Sunny Side Up

Friends of Science in Medicine know best? Alternative therapies under fire

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 23:14:00 +0000

I appear to be uncharacteristically on my soap box about public issues this week. Forgive me. And bear with me. Please also remember this is a post written from my perspective and experience - I don't intentionally mean to denounce anyone else's experience.

There is no denying that western medicine and science is crucial. I won't even begin to count the ways. In saying that, for treatment of minor (and medium, bordering on serious) conditions, I try to avoid it as much as possible.

So today, when I read this article that is reporting an apparent global uprising of doctors and scientists to prevent universities and health funds from recognising alternative medicine, I felt a sense of dread. The article states:

Almost one in three Australian universities now offer courses in some form of alternative therapy or complementary medicine, including traditional Chinese herbal medicine, chiropractics, homeopathy, naturopathy, reflexology and aromatherapy.

But the new group, Friends of Science in Medicine, wrote to vice-chancellors this week, warning that by giving "undeserved credibility to what in many cases would be better described as quackery" and by "failing to champion evidence-based science and medicine", the universities are trashing their reputation as bastions of scientific rigour.

Read more: http://www.smh.com.au/national/tertiary-education/scientists-urge-unis-to-axe-alternative-medicine-courses-20120125-1qhtm.html#ixzz1kVvHpGFQ

Okay. Now, I am all for everyone finding their own method of wellbeing. I also realise there are "quacks" out there - but you can find those sitting in GP's offices in proper, accredited clinics anywhere in the country just as easily as the oft-joked-about "slapping fish", "hocus-pocus" (etc. etc. etc.) alternative practitioner. Obviously, any healthcare provider needs to be good at what they do. I just take deep offense at my choices being limited by this ruling. What about all the families out there who rely on these sorts of treatments for their children? How will they afford it if they whip out the health cover rug from under them? They want to take away my right to choose - I mean, sure, the treatments will still be around, but I won't be able to receive a rebate because of my choice and what works for me and my family. And damnit, they're going to win, aren't they?

My experience with doctors has pretty much been along these lines:

Scenario 1 (which actually happened)--
"How can I help you today?"
"My daughter is pulling at her ears and crying. She's too young to tell me what's wrong, but I'm sure there's something happening with her ears."
"Any other symptoms?"
"No, none apart from the crying and irritability... oh wait, sometimes she pulls at her cheeks lately."
"Well... I've checked her ears and they're clear." *shrug* "My best guess is that she had a cold or something like that and her ears were blocked for a while."
I left the office with no treatment or solution being prescribed or suggested.

After several days pass, I take her to my Homoeopath, desperate for some relief for her and sure something is happening but she just can't tell me. My Homoeopath takes one look at my ruddy-faced grizzly baby and says "She's getting more teeth! It can affect the ears..." and goes on to describe the mechanics of the sinus region and why this would be impacted by Lolly's teeth coming through. He prescribes a remedy, I diligently give it to her every four hours. The change is remarkable within the first day. I am relieved, she is relieved.

Scenario 2 (which actually happened) --
"How can I help you today?"
"My child is very sick but I don't know what it can be. She has some spots but they're fairly insignificant at this stage and only around her nappy area. She won't eat or drink and keeps crying and thrashing about." (Of course the crying and thrashing stop when we're in the office...... don't they always?)
"Well... I've checked her over, she has no temperature and looks fine. Keep an eye on those spots and watch for any new symptoms. If anything changes or if you feel she is getting worse, bring her straight back."
"Ummm.... o...kay? I guess?"

Dumbfounded, I head to my Homoeopath for help again. This time, I think my child is far too unwell to be helped by the "quackery" (as so belligerently described in this article today) of something so, frankly, mysterious as homoeopathy. I've heard the opinion that the pillules they give out are no more than placebo tablets. I also know that, either way, I don't care if they are if they relieve me - but I'm not so certain I want to risk testing the theory with my child on something that appears to be quite serious this time. More over, I don't want to risk looking to others like I am doing nothing for her but giving her sugar-placebo tablets!
But with little else to do, I turn again to my trusty Homoeopath.
This time, the result convinces me without doubt that I would turn to him before a GP any day of the week for almost anything except broken bones!

As it turned out, Lolly had hand, foot and mouth disease. She passed it on to both Steve and me. I didn't shake the horrible disease for five months (largely because I was stupid and was so concerned about getting her back to health that I ignored the pain and literally swallowed it down every day without focusing on my own wellbeing and getting myself treated... in hindsight, that was the end of my phase of subconsciously inflicting pain on myself). It was a horrendous time. But we got through it with little more than a bit of Pain Stop and the homoeopathics to treat the symptoms. I did take her back to the doctor to discuss it and was there for little more than five minutes, being shown the door and told that it couldn't be treated by them. What the....?

I could go on and on, listing examples of more minor ailments I or Lolly have had over the past six years. I now naturally call on my Homoeopath for things that I am initially sure cannot possibly be treated or eased but will contact him "just in case" they can. One memorable time, I just happened to mention a grotesque little-fingernail-sized cauliflower wart (oh, yes... ewww) that had grown on the side of my chin while I was pregnant. The thing was there to stay. It grew so large that Steve started asking it how the heck that thing grew on the side of its face ("that thing" being, my head... oh he is soooooo funny, no? sigh).

With barely more than a week's worth of aggressive treatment with the correctly prescribed homoeopathic remedy, the bloody thing fell off! And just two months ago, Lolly and I worked together with our Homoeopath to get rid of a painful papilloma (one of those warts that grow inwards in a conical shape usually on the underside of the heel). They're yuck and in my teenage years, I had one removed with quite a bit of discomfort, local anaesthetic, freezing it out and bandaging. I thought I'd try to avoid that for her and see if we couldn't give homoeopathics a go. She was over the moon when it shrivelled up and died and painlessly fell off in her sock one day, about a month after we started treating it with a 3-times daily remedy. I was pleased she was able to see how the treatment had worked for her, as it had been troubling her and making walking uncomfortable - I offered her the choice and explained what the doctor would do. The word "needle" (even though I reassured her it would only sting for a moment) was enough to make her try the (in my opinion, better) alternative.

Placebo? Quackery? I don't believe either of those ill-advised descriptions for ONE second.

And finally, I just want to say: please note that my Homoeopath was not the one who didn't do anything for you... if you have been given poor or ineffective treatment by one - as with doctors, there are good ones and crap ones. I have the great fortune of having found a damn fine Homoeopath, whom we actually call "Dr K" because he's just as good, if not better, than any I've seen in my entire life and certainly treats me and my family more effectively and more often.

What have been your experiences with doctors, alternative therapists, or otherwise?

When cyclists attack: Dog vs Man

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 23:17:00 +0000

"If you don't know how to do it, I'll show you how to walk the dawg."

The other morning, the LGBB and I took Jazz for a walk to her school. It took us around an hour. There is a bike track that goes all the way there. It's a really lovely gently downhill walk all the way, and there are many spots where you could almost imagine you're walking on a path through the bush, not through the back of suburbia.

On this deserted path, I decided to allow Jazz some free roaming time. She is harmless. I know this. Despite knowing this, I have the eagle eye of an experienced dog owner. Some, granted, would say that an "experienced dog owner" would not have let the dog off its lead on council land where it is common knowledge that dogs should be walked on lead only. Weighing up the risks compared with the short bit of off-lead time I was giving her, I made the measured decision to keep a watchful eye on my dog and let her run in the grass verge to the side of the track. Many groups and individuals passed us over a ten minute period, mostly on bike but a few on foot. They passed us without fuss or fret. Jazz gave them barely a glance, if that, and continued her foraging in the lush grass - she loves to scratch her back and snout in grass for some reason, I've heard other Kelpie owners say their dogs love to do this too, perhaps it's a trait of the breed.

Lolly and I were making good time. Steve was going to meet us at the school with the car to give us a lift back, a wisely pre-arranged plan we made before we left home, sans phone.

Along came a man of quite decent, solid build. He looked to be roughly in his forties and in very good shape. He was riding a bike and coming towards us. I checked where Jazz was as he headed our way; she was sniffing the base of a gum tree at the edge of the path. I saw by the way the rider's face was set determinedly that he was in some sort of deep concentration and deduced he would not be an individual who would share a nod, a smile or any grunt in recognition of sharing the path and early morning with us. That's cool. I've been in the zone before while exercising. Sometimes you do, sometimes you don't acknowledge a passer-by.

