Previously my blog had been a semi private affair, well as private as anything on the internet can be. Now it seems that every man and his dog has my blog address and I feel that some sort of explanation of how I use my blog is required.

When I first moved up here, to the block of land my Mother gave me, I struggled with the isolation. I didn’t know how to drive and I found myself  spending days alone with my toddler Veronica, whilst Jeff was off pretending that he was still a single man. We were both in our early twenties and we still had a lot of growing up to do.

I kept a diary. I wrote long  letters to friends and I found a kindred spirit in my Mother in Law, who was a passionate letter writer as well. The simple act of writing eased my loneliness and in my MIL, I found a ready ear for all my dreams and aspirations for the future. Sadly Deanna passed away when Vonnie was small and writing this has reminded me to ask Jeff’s Dad if he still has those old letters.

I also found that once I had written out my pain or anger or frustrations into my diary they didn’t trouble me any more and I was able to get on with the business of raising my family and building our home.

My blog is a lot like those early diaries. Here I can dream about the future as well as write out my anguish.

Mum understood what my blog meant and she understood how I used it to get all the words out of my head.

I am an artist and I read a quote somewhere that I have mangled but the gist of it is, “when the pain of not working is greater than the pain of working“  That is how I feel about my ceramic work. The simple act of making Boganvillainy was enough. The making of the work was the important part, the fact that I actually exhibited the work was secondary.

The work needed to be made and sometimes when the work demands to be made I end up going places that are quite unexpected.

The words are the same. I need to get them out of my head. This blog is the place where I dump all my excess words, not quite the literary equivalent of a toilet but the act is very similar, cleansing and cathartic.

At this moment in time I am grieving my Mother and my brain is still not working. I am struggling to stay afloat in a sea of tears and I do feel as though I am drowning in sorrow.

Living in one of the lower rainfall areas of Tasmania, I tend to obsess a bit about the weather. At one stage in the previous drought when I heard the first spattering of raindrops on the roof, I wouldn’t even say the ‘R’ word for fear it would stop. The drought had become so bad that buying water in winter wasn’t unusual.

It seems like it has been raining forever. A steady drought breaking rain that has filled farm dams and turned the parched brown land a soft green. All my frogponds are overflowing and the rain has soaked right into the subsoil. Everywhere I look there is water. Winter creeks that had been dry for years are running, and to use some Amy-speak, my yard is full of Muddy Cuddles

I haven’t taken my camera out of its case for a while now. The last photos I took were of Mum in hospital and that seems like a lifetime ago.

So on this grey, rainy day, in an attempt to lift my grey mood, here are some photos that I took last summer.

I had titled that one Blue tongue lizard hunting snails. But now that I think about it snail hunting is a bit of a misleading title. It’s not like the snails leap up and lead the lizards on a merry dance now is it?

And now whilst I am on the subject of snails here are some more…

I am taking Miss Amy to kinder-gym today. I will be taking my camera but I fully expect that I will be far too busy to even get it out of my bag. Kinder-gym used to wear me out when I was a fit new mother all those years ago. God knows what it will do to me now that I am an unfit old granny. (eeek)

…. to be continued

I survived the sleep-over, though none of the teens actually slept. They stayed up all night watching DVDs and shooting aliens.

I fed the teenagers into submission. They groaned and rolled their eyeballs, they pleaded with me to stop but I didn’t listen. I just kept on taking food into the ‘party zone’. My weapons of mass distension were simple but effective. Pizza and hot chips, combined with timtams, twisties and lollies. Washed down with a gazillion cans of coke and lemonade. I had icecream and marshmallows in reserve if I needed reinforcements but it seems that the final packet of tim tams was enough. Throw an XBox and an eightball table into the mix and a good time was had by all.

Last week I was running on nervous energy. There were a zillion things to be done and very little time to do them in. My phone ran hot, my inbox was full and I was in a state of perpetual motion.

Yesterday was the first time that I didn’t have to drive anywhere or do anything.

