Festivities of 2015

December 29, 2015December 29, 2015 raphaela9921 Comments

At a time when I wanted to be up and running, my back screamed ‘no!’ Pain medication was upped and I have needed to lay flat in between all the craziness of the season. I know I shall require further surgery, but there is a lot to consider. Two people who are dear to me have had major issues since their spinal operations. It is indeed a risky business. There is also the cost, rehabilitation and time spent recovering to think about. It does my head in. My neurosurgeon has said that it will provide no relief from pain, though structurally shall be necessary. I wait and I breathe through it. I hope to get through 2016 without surgery. I am going to plan better and have adequate rest between outings. Adapting and accepting what is… No more running around. It has been good, this stopping. I didn’t have Wi-Fi until yesterday, and I lost my phone somewhere in our new home. I pottered and played games with my daughter. We talked and organized. It was grand.

I made a trip into Sydney before Christmas, and caught up with these wonderful friends. There was torrential rain, and we got wet as we explored our ever-changing city. Anything can happen in Sydney, and you meet wondrous characters, such as this cluster of elves.

We went to see some local lights with two majestic Samoyed’s and didn’t get far as everyone wanted to pat, photograph and talk to them! They did meet The Grinch and Santa Claus, however.

Christmas Day, we went to our friend Dianne’s for lunch. She had a lovely assortment of relatives and friends at her place, and Santa even made an appearance! I sampled Yorkshire pudding, bread and butter sauce, trifle and a vegetarian feast. Dianne loves Christmas, and by the time you leave her house, you tend to adore it too. The warmth around that table was outstanding. It was a celebratory feast, for Dianne has faced the eye of a storm and is still standing. How she did it, I just don’t know.

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My daughter expressed concern about Santa’s lack of a tummy. He is English, as it turns out, and fond of running marathons in thongs. I love seeing Australia through this UK family’s eyes. They point out things I have failed to notice, and make me fall in love with Oz anew. Whether it be a native tree, or a whimsical birdsong, it is all appreciated.

We then went to our friend Mel’s house to be with her family. I may have brought my blender and prepared Mojito’s, as well as a cocktail of fresh peaches and champagne. Mel’s mum complained that her Mojito wasn’t strong enough (the other grown-ups watered it down with soda water), and I felt vindicated! Channing Tatum was brought out, as per tradition, and made to pose. The girls performed a delightful dance, and we played games. There was sadness, as my friend lost her father this year. His absence was felt acutely. We held onto each other; how I wished I could change the events of 2015 for them all. Why does the world tend to lose good people early? I had to excuse myself once or twice to dab my eyes. I shall always treasure this gentle man, and the qualities he carried. I hope that you all have men in your lives with similar traits.

I received some beautiful gifts. Amongst them was a folder I discovered on my doorstep. I thought it so clever. The take a break bag contained tea and chocolate. The pamper pack contained bath salts and a tea light candle. There was a pen, a calendar, inspirational cards to cut out, colouring in and strategies to help you cope when you are finding it hard. Such a heartfelt and precious gift.

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My friend had also included knitted bracelets and incense in her wondrous care package.

I received this 2016 Memories bottle from Dianne and her family.

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Isn’t this a beautiful idea? I shall fill it to the brim with every kindness shown me. Every occasion that has sweetened my life shall be noted.

Boxes for Christmas is a local organization, that gives people living in aged care facilities their only Christmas present. These people never receive visitors. Imagine their joy upon receiving a gift from someone who cares on Christmas Day. I thought it was a brilliant idea! I was touched that a friend purchased a box in my name.

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It was a quiet Christmas, and one of great physical pain, but friends made it bright, and my daughter had a magical time as a result. My back used to be made of steel rods, and I was rigid. Now is the time for fluidity and acceptance. As I age, my spine is deteriorating. There have been mornings when it’s just too much, and I think of going to hospital. I know that if I did, I would be back on the trajectory of scans, surgeons and theatre. I am not ready. So, I whimper in the shower, spray a concoction that burns and provides comfort, and do my brace up tight. Whilst there are friends and birds, children and light in the world, I will continue, just at a slower pace. May 2016 bring this world the peace it so desperately craves. May it begin with us.