When he rode past us, I was only mildly alarmed that he came quite close to the LGBB - thankfully, she kept her gait steady and didn't wobble into his path or he would have clipped her. Perhaps he felt we should get off the path completely, for we had already moved out of his way over to our side of the shared walkway. It was a fleeting glance, but I saw him jerk his head sharply in the direction of Jazz as he rounded the tree under which she was gaily sniffing. In a moment, he was gone - mere seconds and he had passed us by - and we continued on.

Not more than two minutes passed and, just as Lolly was launching into some new endless sentence without a break about some desperately important bit of information she needed to impart in one continuous breath, I heard someone shout something from behind her down the track a ways. It took me a few moments to register the words in my brain... something about "dog on the fucking lead"...

The man on the bike was making his way back, obviously reaching some turning point in his ride and coming back the way he came. Lolly was oblivious and thought I had stopped ahead of her to turn back and wait for her to catch up - it's hard to concentrate on your single minutes-long sentence and keep a good walking pace, didn't you know? - but I was mostly watching the situation with my dog and this fast-approaching bike rider who by now I realised had the shits up about Jazz being off lead.

"She's fine," I assured him as he cycled past Lolly making his way past me next. The dog hadn't even lifted her head and was at this point a few metres from the path to my right, still under my control and posing absolutely no obstacle or danger to anyone, least of all the big burly man.

"Get FUCKED," he shrieked like a madman. "Should be on a lead." He rapidly rode into the distance past me. The whole exchange took less than five seconds.

The moment got the better of me and I was instantly riled, as if something had leapt off the rider and onto me. I was baited, hook, line and sinker. I took it. Without hesitating (or thinking), I fired back, "Calm down, sir." I have absolutely no idea why I added "sir" the way I did. Perhaps I thought it'd soften it. I immediately wanted to gulp my words back in. It was wrong to shout anything after him. I had visions of him dismounting and coming back and punching me in the face. I felt like I had been hit in the stomach as it was. He was just so angry!

The LGBB was concerned. She caught up to me, asking questions about "the man" and wanting to know - word for word - what he said and what I had called after him. I tried to wave it off but she persisted. I had to feed my words back to her, regurgitating them as if she was trying to make me be more accountable for my part in the exchange. Mostly, I was mortified that having the dog off lead, despite her perfect behaviour and temperament, had been so gruffly pointed out to me.

"What did he say to you?" Lolly probed.

"He said Jazz should be on her lead... and he's right," I replied truthfully.

"But why was he mad? And what did you say to him?" she asked, a most concerned look on her face. She's at an age where such juicy social exchanges are referenced and filed for use in her next dollhouse or Barbie game - there's always an antagonist these days if I listen in long enough.

"He was telling me Jazz should be walking next to us because maybe he thought she would trip him over," I said. It was the first logical thing that came into my head, probably not far from the truth either. I'd like to think he was an upstanding citizen who was concerned for the safety of others.... something tells me that wasn't the reason for his policing attitude, but still. I'll never know. "And I asked him to calm down because he seemed angry."

I felt a fool, spelling it out to her. I shouldn't have yelled after him. It was idiotic and made me feel worse because I was contributing to the exchange and buying in to whatever he was already carrying. That kind of venom isn't spat out at a stranger without it having brewed to that point long before the situation even arises. He was just seizing the opportunity to let some steam out of his inner pressure cooker. I get that.

"But why was he so angry about Jazz?" See? Even a five year-old knows Jazz is nothing to be concerned about. That dog is the definition of "nice".

"Because..." getting a little frustrated now, just drop it already, sheeezus! "...some people are just so angry in their hearts that they yell at other people, even sometimes people they don't even know. It's a shame, isn't it?"

It was the closest to a full explanation as I wanted to get that day. Lol seemed satisfied after that. Her face relaxed back to neutral and she changed the subject to something completely unrelated. I love the way kids do that! I wish more adults could do it. But that's an entirely different blog post......

Look, I knew it was essentially wrong of me to have Jazz off her lead. But I'd love to take a poll of dog owners and ask them if they haven't given their dog a few minutes off the lead here and there over the life of the dog. Come on. I'd like to think I am a sensible, responsible person (some would say I am often painfully too responsible and morally upright!) - I know my dog and I know she would no sooner rush at someone than take down a wildebeast.

Other dogs are a different matter: as soon as another dog comes along, mostly for the safety of my own dog I will restrain her if she is at that point having a sniff off the lead. It's just not worth the potential for a dog-barney in the road. A brief exchange with the other dog owner will determine whether we let them have a run together. It seems the unwritten rule of engagement out there and most, if not all, dog owners I have ever met have been very reasonable and more than keen to let Fido have a run and tumble with my dog too - we know the joy these social creatures get from connecting with their own kind. In fact, it's a big part of the joy of owning a dog.

It's a can of worms, I know, asking where you stand on the issue of dogs off lead. I myself would not like to be anywhere in a shared public place with a dog off its lead - heck, some people seem to have a hard time stopping/controlling their dog even when they are on lead! If I see kids - on foot or on bikes - she goes back on straight away. If I see other dogs in the distance, same thing - back on straight away. If there is nowhere for her to roam or get off the path and it's being shared with walkers and cyclists, she also doesn't get off the lead. If there is anything unpredictable (a windy day, poor visibility, anything that just doesn't feel right), she stays by my side and doesn't go off lead. You can see that there isn't much opportunity for time where she is let off! An rightfully so. Dogs should come last in the chain in public spaces, always. BUT... if it is mostly deserted and there's plenty of space and a decent stretch of path where I can see people coming in either direction from a fair distance away, then yes. I let her off.

What are your habits walking your own dog? What are your thoughts? And ummm... what's better or worse: having a harmless dog off its lead or shouting expletives in a threatening manner in front of a small child in an essentially deserted area? I have to tell you (now I'm safe at home) it was one of those hair-raising moments where I saw in a flash what can happen - and how easily these road rage (bike path rage?) bashing stories end up on the news.

Update: Wed. 25/1, 11am - I am closing comments on this post now. If you feel moved to add something that hasn't already been discussed, please feel free to visit my Facebook page instead.
I would like to point out that the second last paragraph in this post clearly describes the conditions in which I give my dog a rare chance to walk off-lead - in a safe and controlled environment, not in parks full of people, at shopping centres (heaven forbid!) or anywhere where there are children.
I would also remind, respectfully, that I am not representative of (or advocating for) irresponsible and inconsiderate owners who seem not to respect shared public places with their out of control dogs. They give all dog owners (and dogs!) an unfair bad name.
Thank you to all who contributed to the discussion.

"Good night, Australia!" #YTT is back!

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 09:37:00 +0000

I had no idea Young Talent Time was coming back until, oh, about 4.30 last Friday afternoon. WHY DIDN'T I KNOW THIS???

When I was growing up, Sydney had all the other Aussie-made shows but in Melbourne, we had three of my childhood staples:

Hey! Hey! It's Saturday. Neighbours. But most beloved of all,

Young Talent Time.

I ADORED this show. I loved Johnny Young. I felt like I had a personal connection to each of the kids. When one would leave (Karen Knowles, you BROKE MY HEART........ it's ok, I forgive you already) and another would join, I'd warm to them eventually. I had my eighth birthday there and thought I was the luckiest girl on the planet when Tara Falconer invited me to her birthday party and I got to go again (it seemed the "done" thing to go to tapings of the show for birthday parties). It was the place to be. If you were a little kid with stars in her/his eyes. And you lived in Melbourne.

It finished in 1988. I can hardly believe it was that long ago. How can it be that it was never resurrected until now? But my goodness, what a resurrection.

I am going to admit right now, I am hopeful. So very, very hopeful. That this doesn't go down the chute too quickly. That there are no scandals, that there is no hard time made or had by any of the team or contestants. That people don't unduly bag it without first stopping to realise the gaping hole in wholesome children's entertainment these days.

Because I need this to work!

This show is vital. It is very much needed. Yes, there is a saturation of talent shows but they are so formulaic and rigid and narrow-focused. They smack of greed and almost unhealthy competition and materialism. They are not and will never be YTT.

Like looking into the past... The LGBB sits, riveted by the new show

After the show, they sang "All My Loving". I cried. Like a bit of a baby. In a flash, a warm blanket came over me. I remember being all rugged up in my 'jamies, towel-dried wet hair, fed. With my family, that was so often at war and fractured. Safe for a moment. I would sit there and allow myself to get pulled in to the TV. Tuning out all else except those twinkling studio stars behind them as Johnny Young sat and swayed while he sang my weekly goodnight song. To me.

Tonight, the LGBB was overcome at the very first notes of the song. She bundled up her little dog, Scraps, and jumped off the couch to come and cuddle up to me where I was stretched out on the floor, probably pulling a pose very much like the one I used to 25 years ago. I looked down at her and remembered the happy I used to feel. That childlike, nothing-can-beat-it, innocent Happy. She led me back to it in a split second. Because of that song. She was beaming from ear to ear, hugging me and her little dog so tight I almost had to ask her to tone it down a little. But I daren't, for I never wanted the moment to end.

