happening. I didn’t. I ate Hot Cross Buns in the city Good Friday, then spent all day Saturday in bed. A smothering film of depression clung to me. I was exhausted. Giving, giving, giving until I was bone dry. The rest did me good. Not having to think. “Please, don’t ask me any more questions,” I pleaded.
Easter Sunday, the torrential rain stopped and the sun came out. I went to Ashfield Uniting Church. My sanctuary. Rev Bill Crews feeds the homeless via a soup kitchen and van. Via the Exodus Foundation, kids who have fallen behind are educated, and a new school is being opened in Liverpool. Each Christmas, there is a free lunch and it is a grand affair, with a cast of thousands! They do so much at Ashfield, and have changed many lives.
This treasured lady is 98 years of age. She walks everywhere, lives in her own home, and takes a great interest in social issues. I want to be like her when I grow up!
We went to lunch afterward, and munchkin met the Easter Bunny and his assistant!
Rev Bill was off to Hong Kong and then Cambodia, so she gave him a big cuddle before he left.
Nobody pretends to be perfect here, to have it altogether. We muddle through life, and that is enough. You are still loved. Isn’t that reassuring? No titles need to be proclaimed, no diamonds flashed, no mention of private jets. No pontificating. I don’t think you would get away with it if you tried! It was a happy Easter indeed.
I have been exhausted. Being a one-woman show can do that. No sooner have you cleaned the house and garden, filed the papers, paid the bills, cooked the meals, shopped for food, done the work and answered messages then it is time to start over. Home schooling has been the jewel of the past term. Witnessing this little girl’s zeal for learning has been joyous beyond all expectation. I get up at dawn, and start work, then continue after my daughter’s schooling has ended. I haven’t caught up with the many friends I love. There simply hasn’t been time. I know trying to do it all at once is ridiculous, but what if there isn’t any other choice? For me, there isn’t any other choice. I have to devise strategies that help me become a balanced human. A week ago, I watched my daughter skate with some friends. She was graceful, gliding in circles around the rink, full of the joy of living. I sat with some dear friends, and reconnected. I have missed them.
I have to lay down by 8.30pm. My spine refuses to keep me upright any longer. The relief when I lay down is indescribable. Its a sensory treat for mind, body and soul. It doesn’t matter that I am still working. I am laying down, getting zapped by my Tens machine, so it’s a win. I shut my eyes around midnight, and catch a few hours of sleep. The relentlessness of life and daily requirements… That’s what gets to us. That’s why I pack up my daughter and we regularly have a change of scene. We shake up our world.
I am trying to map out a future, and take care of the present. I drop the ball regularly, and it tends to trip me up. As long as we have playdates and good friends, it wont matter. Somehow, you come back refreshed, to your home and yourself. I stopped what I was doing the other evening, and my girl and I bathed the guinea pigs in warm water and suds. There was nothing else that needed to be done other than listen to her giggles.
I had a most unusual experience yesterday. We travelled into Sydney to meet with an old friend. My daughter completed her lessons on the train, and we experienced a lovely two-hour journey in. Autumn had summoned temperate weather and a dreary sky, as we lunched with our friend. When it was time to go pick up her daughter’s from school, we went in her car. Within five minutes, I had spotted all the characters she had described. I am just under five feet tall, and one lady was just as vertically challenged. Two balloon-type structures were groaning under her top, and I was afraid she was going to fall over as she waddled past, she was so top-heavy. Her lips were inflated with fillers. I felt sad. She was a beautiful girl who had sought “corrective” work in her twenties. There were women in floaty kaftans and strappy stilettos, designer bags slung over their shoulders. They looked me up and down as they sauntered past. My daughter embraced her friends, and then decided to climb a sturdy tree. She went up to the first branch, and called out to me. “Hi mum!” I noticed many of the mums were watching, but thought nothing of it.
She has climbed much bigger trees.
All of a sudden, I heard shrieking. I wondered what the hell was happening. Four women were surrounding the base of the tree, pleading with my daughter to come down. She shrugged and alighted, which produced more hysteria. She was in a teeny little tree, strong and secure. There could have been insects! Oh no! One of the said mothers was about to say something about the child caught in the very dangerous activity of being in a tree when my daughter skipped over. ‘Yep, she’s mine,’ I would have stated proudly if she had asked. This woman, was one of those mothers. You know, the ones who know everything that is happening, haven’t a hair out-of-place and are beautifully groomed. Hell, she even had a Tupperware container filled with fruit for an afternoon snack, which we were offered.