The Move-A Saga of Crooks and Christmas Wonder

December 9, 2015 raphaela9921 Comments

Last week, we moved house. It has been a long time coming. Five years in one home was a record for me, and it wasn’t even comfortable. It didn’t feel like a sanctuary. You get “stuck” in a place or situation without realizing it, and the thought of moving… Friends dropped boxes off throughout the past six months, and I slowly packed them and moved them into the garage. I thought I had de-cluttered sufficiently. We organized mover’s and cleaners so that we wouldn’t have to ask anyone for help. I geared myself up for the inevitable pain I would face with the rigours of moving, and my spine didn’t disappoint. A few days before, I lost control of my right arm and my bladder. Half of my spine went numb; the other portion was agonizing. I was amazed at my ability to peak before the main event! I told loved ones that I would sort out the new place within four days then have a good rest. After a period of a week, I would return to society. I was rather pleased that I had a hired team and wouldn’t require any assistance.

The day arrived, and I couldn’t wait. I had swept up all my memories, and was taking only the good with me. I went to the new place early, imagining where everything would go. I noted that the movers had put some boxes in the garage, and remarked to my friend that they were “lovely young men.” They didn’t make a reappearance and I was told that they weren’t at our old place either. We rang their mobile but it was switched off. “They must have gone to lunch,” I kept repeating to myself. We rang their boss who informed us that they had left and weren’t coming back. They had taken their fee from the credit card! Crap!!! We had a full house of furniture to transport and half a day to do it in. Hurriedly hiring a truck, we asked if anyone was around who could help. A fellow listened to our tale of woe at the reception area when we got the truck, and would you believe he turned out to be one of our new neighbours! He insisted on helping. Mums, children and men gathered, and the moving began. I burst into tears when I saw more friends alight from cars. Some brought food and cold drinks. An elderly fellow around the street from our old place was one of those who offered. It was a heat wave and I was astounded when they brought in wall units and fridges with a big smile on their sweaty faces.

I kept saying “thankyou,” until they could bear it no longer and demanded I be quiet. I heard the children laughing and playing together in the garden. We had a gathering of good people, sitting under a fan, sharing their lives. An elderly man told me about being a ward of the state and growing up in an orphanage and how he is shy and lonely. “You are doing okay with this group!” I assured him. He mentioned what lovely friends I had, and I nodded. “They’re the best.” They brought in our old tattered furniture with great care, the last of the group leaving at 11pm. The next day, we informed the movers that we would go to the Department of Fair Trading if the money wasn’t put back in our account and begrudgingly, they relented.

Beautiful furniture was left at our door-gifts from a dear friend- and food was delivered. What a dichotomy, to experience scoundrels and angels on the same day. I went out to the garage and looked on in dismay at the multitude of boxes stacked to the ceiling. Why had I kept so much? I could have halved it before the move! I felt overwhelmed as to where to start. A little dog from across the street broke away from its elderly neighbour and ran into my garage. It lifted its leg and peed on a box. I laughed and laughed. Maybe it was a sign?! I organized the house within four days, and then crawled into bed. I am about to re-emerge from my cave.

We couldn’t have our Christmas Tree up at the old place as there was no room. By a miracle, it was the first box we unpacked, and we set about decorating it. As each ornament was slid onto a branch, we gave thanks. Thankfulness for new beginnings, a beautiful home and for the best friends anyone could have. I have learnt that it is okay to ask for help, and that whilst there are scammers and shysters’ creeping around, waiting to pounce, there are more good people in this world. On the 1st December, I felt the power of the Christmas Spirit. It is love, kindness and servitude. It blessed my new home with its presence.