It did, a few bars into the song. And she turned to me and begged, "Can I PLEEEEASE watch this again? Right now!"

So from me to you, Johnny Young.... You are on a winner. You always were. Genius! I saw the emotion in your face tonight and had to swallow past a sudden lump in my throat watching how happy you were. It was so good to see you. We love the new format. Don't go changin'!

And to you, young Robert. So-called Millsy. You did well, Grasshopper. I was pleasantly impressed and surprised. The Talent is strong in you. Use it wisely, because if you don't there is a legion of mothers out there who grew up on YTT and need you to get it right. For the sake of their littl'uns! We've glimpsed the legacy. Don't you be messying it up, boy-o. Y'hear?

Image credit

"Good night, Australia!"

2012: The Year of.... Getting my house back

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 22:39:00 +0000

Well, sort of.

I'm not going to bang on (much) about how I'm walking around the house already crestfallen that I will be alone for most of the day five days a week. And that it will at times probably remind me of all those days, years ago, where I would roam the house while Steve was at work and I had empty arms and only the memory of my baby to reach out to.

How times have changed. Why won't I dwell on this?

Because yesterday, it dawned on me: when the LGBB starts school, I'm going to get my house back! I mean, I am going to be able to clean and tidy a room.... And it's gonna stay that way for the whole day!! This is a big deal when you work at home, tidying around a child (or children). Years ago, I gave over to the notion of being able to keep every room of the house spotless while there was a young person living here. Hell, I gave over to the prospect of having a house get all messed up when I started living with a man. But that's another issue entirely.

It seems like such a small thing. But I have a feeling it's going to actually be huge for me this year - the fact that I will be able to create some order, and I will be able to cast my eyes over things and my brain will register the orderliness. I think it will go a long way to brushing away some of the lingering blues, which I can safely call depression this far in to my life's journey, let's face it. That constant sense of never getting to the bottom of my list of what I would like to do in order that I feel like I've achieved anywhere near anything useful.... it's almost over. I know it!

I hardly want to imagine it, but I am beginning to look forward to the days of mopping the floors and them actually staying dust, fluff and footprint-free! For up to 5 hours at the very least! Mercy me. And that I will be able to clean rooms completely without a single interruption, meaning I will be free to actually finish cleaning them and not just give them a cursory once-over saying "That'll have to do" because duty calls in another part of the house.

Mind you, this doesn't alleviate the issue of the three animals we share this home with. Sigh. I feel like I am running a créche for animals some days, what with all the mess I have to clean up after them. Not that I'm calling my child an animal..... Although sometimes.... hey, if the shoe fits.

"Let It Snow!" This is why beanbags are evil.....

Is a house with some sense of order and/or cleanliness something that cheers you? Or do you not give a hoot either way?

Dear Miss Ellanor

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 01:14:00 +0000

Hello, lovely girl.

I'm getting swept up in wistful thoughts again. Wishing you were here this week.

Your little sister and I are getting ready to make a sweet feast on your birthday. You would have turned eight this Friday. I know 8. I remember 8. I felt so old, so grown-up. So ready to take on the world. It felt like an important birthday to me. Seems like such a wholesome number.

I feel a bit cheated this year for the first time in several years. Perhaps because I can remember being 8. And that hope-filled eight year-old in me is confused by all the hurt and pain. I have to nurture her, too, you know. Break this to her very gently. The world hurts. But it is such a beautiful hurt.

Thank you, my darling soul mate, for teaching me that lesson as well.

The other day, I was distracted in the kitchen. Stirring something on the stove, thinking several things at once. Deep in concentration. Out of the corner of my eye, my little girl walked in from the next room and stood a short distance away, saying expectantly, "Mum...." I looked up and said "Yeah?", expecting to see Lolly. She wasn't there. No one was. I stared at the vacant spot, disappointed my head hadn't turned a split second sooner. Lolly was metres away, caught up in her Barbie website. She looked over at me when I spoke and asked me, "What, Mum?" "Oh... nothing," was all I could stammer.

It was you, wasn't it? Well, thanks for coming, anyway! It was so wonderful to glimpse you. It's been too long.

You're there. I know you're there. Here's our song again, just for us. You and me, sweet pea.

You gorgeous, soft, strong, delicate rose. You hold the whole world, the entire Universe, in your soul. I know you do.

I miss you, Boo. I truly do.

Love

Love

Love,

Your Earth-bound Mother x

To view more letters to Ellanor and anniversary posts, please click here and scroll down.

2012: The Year of.... Contentment

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 23:40:00 +0000

We're reaching the pointy end of the holiday stick here in Australia, folks. I am getting to the stage where that blissfully still week between Christmas and New Year is going to be all but a distant memory soon. The past two years, I worked over that time. I've done it before. Doubtless, in my future years, I will do it again for various reasons/projects.

Not this year, though. This year I relaxed so much I almost became a liquid substance version of myself.

I am interested to see how long I can remain connected to the feeling and stretch it into this exciting new year.

When I think of the feelings and concepts that come up for me in this prayerful time, I have a pretty sublime looking list that I hope to carry with me into my Year of Contentment:

...anticipation. Despite (or because of) all its hardships, life will be good to me and my family.
...goodwill. Quiet, without fanfare or accolade or advertisement. The real kind. True service.
...frugal. Waste not, want not. This is the year to clean out.
...purge. As above, so below.
...be mindful of my mind. Where it goes, what it thinks, who it thinks about, why it believes it even has any business thinking about who it does. Further note to self: turn thinking "about" into pure... thought.

And just on that note, I am reminded to take with me this pearler that I picked up during my studies in 2011:

What others think about me is none of my business

For want of a more freeing statement, this has held true for me and has really helped me keep the "nah-nah-nah's" of my mind at bay more than once. Try it (if you need it too). It works.

Now, although I am not necessarily the one praying, there are others in the world in very zen states at this time of year (granted, you may not be/feel like one of them and fair enough!) - I am a great believer that (us being connected on some cellular/animal/vegetable/mineral level to the All) this group-conscious collective state filters through on some energetic level. How I react to that is varied. Sometimes it feels repellant to me and I resist, wanting to lash out, wanting to be pained... Not necessarily consciously realising that this is what I'm doing. Other times, I allow myself to align with the Zen State! I know it's the preferable way for me to be. But I don't beat myself up about not being there these days. Instead, I observe my behaviour and reactions with hindsight and move forward, better educated about what triggers me (and how I, in turn, affect others around me energetically with those triggered reactions).

If there are enough beings focusing their inner strength on being in a prayerful state, then surely it follows:

As within... so without.

Yes?

Are you in your prayerful state? Have you found it over the festive period? Or have you filled every single space in your time and mind so they are cluttered once more, before a new year has fully begun?

Defrag yourself! Hit that Reboot button in your psyche and refresh/clear the old patterns now so the new coding can be laid down afresh and set you on your true course for 2012.

2012: The Year of.... My Book finding an agent

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 19:20:00 +0000

Otherwise known as Chasing Pavements.

By the end of 2012, if I have not exhausted every agent (Australian or otherwise) and started croakily imploring "Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements even if it leads nowhere?" Adele-style then please slap me, all of you, and tell me I should've tried much, much harder.

Here's the thing:
...I have a memoir ready to be published ... okay, polished by an editor of their choice then published.
...It's in two parts.
...Part 1 is 84,000 words - it loosely chronicles Steve's and my journey to parenthood for the first time and the abrupt end of our daughter's life.
...Part 2 is 77,000 words - it branches into the awakening of the positives to be found in the death of our baby, our IVF journey and culminates in the eventual "success" of a take-home baby. Enter stage left: The LGBB!
...I have been short-listing some agents since November but haven't nearly exhausted the list yet. It's a long process, trying to decipher who would be interested in my work.

I have had the diligent, supportive and helpful readers. I have had the critics. I have had the "you haven't written a book, you haven't even nearly finished writing yet" helpers who haven't read a single word {way to confuse me! I'm preeeeetty sure I have a well-rounded, well edited book here, or so I am being repeatedly told by very intelligent readers, so - with the greatest respect for your experience - perhaps offer to read it before you offer to tell me I don't have anything worth publishing yet!}. It's time to push the baby out of the nest.

But in which direction?