This mother was about to inform me about the unfolding dramas in another mum’s life (someone I had never met), when the mum in question came up. I had been warned that if we were caught by this woman, we wouldn’t have a hope of getting out of the playground. She started on her story without asking my name or introducing herself. Her dreadful ex, her awful life… I must admit I felt slightly irritated and fought the urge to say “I’m fine thanks, lovely that you took an interest.” As she stood there, I noted the hand-wringing, the adrenaline pumping, the desperation in her eyes. People don’t crumble in a day. I was looking at the remnants of twenty years and a decaying marriage. “I hope I get this job. We are $60,000 in debt and I haven’t been able to pay the mortgage for months.” My heart softened. My friend is taking her for coffee in the coming week. I gently squeezed the woman’s hands. “I will be thinking of you; I know you can rebuild your life.” My friend said that whilst it’s a public school, its in an area filled with aspirational couples. This woman lived in an adjoining house, and wouldn’t give my friend the time of day before. You only hung out with those who appeared to be doing as well as you. Renting an apartment, or living in a semi-detached house, would socially ruin you if word got out. “So much happens behind the scenes,” my friend said. It always does. She is the one they come to, confide in, when it all falls apart.
I imagine the exhaustion that would inevitably come with trying to keep up the façade. Not knowing if people in your circle were being real. I felt desperately sorry for that mum who needed to offload. I felt compassion for the have-it-altogether mum too. I know she hasn’t. Its time to tear down the pretence hidden behind fillers, makeup, clothing, labels, cars and credit cards. Its time to see each other. I wont stop my daughter climbing trees. I am afraid of heights, but she isn’t. I am glad she isn’t. She has never fallen. I want her to climb as many trees as she can fit into her lifetime. I want to see my child with scabs on her knees, dirt on her hands, having a wild old-time. I don’t want to see her at the end of the day with ribbons still in place, the starch doing its job keeping her pristine. I want her to live. I would rather enjoy going back and seeing these women choose life as well.
I met a complicated lady at the bus stop when my daughter was a baby. She was beautifully dressed, her hair coiffed. She had a cigarette dangling from her mouth and a haunted expression on her face. Our friendship grew over the years, and she delighted me with the wondrous and unexpected things that came out of her mouth. She excitedly told me one day that she had been to a sale at the local chemist shop. “What did you buy?” I asked. She retrieved the bag, and pulled out a tube of Vagisol, “for this old vag of mine!” she roared with laughter. The poor man sitting next to her at the bus stop went beet-red. I gave her some money for her fare, and a few day’s later I found a chemist bag in my letterbox. In it contained a thankyou note, the money I had leant her, and as I tremulously pulled out a box from the bag (thinking it was leftover Vagisol), I found a small bottle of perfume.
She came to my door a few weeks ago, and asked me to put on the kettle. We sat in silence for a bit, before she said “it’s the anniversary of when my mum died. I didn’t want to be alone.” I gave her a big cuddle, and she left with a tin of bikkies. We saw her on Monday. She called out to me in the street. Her arms and legs shook so severely, it appeared as though she were having a seizure. She said she had been in hospital. My little girl was concerned, and I explained that sometimes when people drink too much over a long time, they get the DT’s. “I wish we could make it go away,” she said. I do too. I have a sense that this lady’s mind holds many traumatic memories. She has been trying to drown them in alcohol and the mesmerizing light and sound spectacle poker machines offer. A well-dressed lady with a colourful array of hats, missing teeth, a cheeky grin and a complicated back story. We love you. I pray you are with us for some time yet.
Last night, we went to Luminosity at Australian Technology Park. It had been a rough week on many levels, and I dragged my aching bones out of bed to get ready. There was no way I was going to miss an event run by Endometriosis Australia. This wretched disease has taken so much from my life. My battle is over after a vicious ten-year fight from the time of diagnosis until I went into premature menopause. My fervent wish is that our girls don’t suffer as we did. My daughter and I walked into a foyer bustling with activity, yellow balloons and friendly faces. I caught up with a dear friend, Naomi, who had been an inspiration to me before I started my IVF journey. We embraced, and it was felt on a cellular level. I will never forget visiting her after she had yet another surgery at RPA, a lady of dignity, reclining in a chair and smiling in spite of her pain. It was the first time we had met in person. I met the marvellous Donna, who had also organized the Luminosity event in Melbourne on the 7th March. The volunteers were all awe-inspiring.