If I Had my Time Over…

September 20, 2015 raphaela999 Comments

I would tell my younger self to hold on tight. As a teen, I had to fight to retain my sanity, my heart and my life. I refused to put up with nonsense, nor manipulation. I would walk away, and if I couldn’t leave, I would fight. Fight for the right to live my life in the way it was ordained by the moon and stars before I had even arrived. When one is having continual operations and intensive periods of rehabilitation from such surgery; when one can’t work because of the above, you find yourself vulnerable. Grateful that people are willing to chat briefly to you, grateful for a lift or an invitation to dinner. My boundaries were blurred and I was overwhelmed by any crumb of kindness shown me. I would say to that girl, ‘honey, you can trust your instincts. You have a right to leave any form of cruelty, and run from any lack of empathy. It isn’t worth the pain you will suffer by staying. Trust your first impressions, and measure the benevolence or otherwise in a person’s conversation. It’s laid bare on the table, and your ears aren’t deceiving you. Years of your precious life will be squandered on trying to understand the intricacies of toxicity if you don’t run.’

Groups will be disbanded, and you will move in new circles. People not meant to be in your life will leave, not before offering a few sharp scratches to your already scarred psyche. As you grow older, you will tolerate less nonsense, and savour the real people. Those who weep with you, hold your hand, laugh with you and are present. They want your company for no other reason than that they celebrate you. No masks required.

I wish I could erase the memory of the walking wounded who caused you more pain. I wish you had turned away, no explanation needed nor offered. You didn’t, and its okay. You have resurrected that teenager, the one who was selective about who received the key to her inner world. You have given out multiple copies of the skeleton key. Happily, those who have received this gift unconditionally love you. There is no more hurt to be had. You have yourself, first and foremost. You can love the whole world, without letting it all inside the inner sanctum. Some will appreciate the chandelier, the candles, the frankincense oil, the violet walls, the poetry and art, whilst others would only try to disassemble the sanctuary. Careful with yourself, young woman. You have to firstly love yourself in a manner that will then mirror how others love you. You have yourself forever.

Plays, Friendship and Love

September 17, 2015 raphaela998 Comments

In the past five days, I have seen four performances! Spamalot was the first, and it contained some wonderful Monty Python skits and songs. I was delighted to take my daughter, and she roared with laughter throughout. A friend’s son was onstage, and to see the happiness on his face filled my heart. It is one of life’s gifts, to see a young person in their element. I also watched a group of talented kids perform skits based on the environment. It was poignant and funny, much like life. We also saw the 56 Storey Treehouse with a group of young theatre-goers. What an imagination Andy Griffiths possesses! Finally, I saw Les Mis with a very dear friend. Now this particular friend was by my side throughout my many cycles of IVF ten years ago, guiding me and consoling me. I met her through an online support group. Our daughter’s adore each other, and we have such fun when we meet up. This friend has gone through hell this past year. I would do anything to vanquish what she is enduring. She is irreverent, cheeky and really rather naughty, and it has held her in good stead. Her stubbornness is the stuff of legend. She is also incredibly short, so I decided long ago that she is a keeper.

It sounds silly but it felt rather rebellious and decadent to slink off into the city for a big night out mid-week. It shakes up your world, in a very good way! I got home at 1am, and it was well worth the hell I paid today! To see her laugh, relax and enjoy herself was priceless. I cant take her burdens away entirely, but she laid them down for a few precious hours. We talked about crap and chuckled at our own hilariousness. This is the lady with whom I went to see Vivid- the annual extraordinary Sydney light show. We were having such a good time, we couldn’t be bothered wandering about to see the pretty lights. She was enough. She always will be.

A Picnic after the Storm.

September 14, 2015 raphaela9925 Comments

Ten months ago, a friend asked her doctor to be referred for a mammogram. She hadn’t felt a lump, and had no other symptoms. She wasn’t in the age bracket where they are offered free of charge. She knew she wouldn’t feel peace until she had undergone the screening. They found a lump, and within a week, she had undergone a mastectomy. She took her kids to school that morning, and myself and another friend held her hands as we walked her back to the car. She was going straight to hospital. I didn’t want to let her hand go. I would have given anything for her not to have to endure what was ahead. In the months ahead, she underwent a course of chemotherapy and then radiotherapy. It seemed like an endless night, and there were many days when she languished in bed, too spent to communicate. The day came when the treatment finished. It had begun swiftly and brutally, then one ordinary day she walked out the door after her last treatment and into daylight. An ordinary day for all but her. Changed forever. She offered me a lift to the train station on the way, and impatient drivers refused to make room for her to turn onto the road. She joked that she was going to lift her wig, and holler, something along the lines of “now, do ya think you could let me in?!” All these silly people, thinking that their time is so important. Unable to wait five seconds to let a good woman in. The storm changes you.