Ultimately, I feel the pressure of knowing none of it will have meant anything if I can't get this thing out there. I know, I know... the healing in the writing has to have been worth it... Blah-blah-blah. I'll cut to the chase and just say, no. It won't have been. If I can't get this off the ground, I will have fallen short of my goal and I can't let that happen. Not when Ellanor's memory is all over the darn thing. Besides, I never started writing it for any other reason. And I haven't written the book for that (self-healing). I was well through the worst of it when I began writing. As for the actual logistics of distributing the book, I'm not keen on self-publishing. I want to truly leave no stone unturned as I go down the traditional route of publishing. So I will be boning up on what I do know about how it all works - and will be scrambling to fix and change things according to what I learn, because there is SO much I don't know about how it all works! It's kind of like trying to find the end of a piece of string amongst a balled-up mass of intertwining threads and other people saying they have a vague idea of what you're looking for and where you'll find it, they saw it, oh... "over there somewhere, you'll find it, just keep looking..." Aaaaaargh. Just TELL meeeee!

*composure* Now I'm just starting to sound like Veruca Salt.

Image

What I hope to achieve is only going to be possible if someone has faith in the project. This is where I am going to call on the support of any readers out there who want to see it happen. Plenty of you have said "It HAS to get out there!" and "I am going to do all I can to spread the word... because the story needs to be told!" and words to that effect. It has buoyed and humbled me to the ends of the Earth. I truly hope that sometime in the not too distant future, I get to call you on your words and ask you to come good with them!

So, uh...... anyone know any good agent/s who don't mind a bit of real-life nitty-gritty wrapped up in a positive message?? Then help to hook me up, dagnabbit, starting with sharing this post! pretty please with a cherry on top

2012: The Year of.... The garden

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 22:02:00 +0000

Ummmm.... yeah, so weeding isn't our forté

There are a number of projects still tying up here post-renovation/extension. Just the words "extension" and "renovation" still make me shudder. Sure, the result is fantastic! In the end. That bit towards the end, though? When you see money draining out of your account like there's no tomorrow and EVERY single purchase is in the $thousands, you don't feel so much excited and sure of what you've set out to do, but more terrified you've made a huge mistake.

As the dust continues to settle - literally - and we patch up various natural disaster events and nail marks on architraves and skirting board sections that are still missing, the outdoor part of our humble ~~compound~~ abode is going along swimmingly.

A couple of years back, I joined Gardens For Wildlife. It's a council initiative that I have so far managed to convince two of our adjoining neighbours to try out. For the sake of their lawns/soil quality, the bird and other native wildlife, the insects, and their water bills (the neighbours' water bills, that is, not the fauna's...). What's not to love about contributing to the green belt we actually live in by regenerating our small areas of back and front yards with the types of plants that occurred naturally here until it was cleared 100 years ago??

In 2011, we made small changes to the garden. I have planted a hedge of indigenous natives along our front side fence line. Already, in just three months, the little single-stemmed 20cm tube stock plants have bushed out into beautiful, healthy knee-height specimens.

<------ Look at that! I have clipped this back three times.

And get this: I didn't even water the things in! This is where they grow best. I just bung them in, they will do the rest. This particular plant can be sculpted into any shape you can imagine. An elderly neighbour across the way has three of them. He has his shaped like a sphere, a box and an oblong sort of thing. They are works of art, to be sure (oh to have the spare time! One day...). Now, while I'm not going to go pruning mine into chess pieces anytime soon, it is wondrous to see a native looking every bit like the kind of expensive landscaping plant you'd find in the back yards of my website client's clients (just check these out for incredible!)

One of our random grevilleas, with its crazy-beautiful strange flowers

Lolly's frog pond

So, 2012. The year of the garden here. Over the year, I plan to...

...finish downsizing the roses that are struggling in the front yard.
...reintroduce indigenous native grasses to the front garden beds.
...reclaim some of our beautiful front yard lawn to accommodate a butterfly garden.
...help Steve create a small paved area off the front porch next to the frog pond the LGBB and I made out of her old baby bath in '10 and screen it with fast-growing, bushy feature natives.
...clear a decommissioned vegie patch in the back yard and turn it into a screened "fairy garden" area - the request has been taken from the LGBB to plant "tall grasses that you can't see over so I can hide behind them." Point: taken.
...plant a small (ha! are they ever truly small?!) flowering eucalypt in a bare back corner, away from the house.

How does your garden grow? Have you ever considered investigating local native species?

I would highly recommend you research what grows naturally in your area. For instance, a native in Gippsland could be a noxious weed here where I live, just four hours away. Not all natives are the same! Still Australian native, yes, but not necessarily ideal for your area. Talk to the experts, if you have any at your council or other such body - if nothing else, they might be able to advise what is best *not* to plant. You may be surprised what they recommend!

Remembered into being

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 06:40:00 +0000

Ellanor was borne into being long after she became a thought. I had introduced her to my closest confidantes before I got pregnant. She included herself in our lives before she was born. She touched down here for the most fleeting of days - 31 to be very exact - and then tripped back off again. Leaving me to gather together all the memories she had left me with, so I could lean on them. Desperately at first. Despairingly, longingly. But always fondly. Even the hard memories. And then I got stuck into sharing them, mostly here on this blog (and my old one). The more I did, the more I discovered that she remained vital in not just my life but the lives of others.

Later in 2004, I had not a clue, not a whisper of a dare of a hope that I might ever feel like opening my eyes for one more day on this Earth, let alone wonder if any more children were to be our fate. It's just lucky for us that it was. That I never continued my thought process to my eventual untimely end (and how to do it).

It's a tricky thing.

She had to leave. I had to stay. But I know why now.

Miss Lolly, a month after she burst my heart open even wider

The most endearing face in my world, 2008

Even when she makes more work for me, she is still my Heaven - 2011

For if she had not, the world would not have been able to welcome the shining light that is Ellanor's little sister. Like revolving doors, the two girls slipped past each other. Never destined to meet in the flesh.

But those memories I hold in my soft mother heart are Lolly's. They are there for her to wade in, explore, develop for herself. Memories that did not bring Ellanor into being but that ensure she has no beginning or end here on Earth, as it is wherever she goes now. She is the one who is free. She is the one who had the vision to come. And to go. How can I ultimately be anything but impressed by that sheer will? I am frankly in awe of her.

As long as we keep remembering. Their existence will continue to flourish.

In dedication to all the babies who are being cradled

in the memories of their families this festive season.

Peace be with you all.

Together, we will never let them fade.

The Life Path: Heading for my Balanced State

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 21:39:00 +0000

"I take care of my own needs in order to take care of others."

This is my balanced state of existence. Self-preservation. There have been rare times in my life where I have mastered achieving it and it is something I do still have to work hard on. I am rarely in that state.

This is a bit of a different post today. 2012 is my year to get more serious on my blog with what I do. More on that as the year gets into full swing. But for starters, here is an opportunity to give back to you a little something of what I do "professionally" these days. I'd love to hear from you if it sounds like something that might be useful or relevant for you, so feel free to contact me. Confidentiality is assured (otherwise I'd be really quite shit at my work, wouldn't I!).

Okay? Read on if you're interested!

We all have a balanced state, unique to us. We also have deficient, excessive and fear states as well. When things aren't quite ticking along or seem out of kilter in our communication with others, or in the general way we see things in our lives, it can be helpful to gain further understanding so that we then have the free-will and choice to make change. In whatever direction. (Sometimes, I can have all the understanding about my particular way of being in a situation and still walk head-long - the long way around! - into further hurt and harm and shattering lessons)

My general life lesson/purpose is the responsibility of change - transition is my lot. For many years, I gnashed my teeth and was frustrated by the begin again and again and bloody AGAIN nature of my existence! When I discovered, through my study, a deeper understanding and purpose for this repetition, I had a far greater expansive awareness of myself and why I was going through the mill. Little by little, the begin-again lessons stopped, for I was able to look at each previously frustrating or hurtful occurrence in my life and learn about my role in them and whether there was anything in my power to change (if not how then) why they occurred. It was a turning point in my heal-the-healer journey I've been on.

The other states of the psyche, as I mentioned - and we all have these, but they are different for each of us - are "excessive", "deficient" and "fear". When we are striving to understand these, we can begin to have a more complete picture of what makes us tick.

My deficient state (when I am not quite feeling balanced and there is instead a depletion somewhere in my pattern) is "ego-centric", ie. "Things are not quite how I want them to be."
It's all about meee! There is a certain aspect of wanting to control with this one. I am very familiar with it! It, too, is a lesson that keeps knocking on my door and as my life progresses, I can now recognise that this is not a balanced way to live my life. It has been helpful to know.