I sampled the most delicious raw food, and we got our fluoro paint on. I made friends with women who shared their endo journey’s and we swapped numbers at night’s end. My daughter chased boys around, and put me to shame with her hula-hooping.
We entered the main room engorged with music and neon lights, and I basked in the glow of over a hundred people who have been affected by this disease. They were glowing for real! Some had endured twenty years of agony, had their bowels resected, had been on a litany of powerful medications, had been burnt, lasered, cut open and had IVF. They were heroines at Luminosity. We watched amazing performances, even an acro-yoga display. With a fused spine, I wasn’t bendy, but I loved the stretches. I loved feeling a part of my body, at one with it. A body which had harboured disease the size of oranges, and had the consistency of elastic bands.My daughter thanked me for the lovely girl’s night she had experienced. I promise you, little one, that if your tummy aches when you are older, I will be watching. I will get you the best help. I pray I don’t have to. To find out more about endometriosis, or to donate either time or money, go to Endometriosis Australia.
This little girl ran into the bathroom yesterday morning, anxious to tell me some important news. I was half-asleep, and worried by how animated she was. Was something wrong? “Mummy! Exciting news! The Today show rang a lady and she answered and won $30,000! She’s a single mum and needed a new washing machine and vacuum cleaner! She can’t work anymore ’cause she hurt her shoulder. I am so happy for her! Isn’t that the best news?!” I hugged her so tight. It was indeed the best news, not only for that lady, but also for this one. My child has a beautiful heart. She understands that when one of us wins, we all do.
I have been noticing all the judgement out there because of photographs. Some are of toddlers eating a cookie, others are of someone posing arms outstretched, smiling on their holiday. Photos can tell so much, but sometimes the story is concealed. I have been dismayed by those judged and blasted on social media because of a photo. The cookie was controversial; another photo was blasted because someone you don’t get along with was in the picture. The list goes on. I have only had one set of photos done professionally, when my daughter was 18 months of age. They tell a story but not in its entirety. They don’t tell of the events leading up to them being taken, nor of how sick I would get shortly afterward.
In the following pictures, I look polished. I wonder what they speak of? Let me take you behind the scene. I had lost one of my best friend’s, and limped into the new year. I was planning on home schooling my daughter and wondered if I could do it. I felt like rubbish. Deflated and plunging into depression. I hadn’t had my hair done at a hairdresser’s in a very long time. On the eve of the new school year, I ventured into a salon on a whim. Yes, they could fit me in. I asked for my long splintered hair to be shorn, and colour to be put through. “Do you want a quote before we start?” I was asked. I thought, ‘gee, if I need a quote, this is gonna beexpensive!’ “That would be lovely,” I smiled. $270 was the quote! I opted to just have my hair shorn, and purchase a bottle of $6 violet dye afterward. I had just heard that a dear friend had been diagnosed with cancer, and another with a compromised liver. As the locks fell, I felt myself come out of my melancholic cocoon. I had to be strong for them, for myself, my daughter and our new venture. When I was done, I was delighted. I felt free of memories, pain and 2014… I knew I would never be able to replicate the blow dry I received in the salon, and so I took a series of pics with my phone. There was no posing, no professional photography. Just me. A facet of who I am. So, next time you see the holiday pics, the pictures on a blog, or on the web, remember that all is not as it seems. There is more than one facet to a diamond. So it is with people. I bet that toddler doesn’t eat cookies for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and did you know that the smiling lady in the holiday snap has just completed treatment for cancer? A photo tells a story, though can’t include all the books in a person’s library. This haircut helped me regroup, as silly as it may sound. I gathered the detritus of 2014, and continued on my way into 2015. Ask what was happening in a person’s life at the time a photo was taken. It is an important question, and the person will be glad you cared enough to hear the back-story.
o
RAPHAELA ANGELOU 