Her family arranged a surprise picnic to celebrate the end of her treatment. It was held on a thirty degree day in Spring, a slight breeze tempering the heat. Perfect. She walked up, crying. This is for you. We are assembled for you. We couldn’t step in for you on the days when the thought of more treatment seemed unbearable. We couldn’t take your discomfort away. We can do this. Your daughter’s made a glorious cake and cookies, and we enjoyed an Australian BBQ and salads. You got through it, sweetheart. The dark night of the soul has passed. Her message to others is to routinely check yourself. To have the necessary screenings, if only to put your mind at ease. It is harder to feel comfort in burying your head in the sand, when you have a friend that has saved her own life by not doing so. Cheers to you, my darling. I look forward to enjoying many more Australian picnics with you.

Camping, Frogs and Friendship

September 11, 2015 raphaela9910 Comments

Camp was amazing! I feel that I am not the same person who left home a week ago. Staying places by myself (albeit with child), is not something I have done much of, and certainly not so far away. It was mainly to do with safety, and gradually it was born of terror. Fear isn’t a strong enough word. What if something happened? What if I fell sick? I would be all alone. Can I rely on myself? The answer was that I could. We left early afternoon, and by the time we were an hour away, dusk was folding in. I had visions of driving around in the dark, unable to find the place! “Breathe though it,” I told myself. I tremulously opened the door to our cabin and was astounded at how lovely it was. I got a great deal as it was off-season. In my adult life, I have only had a few short breaks away, all available funds going into IVF and surgeries. The kitchen was bigger than mine back home! My daughter had a great deal of fun exploring! That night, I had the best sleep I have had in years, and actually slept in! We then met our fellow campers. My daughter was asked to play spotlight by an older girl and delivered back to the cabin afterward. It meant a lot as a mum.

She organized her social life with a little friend for the next day, and met up at 9am for putt putt golf. When we went to get supplies from the local supermarket, she found a little tree frog at the doors. She brought it back to the cabin, and lovingly placed it in a box filled with grass. She found the perfect spot to relocate him, brimming with frogs, and went by herself to release her tiny friend.

It is officially Spring here in Australia, and whilst the sun beamed down, the swimming pool was still freezing. Things like that don’t matter to kids and she took the plunge. The women gathered as the kids played, and I found their intuitive, compassionate take on child-rearing and schooling awe-inspiring. They were my tribe, filled with artists, students, dancers and writers. We went on a koala walk, where the kids found buried treasure. The day ended at the fire pit, telling each other stories.

The next day, we tried hula hooping. To my amazement, I could sustain a weighted hoop, once I had been taught to take a step, rather than try to swivel it (impossible with a fused back). One of the new friends I made was a single mum, with a remarkable child and 5 week old puppy. The puppy considered my cane more of a prize than the stick he was offered, and ran off with it! It took some coaxing to get it back. This mum was an astoundingly gifted artist. Mainstream school wasn’t working for her child, so she packed up their life. bought a camper van and car, and hit the road. As her child played with the kids and his puppy, I was privileged to witness a young life restored with the joy it deserved. The cruel taunts of classmates was being replaced with the reinforcement of other’s encouragement. How brave and inspiring was my new friend, to leave her old life and plunge into the unknown? I hope their lives are filled with the peace they deserve.

We played board games in my cabin that evening, the kids overtaking us at Beat the Parents. There was much laughter and irreverence and happiness. I had nowhere to go and had abandoned my to-do list. I had stopped and was living in the moment. I hadn’t realized how stressed I had been. I slept brilliantly when removed from it all. On the way home, we stopped at a wildlife sanctuary. My daughter loved the piglets and gravitated to them at feeding time. She also fed wallabies.

She went on rides and we were hugged by an enormous Drop Bear! To the uninitiated, visitors to Oz are sometimes warned that koala bears drop out of trees and get quite cranky. Of course, it isn’t true!

We could have gone out on the water and seen whales and pods of dolphins, but the days were filled with connecting, walking and resting. We came home ready to continue on, bolstered by the friendships we had made.