My excessive state (when the pendulum is swinging too far in the other direction and I am over-grown with something) is "aggressive", ie. "I expect conflict in my life."
This is where I am currently. I have been in an extended period of the excessive state of the psyche. It is not comfortable, it has kinda lately become my new norm, even though I know I am not this aggressive person. Partially, yes - it is in there and I need to know it to be familiar with my whole Self - but to this degree and intensity and for this long? Nu-uh.

And get this: My fear state is "fear of death, or of birth."
Well, well, well. Hasn't that been one shock to my system then, eh?! It's little wonder, when I look at it, that I have been delivered the repetitive lessons that I have about death. And of birth. Why, my whole adult life so far has been consumed by both those things - the prospect of birth of each of my conceived children (that'd be 14 so far) and the death of all but one of them.

So, okay. I've mastered the fear state. I am familiar with but currently not steeped in my deficient state. I am going to diligently stay with the Excessive State lessons and see what I can work through. Because enough is enough.

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Have you reached a point where you're looking for another way? A bit of a break-through? That gnawing kind of feeling like you know there's something that is holding you at bay from "the next step" (whatever that is for you) but you just don't know what??

If anyone would like a consultation (online, via email) on their Life Path, I am available from January 2012. For a small fee, you will receive a pdf containing information specific to your numerological Life Path number, which is determined by your birth date. It can be general, as above, or a decade-specific one (ie. if you are in your 30's, the information provided can be specifically about your 4th decade here on Earth if you prefer!), or both if you want as much information as you can get. Also included are a couple of tools to support you along the way - your Animal and Plant totems (text), essential oil/essence understanding (text) and your Life Path colour mandala.

To get started, simply email me via kirrily@geneticfactor.com, send me a DM on Twitter, find me via Facebook.... there is a plethora of ways! All I need is your birth date (including the year) and a contribution via Paypal and you will have your Life Path reading in just a few days.

O (artificial Hudson Pine from Target) Christmas Tree, O (you get the picture)

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 00:00:00 +0000

It's fake, yes. And yet..... its branches are so lovely.

When it came to putting up the tree a week ago, I stood looking at all 7 /12' of it and sighed a resigned, tired sigh. I knew I would be the one pulling most of the decorations off in just a few short weeks. It all just looked like more work to me.

So this year, we went minimal bling, maximum lights. And whaddaya know?

It. WORKS! Like, really, reeeeally well.

A few choice obligatory kinder-made decorations,
some Santa's, maybe a sparkly silver snowflake or ten...

This year we gave Lolly a sparkly glittery fairy with butterfly wings
(I give her a new ornament each year, she has 6 now!)

Less time to put up means far less time to take down. A few favourite decorations here, a few choice strings of beads there, add a shit-tonne of fairy lights and...

Voilé! Tree is done and delightful.

Now this time is really the last Christmas post! Have a lovely one, everyone xxoo

All you need is love and understanding

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 22:01:00 +0000

If this ends up being my final post before Christmas, well... how very fitting.

For a special woman (you know who you are) who is feeling it this week. Come on guys, let's all get in a big group hug. Put your word-weapons down and cop a bit of Ronnie James Dio with me. Shout it or sing it, either is perfectly acceptable here. Whatever makes you feel happy.

Merry Christmas if I don't get back in here! Remember there are a lot of emotions pinging about the place, peoples. Stresses that aren't usually there any other time of year, more realisations of what you've got or haven't got (or who you have or have lost) - and if you don't think it affects you.... think again. Even if not directly, others' energies will be having an effect on you as well. As always... go gently with each other.

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The Butterfly Ball: who remembers this? In the 70's, I think, they used to play it as a filler between shows on the ABC - The Goodies, Monkey, maybe The Tomorrow People (god that show used to freak me out...) - and I always loved it as a young child. A friend re-introduced me to it earlier this year. So today, I'm posting it for her.

Love Is All

Ronnie James Dio/Roger Glover

Everybody's got to live together
All the people got to understand
So love your neighbour
Like you love your brother
Come on and join the band

Well all you need is love and understanding
Ring the bell and let the people know
We're so happy and we're celebratin'
Come on and let your feelings show

Coz love is all
Well love is all
Love is all can't you hear the call
Oh well love is all you need
Love is all you need at the Butterfly Ball

Ain't you happy that we're all together
At the ball in nature's countryside
And although we're wearing different faces
Nobody wants to hide

Love is all and all is love and
It's easy, yes it's so easy
At the Butterfly Ball where love is all
And it's so easy

All you need is love and understanding
Hey ring the bell and let the people know
We're so happy and we're celebratin'
Let your feelings show

Love is all, yes love is all at the Butterfly Ball
Love is big, love is small
Love is free, love is all
At the Butterfly Ball

When your back's to the wall
When you're starting to fall
You got something to lean on
Love is everything
It can make you sing
At the Butterfly Ball
Love is all, I say love is all, yes love is all
At the Butterfly Ball

Genevieve

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 23:06:00 +0000

There's one thing that contributes to the beautiful recuperative feel of Christmas for me: watching movies. Lots and lots of movies.

It comes from the days as children when we had seemingly endless (sometimes tear-inducing boring) weeks of freedom during summer holidays. The harsh reality of working life put a stop to that, as did a job that never closed (except on Christmas Day). Now THAT was a buzz-kill.

Steve and I settled in to our own tradition of Christmas-time movie watching because, well, there wasn't much else we had to do. With no children to attend to - not for lack of trying to surround ourselves with a brood - we filled our work-free days with Harry Potter and Star Wars and The Lord Of The Rings. Long series of movies.

But I have my own favourites. My own must-watch movies. The ones I rarely watch during the year but never fail to watch at Christmas time. There are three in particular and all of them make me cry. Not necessarily through sadness, but because I love them so much. A little bit of wistful mixed in remembering the years past where I would watch these movies with such free abandon, not realising the fate that would befall us when we lost our Ellanor in 2004. It took me quite some time to watch them again, knowing they made me feel so happy. Possibly difficult for anyone who hasn't gone through deep, deep grief to understand. But there you have it.

I still watch these movies. And I am most delighted to say that the LGBB adores them now too and watches them with me, giggling and tearing up at the appropriate bits. She's her mother's daughter, for she even recites lines from them.... Ahhh, 'ats my girl.

So, today. The first one:

Genevieve

Image source

Oh how I A.D.O.R.E. this movie. I think if I was asked what my favourite movie was, this would have to get the guernsey. I don't know why. Perhaps it's the sentimental factor. My grandparents and Dad were living in London when this was filmed in 1953. I have photos of my grandparents taken by the street photographers dressed like Wendy and Alan McKim on streets that are identical - obviously, because this movie was shot on location.

With Larry Adler's divine harmonica score, written for the movie I believe, what's not to love about this right from the get-go?? If you're not swaying from side to side, even just a little bit, during this happy song then please check yourself for a pulse....

Basically, what happens is this:

Wendy (the awesome and beautiful Dinah Sheridan) and Alan McKim (the lovely John Gregson, whom I formed a bit of a crush on in my teen years watching this movie!) are married. He is an old car enthusiast - the car's name is Genevieve - and she is long-suffering about his involvement with the Car Club, which hold an annual London to Brighton rally. The movie opens with Alan getting ready for the 1953 rally.

There are all sorts of mishaps and car break-downs and matrimonial squabbles along the way and it gets worse when they eventually arrive at Brighton. Hi-lar-i-ty! (I just LOVE the proprietress at the hotel they end up in who has the unfortunate task of telling them hot water is only available "in the afternoons between half past tiew and seeks"). Now watch this clip and tell me you haven't ever laughed hysterically, because there's no point crying, at something as awful as what they encounter in their hotel room:

Alan and their friend, the wicked Ambrose Claverhouse (Doctor in the House's, Kenneth More), decide to race their vintage cars back to London - their competition runs deep, with Alan convinced that his wife and Ambrose had at one time been more than good friends before they were married, a suspicion not alleviated by cheeky Wendy who likes to tease him a little about his insecurity (because she knows it's completely unfounded).

Ambrose's new "lady friend", Rosalind (played by the classic Kay Kendall, who died only 6 years later aged 33.... can you believe she was 27 when she made Genevieve?!? Whaaat?), comes along for the rally and finds the whole thing a tad boring but she's pleasant enough about it. At the dinner dance, she gets completely sozzled for the fun of it and decides to play with the band. The scene below happens right after Ambrose finishes confessing to Wendy during their dance that he hopes to *ahem* have his end away? Is that how the British put it? with Rosalind that night. The end of the scene is cut off here, right when Wendy launches into her uncontrollable laughter at Ambrose's "misfortune" when his date passes out cold for the night. Ha!