This is what Love is.

August 20, 2015 raphaela993 Comments

Click on Love to discover what tequila, and a 96-year-old have in common with me!

Magnanimity

August 6, 2015August 6, 2015 raphaela9916 Comments

My wonderful friend, Swamiyesudas has just posted a piece about kindness over on his blog, urging everyone to perform an act of kindness each day. Imagine the ripple effect! My child never ceases to amaze me with her understanding of kindness. A few weeks ago, a little friend of hers had to have some medical tests. She was concerned about her friend, and wanted to go along for support. We were just about to leave the house to go meet them when my daughter turned around and ran into her room. She came out with her beloved bulldog, made at a soft-toy party a few years ago. She gave it to her little friend, and the joy exuding from both of them lit up the train carriage as we made our way into the city. Her friend had found a light sabre on their last playdate, and gave it to my daughter to keep. My kid hadn’t forgotten her kindness. It is hard to describe how ecstatic my daughter was when we bumped into her friend at the shops a few days later. There she was, clutching the bulldog. “She loves him!” my daughter exclaimed. “Yes, she certainly does!” I smiled.

Last weekend, I took her into the city. There were hoards of people around as we strolled through Haymarket, and I grabbed a hold of her hand. Suddenly, she paused. She retrieved the pocket-money from her purse and went over to a man sitting on the ground. He had two little dogs next to him, and was strumming The Beatles’ Blackbird on his guitar. She gave him everything in her purse. He looked up and smiled, tears in his eyes. As we continued walking, she said, “mum, I have a tingle all over. Giving feels wonderful doesn’t it?” Yes it does darling, yes it does. A child noticed a homeless man and his little dogs. I hope that he does indeed take his broken wings and learn to fly.

As we walked through Darling Quarter, we came across a table filled with exquisite paper flowers. A lady smiled at my daughter, and handed her one. I took an information card. They were giving away flowers in honour of Esther Day. Esther was sixteen when she died, and her wish was for people to spread love to others. She would be proud of these beautiful people, I am sure. Kindness is given and received, in an endless cycle of magnanimity.

The next day we met a grand elderly lady called Anna at the bus stop. I told her that I had been admiring her colourful way of dressing for the longest while, and had been meaning to tell her. She would board the bus smiling, her slight figure clothed in emerald, sapphire and ruby-red hats and coats. We got into a conversation, and she told us that she volunteered at our local palliative care ward, sitting with loved ones, offering cups of tea and comfort. My little girl was regaled by her stories, and sat with her the whole bus trip, Anna’s arm around her. Kindness goes around in an endless cycle of magnanimity…

To learn more about Esther Day and many other inspiring projects, check out The Deluminators

Murta (part 2)

July 29, 2015July 29, 2015 raphaela996 Comments

“Smile!” Murta called. She took the boy’s picture with a Box Brownie. They fidgeted with the bow ties. The lads were clothed in tuxedos on the occasion of a ball. Their charisma could light up the Harbour Bridge, the moon and stars combined. Her three little sons loved these young men. Murta was comforted that they would mentor her boys…

She had been seven months pregnant with her fourth when her husband called her inside. He wanted to talk. His slacks swished as he walked to and fro, his hair smoothed into place with Bryl Cream. “I have enlisted,” he said gruffly. “They will need medics.” Murta’s heart sank. Rex, Robert and Clint had signed up too. He coaxed her to have the baby induced. He demanded to meet his child. He held the boy to his face, and grunted in approval.

‘Darwin is under attack! Get the hell out of Bowen! Do whatever you can to make it to Sydney,” his cable read. Murta grabbed her keys, her four boys, and drove like hell. She wondered if the sky was going to fall, the world end. The dirt roads were horrific, and the newborn wailed. She cut a path through cane fields and rampant bush. She exchanged her jewellery for fuel. She arrived home to Sydney, and sank to the green axeminster carpet. She prayed it might swallow her. Clint and Robert had been killed, and Rex was badly injured. Murta wept and stroked the picture of the boys on the mantle. Ma Ma arranged to have a stained glass window erected in their church. It featured Sir Galahad in his armor, his face that of a young man, unbroken, unyielding, perfect.