The race home between the two men gets very heated and there appears to be no love lost. Alan ends up betting Ambrose his car, Genevieve, that his old girl can beat Ambrose's spyker back to London. The music in this movie gets me every time. It just fits so perfectly. Here are some beautiful stills from the production of Genevieve:

As an interesting aside, I discovered on a Google search one time that dear Dinah Sheridan lost a child at birth in the years prior to making this movie and it warms me to her so much more. Can you believe it, but she is still alive! She must be 91 by now. What a woman.

Would you all please go out and find yourselves a copy and watch it? It's gorgeous. Not technically anything to do with Christmas, but a simply delightful old comedy very deserving of its place in my extensive movie library.

As for my other two favourites, well.... they will have to wait for a post in the near future, dear reader. Now, tell me: What are your favourite Christmas time movies? (not necessarily Christmas-themed, but just ones you might traditionally watch at this time of year)

Excuse me while I just go and watch it again...... already.

Wait without hope

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 01:06:00 +0000

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing;

wait without love

For love would be love of the wrong thing;

there is yet faith

But the faith and the hope and the love are all in the waiting.

Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought.

So the darkness shall be the light and the stillness the dancing.

An "Ella butterfly" posing graciously for the camera

This humbles me into quiet stillness today. Yet more stunning wisdom from T.S. Eliot's beautiful, beautiful, beautiful East Coker III, Four Quartets, 1940.

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For those who were playing along at home and made a guess at the little face in the image in this recent post, here she is.... a delicate white moth. I encourage you to click on the photo above and have a look at a larger version, she's exquisite. In this house, they're known as "Ella Butterflies" because the LGBB has noticed they seem to hang around her big sister's beautiful rose bush. Thanks to her indoctrination from watching the Tinkerbell movies, she tells me that "white butterflies" haven't been painted by the fairies yet.

Has a certain symmetry to it, I think.

I don't want her to have everything. There. I said it.

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 00:39:00 +0000

I have been practising the art of not-blogging until I have something to say. Did you even notice? (I have so many things to say, I can rarely keep off here for longer than a week....)

Well. I have something to say now. About Christmas and consumerism.

Sigh.

Oh, Christmas. How I love, loathe, repel, adore thee.

Last night, our little Lolly graduated from four year-old kinder. We embark officially now on the the looooooongest six weeks of our lives, she and I. The month before her first year of school.

It's also the time where I put to question my position on Christmas presents for our child. While I don't think we go overboard, Steve and I, we certainly give the LGBB a good variety of little presents. We've noticed they usually get drowned in comparison to what is lavished on her from the family at large though. It sits uneasily with us. We tactfully ask that we "keep it small" on the gifts for the kids. But still we are greeted with this desire to give. Over-give. It feels so wasteful on the one hand. On the other, it is still quite a lot less than so many privileged children receive.

I know my thoughts on it on the surface, but I asked myself the other day whether I truly wanted my child to "have everything" - a term I hear so often used. After a good deal of consideration, I can say that .... no. I don't want my child to have everything. Experience everything. I know the experience thing is ultimately not up to me; much of that is going to be decided by her and the path she takes through life (which I know first-hand is rarely the one you think you're set to take). But the having everything is certainly within my control - for the most part - for now.

While all around her Lolly is encountering peers with iPods and every age-appropriate toy money can buy, we are setting a consistent and steady pace with our gifts to her. I cannot comment on what it is like in any other household, but I can safely attest to a child who does not expect a treat at every supermarket check-out. She is not influenced by the unstoppable consumerism of children's programming interspersed with advertisements for this and that because we simply do not allow commercials in our home. We avoid them by not allowing commercial TV to be viewed 'live' and record the shows on these stations to watch later, ad's skipped. Peace! Divine. And honestly, I really do think it does make a difference not having them in her face. When she sees these commercials, she invariably asks if she can "have one", whatever it is, because it looks fun. Of course it does! That's the advertising team's job. Well done, them.

Rarely, the LGBB and I will watch a show that is on at prime time and I am agog with the amount of bombardment that occurs via advertising. It isn't long before I click away from that channel because it just feels so forceful if you've been out of that loop, as we have now for several years. These commercials always show joyous children happy to push around this toy or that, comb something through a doll's hair, make ridiculously perfect-looking jewellery.... I know it NEVER is as easy as it appears on the commercials. I know that if we were to be suckered in to buying the product, it'd frustrate my kid to tears because she can't get it to look "the same" or get the doll to have such fluid movements.

I recall my own deep disappointment with Sand Magic, when I couldn't make anything remotely resembling the Taj Mahal with my coloured underwater sand. The best I got were two poo-shaped lumps and the majority of the sand was rinsed away down the sink at the end because, hey, nowhere on the box was it recommended you do it in a tub of water. I was only eight, after all. Bastards.

Magic Shmagic - Image

So now we're in this funny place of asking Lolly if she has an idea of what she would like Santa to bring her. She has only one thing she'd love more than anything else....

"A rainbow unicorn and a shed for him to sleep in."

"...........Ummmmmmmm...... anything else?" I asked her hopefully. There wasn't anything else. I was given no other ideas.

I nipped that one in the bud (a stroke of genius that came to me like a bolt out of the blue, thankfully) and explained that unicorns cannot be owned, otherwise their magic goes away. They are beautiful, free creatures that can't be kept as pets, else their wonder and mystery dies.... She bought it.

I caught myself feeling disgruntled at my daughter's lack of.... want! Of making it easier for me to buy her things that made her heart fill to absolute bursting when she opened the wrapping paper. She and I have been out of kilter with each other for a few weeks - an "I love Dad more than you, sorry Mum" (yes, she actually said that!) phase - and I was getting to the point of needing to bridge the gap. Using a method that I know is so counter-productive. Buying her affection for me. What the hell?!?

She further bedded in my big lesson yesterday when out of the blue, I was landed with a whopping great kiss and a hug and told that she wanted to write "I love Mum" in all the kinder class Christmas cards we had been making together all afternoon. Now if that was not an obvious example for me that all I need to do in order to be in her good graces is spend quality, productive time together, I don't know what will point it out to me. Sure, I could get the same affection if I bought her everything her heart desires. But that seems a rather short-lived way of doing it, with no possible end to the amount of money I would need to spend to keep impressing her.

How often do we desire to have something that we cannot have? Something that doesn't eventuate? Just because we see others with one does it mean it is our right to have one too? If we give, give, give all these toys, when else does she learn about being selective? About not over-indulging? About considering those less fortunate?

It seems we have somewhat successfully created a child who has so far dodged the consumerism bullet. Whether she is completely innoculated, time will tell. But we are going to be resisting as passively as we can, her father and I, all the crazes and must-haves of her generation. She will never go without. But I feel it our duty to instill in her an awareness, that hers is a life of abundance, making do with what she has and what comes her way, regardless of all the things she does not possess.

These might be viewed as concepts too far over a young child's head. But I don't believe there is any age too young to teach compassion and awareness of others. Consistently showing and persistently leading an example of whatever values you uphold as a parent, these are naturally going to become part of that child's expectation and view of their world.

I know we all give a little (or a lot) and we also accept what we are given (for the most part). But do we stop often enough to indulge the little voice that might be asking us to look at the example we are setting to the young people in our lives? I know I don't stop often enough.... and I'm diligent about it!

What is your take on giving gifts at Christmas?

Worlds within worlds: A pictorial of a bushwalk in East Gippsland

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 00:33:00 +0000

During our recent holiday up Australia's east coast (only as far as Sydney, this is a bloody big country!), we had the great pleasure of enjoying a bushwalk as a family. It was the LGBB who insisted on the 5km bush and beach trek. I'm so glad we did it. There were some really amazing treats on the well worn, overgrown track. Tiny birds, big rosellas, little lizards, crazy fungus formations, whole copses of fallen beach shrubs that were stunning in themselves despite being long dead and flattened.

It was a humbling experience, coming from the beachside holiday spot in Lakes Entrance and walking just a short distance to get to the point of the actual Entrance itself. So untouched yet so close to all the modern conveniences. I'm quite impressed, actually, that they have conserved this area. It's only a great pity there are not more of these pockets of nature. It really contrasts with the paved roads, the industry, the devastation of tracts of land to make way for more "progress".

Along the way, there were many stops by me and the trusty Canon DSLR. Too many photos to share here but some of my best captures of what we saw are below.

First though... Any guesses what this is?

I'll show you the whole photo in a post later in the week, give you a chance to have a good guess.

Apologies for the pesky copyright watermarks. I'm just a tad protective.

On the boardwalk

Perfect natural borders!

Mushy

Gnarly, dude

Perfect flowers

The reward at the end - 2.8km in.

The beach was an entirely different kind of photo shoot, altogether.