A letter arrived from Murta’s husband in 1945. It was sticky, and stained from tobacco. He was leaving her for another woman. She wore silk stockings and applied French perfume from a crystal decanter. The boys were not to see their father again. He died in QLD, a decorated politician. Murta never said a bad word about the man. She has relished her autonomy; enjoyed her own company, though on occasion, lamented the death of romance.

The war had made accommodation scarce. She was vying for a granny flat with another lady. The woman noticed the softly-spoken boys assembled in a line behind the fey. “You take it love, you need it more than I,” she smiled at Murta. Murta found work off Broadway, training as a secretary at an export house. She remained there until the late 1970’s.

Rex hobbled, his hip shattered in the war. He and his wife had been Murta’s dear friends until their death’s in the early millennium. Rex would help the homeless in a soup kitchen connected to the church. He used to pause at the stained glass window, tracing the outline of Sir Galahad.

Murta loved tequila, tiramisu, honey, chocolate and steaming-hot coffee. When you sauntered back home at a hundred years of age, it was still a shock. I expected that you might live forever. Thankyou for your adventurous spirit (which saw you misbehave to such an extent that your father sent you on a boat to England). Your adventurous spirit saw you learn to drive, and with a friend, make your way to Scotland as a teenager! The brave Knight and fair maiden ventured deep into the ocean. The folks that have been invigorated with the spray of their concern rest on the sand. Rex, Robert and Clint hold hands with Murta. They are plunged into the lupine liquid, and the ocean carries them away.

Murta (Part 1)

July 28, 2015July 28, 2015 raphaela9910 Comments

I met Murta in 1999, and she became one of my dearest friends, up to her death in 2005 at 100 years of age. Every night she would pray that I might have a child. She would say, “you are always smiling and look happy, darling, but I see the sadness in your eyes when you think nobody’s looking.” I laughed and told her she way too perceptive. This is her story.

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In 1905 an iridescent fey shed her gossamer wings and slid into a world of hand-wringing and sleep draughts. As she took her first breath, her mother took her last. “I have birthed a numinous creature, and its enough,” her mother sighed. “Its more than enough.” Murta’s tiny hand firmly gripped her mother’s wedding band.

As her life progressed, pastoral scenes and snatches of bliss made life seem a useful pastime. Tendrils of honey tumbled down her slight shoulders. Her eyes were Wedgewood blue, as though crazy-lace agates had been prepared for instalment. Pulverized Herkimer diamonds were scattered around her iris. Murta tremulously held her step-sister in her plush pink hands. Seven months of incubation hadn’t been enough and the babe left this world, despite Murta’s pleadings. She comforted Ma Ma (her stepmother), and wrapped her sister in a peach bunny rug,placing her in the icebox until the official farewell.

In time, Ma Ma delivered a little boy. Murta anxiously watched over Clint throughout the eventide, the silence broken by the redwood repeater in the hall. She stroked his cheek with her little finger,the summer evening engorged with floral aromas piped into the rhythmic breeze. Ma Ma admired the children from the veranda as she gripped the iron lacework. Murta was teaching Clint to ride his pony. She loved her little brother, a blessed gift from another woman.

Murta’s head was turned as a young socialite. Douglas Fairbanks had nothing on this young doctor. Mesmerized, Murta hurried when he called, his voice carrying her to Bowen in far Nth Queensland. She was impetuous, imbibing at parties thrown in the roaring twenties; climbing iron fences, dashing to the water’s edge. Wild, wilful, a dedicated suffragette. She caught a glimpse of herself as she polished a Venetian mirror. She smiled, recalling her box of secrets, fringed with satin ribbons.

She smuggled an orphaned joey onto a train in Brisbane and coaxed him to eat a little cereal. Murta proudly offered him to Clint. She watched from the veranda, rubbing her pendulous belly, her first child growing beneath her skin. She watched Clint, his hair falling over his absythne eyes. He and his best friend, Rex, played with the ‘roo and it bounded after them as a dog might. Robert, a sixteen year old chum, straggled after them. He admired Clint’s torrid, isatiable love affair with life.

(To be Continued)…