......And if you're not all saying "it was an entirely different kind of photo shoot" in unison right now, I will be most disappointed.

More later in the week.

I hope your weekend has been kind and restful and given you the chance to stop and notice the significant little things around you.

Forget Rorschach - My kid, the visionary

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 00:15:00 +0000

What do you see in this image?

Snowman? Round tummy? Two sticks for arms? Hat and all that?

Yes. Yes, that's what you would see. That's what we all see.

Now, you could go testing yourself online and whatnot to see where you're at psychologically and you'd be closer to understanding any underlying disorders of the mind.

Me? I prefer to take the Bliss Bomb test. It's far more satisfying.

Step 1. Take a small preschooler.
Step 2. Hand her the most obvious-looking shape around at Christmas time.
Step 3. Place it in front of her the right way up (and everything).
Step 4. Provide an assortment of crafting "things".
Step 5. Step back and watch the majesty unfold....

That's no snowman.

Is it a bird?

Is it a plane??

No.

No,

It's a.....

Superhero alien likeness of herself.

Of course. Pssscht. If you didn't see that, then, well...... have you had your head read lately?

Questions! Always with the questions!

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Sun, 04 Dec 2011 19:26:00 +0000

Over recent months, I have had all of these levelled at me:

"Does Jake the Peg really have an extra leg, Mum?" (why yes, if the song is to be believed, he does)

"I really, reeeeeeally want a baby brother." (but babies take a long time, darlin', they take ages to grow... and anyway, they have to be ready to join a family before they get in a mummy's tummy)

"Goldilocks and the Three Bears isn't real, is it?" (why do you say that, Lol?) "Because how can the three bowls of porridge be all different? How can one be cold and one be hot and one be just right all at the same time?" (.......... err..... ask your father)

"How does a baby get in your tummy?" (sigh... the Daddy puts it there... *I cringe at the over-basic and technical inaccuracy of my reply*) "Can I watch?" (you most certainly can not. Now keep eating your lunch!)

"How does Jake the Peg do wees if he has a leg in the middle where his giney goes?" (I haven't the foggiest.... anyway, Jake is a boy....*my voice trails off, she's in fits of giggles at the whole concept of a man with an extra leg and how his anatomy can possibly handle it. There's an obvious line, but I don't use it*)

What are some of the most favourite curly or deep-thinking questions you've been asked or heard? I just adore how kids think.

Post rewind: Beyond nothing

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 19:32:00 +0000

The below was originally posted in October, 2009. It received no comments, which tells me either everyone had the same (or even less) care factor than me about it, or they didn't get the whole Spinal Tap thing... which still makes me giggle immaturely. GOD, but I love that movie....

-----------------------------------------------------

In the grand scheme of things, this is so far down the scale. It's below "Why does Beyoncé dance like that?" and "Why does dust get under stuff I never move?" in my care factor.

But this one time, a few weeks ago, we were at The Reject Shop and I saw this ace little dustpan and brush set on the top shelf way above my head - so, like, Steve's eye height - and I asked him to get me one when we were on our way to the register. He grabbed it, a long-handled brush and matching long-handled dustpan with a nifty little clip on the handle so you can lock the brush handle to it and store them both together, upright, freestanding.

Great! I thought. It looked a little bit smaller now that it was down from the shelf and in Steve's grip, but I thought it was mostly because I was comparing it to his tallness. Yes, it's a word. Uh, I think.

So we get it home and I go to use it.... I have to bend over! But it's no particular height that I can say "It was made for kids" or even simply "It was supposed to be this length", because, quite simply, it's a useless size.

Now I just feel ridiculous using it (and I do, because I have to, because I have to be right and prove to Steve, who at the time muttered the question, "Do you really have to spend $10 on this?" and I had said loudly YES I DO, NOW GET ME ONE). I feel like that scene from This Is Spinal Tap where they're performing onstage around the 11" Stonehenge replica that they had made up, because of a misunderstanding about whether they wanted it to be 11 feet or 11 inches. A sizeable mistake.

Maybe that's it. Maybe it was meant to be 120cm long. And someone made it .... 120mm. Hey, it might as well be that short because it's already close enough to the floor.

Cracking jokes: How the egg lost its head

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 19:28:00 +0000

The other night, I was asked by the LGBB if she could have a boiled egg for breakfast.

So I boiled some eggs in readiness for the next day.

As is my penchant, I drew faces on them once they were done because I find this a quick, easy (and let's face it, enjoyable) way to differentiate between boiled and raw eggs when they're all together in the fridge. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can tell by spinning them on the counter top or by their weight or ... yada-yada-yada. My way isn't scientific but it gives me an amused little kick when I open the fridge and see sights like this:

Completely cooked, as they say...

Now, I didn't realise until I took the egg out of the fridge and placed it in Lolly's egg cup the next morning that I had possibly used the wrong choice of facial expression....

"But... you told me it wouldn't hurt a bit!"

But it was too late. I had already used the other two eggs. This could go either way, I thought to myself as I heard her footsteps running up to the kitchen.

The LGBB was delighted to find an egg in her egg cup. She giggled at the silly face. I started to whack the top of the egg with a knife to open it up for her, wondering if I ought to tell her to avert her eyes, when she started to talk in ... well, an egg voice, and said:

"Oh no! I can't look! Quick.... turn me around," and then proceeded to swivel the egg cup so the egg was now facing away from us. I nearly peed my pants at that point but then she started commentating on my cutting ability, in the same egg voice:

"Ummm.... hairdresser? You're not a very good hairdresser.... You're cutting my brain!"

I thought, Well, at least she's not mortified, and joined in with a "I just wanted a little off the top and sides..."

By the time her egg looked like this, Lolly was excited that the shocked mouth had turned into a smile.

She thought I was magic.

I hadn't the heart to tell her she was looking at the nose, not a little smile. I had inadvertently been clever with my artistic license.

All's well that ends well.

Here, enjoy a maple

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 19:28:00 +0000

We asked the LGBB to be our official maple-planting photographer this week. Here's what she saw:

Her parents, Coochy-Coo and Peek-a-Boo

Gorgeous young red branches - this is a Coral Bark Japanese Maple

I love this photo! I love when kids look up through the lens.

Then I asked if I could take the camera for a few shots and this is what happened...

"Take a photo of me! I love this tree! I love it!"

She wasn't kidding. She loves it.

Really loves it.

Ok... it's a tree. Not a pole, toots.

Lolly asked about its eventual height and its food requirements. She skipped around the tree which, again, got me giggling about that scene from This Is Spinal Tap (look out for a soon-to-be-rewound post that shows the short clip from the movie). Then she hugged the tree. Lolly's a tree hugger from way back.

"I'm a boat captain!"

Then I apparently had the audacity to take some non-LGBB-related shots:

"Ummm, no, you can't have the camera right now. I'm using it."

This looks so bland, but I tell you, the decibels were quite impressive

The dog was bemused

The cat cared even less

Annnnnyway....

Young leaves are red-tipped

It'll never grow as tall as the Big Kids... but it should reach at least 5m

Already, the view from my room is even more interesting and peaceful

Hidden talents

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Sat, 26 Nov 2011 19:46:00 +0000

The other day, I was cleaning out our guest room to get to the LGBB's old cot. It's going to be used by our sweet little nephew - remember this little guy entering the world? Awwwww, he has his Daddy's perfectly round cue-ball head and the most adorable pixie face. I love him to BITS. But that's not why he's getting the cot. And this is not what I was posting about today.

I digress.

I found my old high school studio arts portfolio. In it were bits and pieces - some old favourite paint brushes (the one with the oh so fine tip, great for creating tiny hairflick lines) and pencils, an eraser (as I recall, this was the oldest, most reliable eraser I ever came across and I used it almost daily on my work... I found it discarded on a desk in a classroom and never parted with it again... SCORE!).

My old tattered once-loved art folder was in there as well. Very dog-eared and becoming quite the fragile, ancient relic (aren't we all?), I turned the first page and gasped. Staring back at me was a rather youthful version of my grandfather. I had clean forgotten that he had sat for his portrait when I was fifteen. I clearly remember him pulling the wide-eyed, somewhat hopeful look you see in this likeness of him - a fairly good one, I think - and I am really shocked to discover that when I sketched him, I was locking him in to a time before another six years' worth of age would show on his face.

I was GUTTED one day to see that someone had been careless with ink on the top of his head. I am still suspicious about the teacher, for she took some of my work (and others) and displayed it without asking - as if it would be some sort of surprise.... which I suppose it was, but not in a terribly positive way - in a local shopping centre where they were showcasing some of the talent from various schools in the area. Okay. All good. No harm done there. But THIS I found almost inconceivably careless of her/them:

"Are you finished yet, Kirrileh? Oh, choogs."
Oh, Granddad. I still miss him, even after he's been gone 16 years

You know why I blame her, that teacher? This paper is quite fine. It has bled through both sides of this leaf. There are no other blots anywhere at all on my book; no, this page was folded out from the rest of the book somehow and rested somewhere it shouldn't. When I questioned her, she shrugged it off and didn't know how it could possibly have happened. I knew damn well she knew something different but what leg did I have to stand on? Unforgivable! Mrs.... Whatever her name was!

Flicking further through the book, I gasped again. A portrait of my mother this time. Decidedly younger than I see her in my mind. Now, I could go to town on myself and critique the proportions, the perspective, the fact that I didn't draw the chair and cushions she was sitting on so she looks kinda squashed..... quite a fair bit, actually. But no. I will give my fifteen year-old self a break and will simply say, what a wonderful keepsake of a time when I was still so close to my mother and wanted to capture her in that moment. Funny that I forgot this entirely in the intervening years.

my mother

There were various other sketches in there, I remember spending some enjoyable time on these two:

Why does that fish remind me of Paul Stanley from KISS???

And then there was my end of year project when I was sixteen. I guess I must have been steeped in the magic of J.R.R. Tolkien around this time because, ah, The Hobbit phoned.... he wants his identity back.

You know what, though, I look at these and think, My God! I made these up out of my own head. Was I really ever that good?? At the time, I certainly didn't think so. I had such little belief in myself and my ability as an artist, as a good... anything. Growing up with emotional and sexual abuse will do that to a youngster, I suppose.

But the final, most amazing thing I found in that folder was the fellow below. I spent hours on this. Blissful escapism, pushed through the grey lead onto the paper. He is an old Mongolian tribesman, from the cover of a National Geographic I picked up one day. When my father left, it took him some time to retrieve all of his possessions - being kicked out will cause that to occur to a person, so I've found - and he had left behind his sizeable collection (okay, it was more like every single NG ever printed from 1968 through to whatever the current year was... 1990 or something). Thumbing through it, as I would do from time to time sitting in the study at the front of our foreboding home, I found this man I couldn't look away from.

Funny thing is, I remember being disappointed with myself because the end result didn't look exactly like the actual man. There was a likeness but I thought the picture was flawed because I hadn't made it identical. Mine was softer, not as harsh-looking or weathered. I look at it now and there is a familiarity about him to me, probably because I spent so much time with him back then. Strange feeling, to think you know someone you've never met, just because you sketched their portrait!

I just loved his face. It looked warm, trusting, honest. So I began to sketch it, without much thought of where it would end up or when I would finish. I don't remember how long it took but I consider it one of my best artistic achievements so far....

Have you ever rediscovered something you were good at? Did you take it up again? Did you enjoy it then and do you enjoy it now? Do you want to start it up again but keep making excuses? (I'm good at those... Hey, something else I'm good at!)

"Watch those freeways"...

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 19:26:00 +0000

We're going away. Don't worry your pretty little heads... [Are you picturing Willy Wonka saying to Augustus, "Patience, dear boy!" No? Just me, is it?]

I've saved up some of the best ~~drivel~~ posts for the better part of two months and will drip feed your readers for the fortnight I won't be at the controls. You should get a new post every second day or so, mostly posting like clockwork around 6:30am. I hope you enjoy them, I had fun writing these ones.

So if I'm not replying to your comments, it's not because I'm rude or have dropped off the face of the Earth. It's because I can only read them via my phone [if and when I get reception.... Oh God..... I'd better get reception! Somewhere?] so please still feel free to leave your thoughts here.

The house sitter arrives soon - oh, these spoilt, lucky animals, they are going to be so well cared for they won't want her to leave when we come home - and then, after the weekend, we're off! I LOVE a good road trip. There are so many things I love about them so it should come as no surprise that one of my all-time favourite movies happens to be about one.

Those whacky Griswolds Image source

Now, don't forget to check the mail and... have I remembered to put the timer on the living rooms lights and... and... and....

BYYYYE!

Elderly and infirm: Take note!

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 23:17:00 +0000

Under NO circumstances should you attempt to sleep resting on a football, unless you have a loved one on hand to help fish you out of the predicament you'll find yourself in when you wake and feel all shaky in the bot-bot and then panic when you discover it's because you're resting on a football.

Also? Using an Aussie Rules footy is easier because it will only roll out from under you in one direction. Just a tip.

There are three simple steps to this exercise:

The blissfully unaware stage. Also known as "butt-teetering"....

The "why can't I... Get... Up?" wake-in-panic stage. Upside-down pirouette pose optional.

The "oh shite, I'm really stuck now" realisation sinks in.
If your loved one is kind, they will help you without fuss and keep guffaws to a minimum.
Until they're inside where you can't see them.

This post starred: Pepper the 18-ish-year-old Wonder Dog with her pointy ears (all the better to hear absolutely NOTHING with, my dear). She's still here. We don't know why, but it appears she is determined to stay for the long haul and/or to prove a point to the upstart "pup" who is now middle-aged herself.

Keep going, keep going, keep going!

noreply@blogger.com (Being Me) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 06:24:00 +0000

Internet, I need your help!

On the eve of the final week of this round of the 12-week body transformation I've been doing, I am ecstatic with what I have achieved.

I only made her walk down... Promise! This hill can only be walked up using your HANDS at one point.
Steep only just covers the word I'd use for the mother of all hills. Beautiful!

• I am arising before 6am five days out of seven to go for a gruelling walk-jog.
• If I don't get up, guaranteed, I get a 5:45am wake-up bark from Miss Jazz who checks her paw-time and lets me know. Uppy-uppy-uppy! NOW!!
• I jog. I am a person who jogs. I am one of those people I've always seen when I drive past them and think, "What possible enjoyment are you getting from running around like that?"
• I feel euphoric after I get home from burning 600-800 calories in around an hour. From jogging. Ahhh... I get it now.
• The mornings are MINE.
• My leafy community is simply stunning at about 6:15am, when the sun just spills over the furthermost mountain peak and splashes its weak rays onto the near hills and they all turn that amber colour. Just mesmerising. I almost feel cheated if I haven't got up there to the top of the opposite hill in time to witness it.
• The public access stairs around these hills are so challenging. They are actually exciting to conquer!
• I'm pushing myself further each week. In the past two months I have improved my 1.25km running speed by a little over one minute! Ya gotta be happy with that effort!
• I go to bed at night still feeling the deep-lung buzz in my body of the morning work-out. I feel more vital. More present in my body, physically, than I can remember ever feeling.

You want this. Buy it!

• Outdoor exercise: a first for me. And it's a definite keeper. On days when it rains, I have the most phenomenal trainer tucked away on my Wii..... my God, but I am grateful to her (Maya, I think her name is?) and actually find myself grateful to this computerised "person" for getting me through a strenuous 45-minute session and 400-500 calories burned. Truly. Amazing. When you think about it. It's a computer image. On the telly. How clever that it can make me sweat like I'm under a running shower!
• Jazz has lost weight. Yes, the dog is not so rotund any more. She is appreciating this health kick just as much as I am, I'm certain of it.

Okay, so that's my list. Not exhaustive but just what I can think of all at once right now.

What 8kg of weight loss looks like over 11 weeks

By far, I haven't lost as much weight as others doing this fitness training. I haven't even reached my main goal. Not by a long shot. BUT I have smashed two of my initial aims: 1) to go below a weight (and some) that has been taunting me and 2) to increase my fitness. Now that I have done this, and on the eve of truly being on my own with this without being on the program any more, it's time to continue with more specific goals.

• I want to get to 10kg lost before Christmas. That will make a 13kg loss for 2011.
• I want to lose another 10kg by the time Steve turns the Big 4-0 (in April). We'll see.

But please, a request of you, dear reader.....

Will you help hold me to it when I check in

every so often with my progress?

This isn't a weight loss journey blog by any means, but part of my overall path to wellness and completeness is how I feel about myself on the outside. It was obvious the timing to begin was perfect when I first came across that ad showing Michelle Bridges doing her Bee Gees hair-blown-by-a-fan thing (noice look!).

Now it's time to keep going.

Does anyone have pom-poms, by any chance? Care to give me an encouraging chant along the way until my end goal in April?

Only 99 to go.... Straight up. This is what 50 calories looks like at 6 in the morning

You wouldn't believe it but the fires on Black Saturday were ferocious through here in 2009

Hmmmmm shall we go left or right through the bush today, Jazzy?

Standing at the top looking down my 200-stair escape route after climbing 80m in just 100 steps...

Downward stretch towards home