So I stayed home and cried.

I cried for my brother who has taken all Mum’s photos. I hope they ease his pain.

I cried for my children who have lost their Grandmother.

I cried for Amy who knows something is wrong but she doesn’t know what.

I cried for myself.

I am going to build a garden for Mum. Thinking about Mum’s garden makes me smile. Mum wanted her ashes buried up here and we talked about her garden a lot.Planning Mum’s garden together gave us something practical to think about so that both of us didn’t drown in our sorrow.

I will listen for your voice on the breeze. I will look for your face in the stars. I will see you dancing with the clouds and I will hold you in my heart.

I love you Mum.

A look that is full of pity for having been deceived by your manipulative child.

A look that is condescending because you are obviously too stupid to realise that your child is perfectly fine.

A look that shows they aren’t listening because they are sick to death of hearing you rabbit on about how worried you are.

A look that makes you just want to scream with frustration and rage.

My brother gave Veronica that look on Monday.

We were in the restaurant and I was writing down dot points for Mum’s Eulogy. I offered the pen to Vonnie and asked her if she would like to to have a turn writing. Von’s answer nearly broke my heart. “I cant write Mum, my wrist is too bad.”

The look he gave her was filled with contempt for her laziness. And that look really sums up Mike’s relationship with his family down here in quaint little old Tassie.

I don’t know if my brother reads my blog or not but if you do Mike, know that I do love you. Veronica has Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and I am desperately worried that she will be in a wheelchair by the time she is thirty.

Today I am going to the doctor with my daughter as I have done a million times in the past seven years. This time we are going to to see about a lump in her breast. I hope it is just a cyst. Please let it just be a cyst.

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Updated:- We have just returned from the Doctors and she thinks that Vonnies lump is probably just a cyst. She has given Von a referral for an ultrasound and I am much less stressed now. *phew*

I wouldn’t have a beer until I was sure that I didn’t have to drive any where. I never drank and drive. Not because of any respect for the law but because I was crap at drink driving. The one time I drove drunk, I crashed the car. You really need lots of practice to be a good drunk driver and I am not that dedicated.

My blog personality is how I am in real life. I am funny and sweet, I am generous to a fault and I really am quite a nice person. I am well read and I can discuss anything from the breeding habits of snails to the reasons behind the sub-prime mortgage fiasco.I am impatient and demanding. My way is the best way(naturally.) I am opinionated and very loud. I am a control freak who doesn’t know how to delegate. I say outrageous things just for fun. Politically I am so far to the left that it is a wonder I dont walk with a tilt. I dont suffer fools and I will tell you, if you give me the shits.

I used to gather up strangers(mostly tourists) and bring them home for a meal but Jeffrey made me stop doing that. I pick up interesting looking hitch-hikers and sometimes I drive further than I intended because I am enjoying the conversation.Children and animals love me and I am a natural born storyteller.I could sell ice to eskimoes.I like to talk and sometimes I forget to listen. I am an Aquarian fire horse and when I am angry I stamp my foot and my nostrils flare, I fire up and explode. Then I am done and my anger is forgotten and I expect every one else to forgive and forget as quickly as I do.

Alcohol magnified all those traits by 100 and you either loved me or hated me. There was no middle ground. As a result I have some very very good friends and lots of aquaintances that think I am an arsehole.

I stopped drinking in April 2008. Anzac day is always a very emotional day for me and I would generally get rotten. I had been drinking beer all day and had topped up with nips of neat whiskey. That night I was a belligerent drunk and I had a nasty fight with my son. David walked down to his Nan’s at 1 am with me screaming at him to get back home and dont you walk away from me etc etc.

I woke up the next morning knowing something BAD had happened and then I started to remember bits and pieces of what had happened. Oh Shit.

I put off ringing Mum for as long as I could because I knew she would be furious with me. When I finally was brave enough to pick up the phone she didn’t disappoint one little bit. Furious wasn’t the word. Mums anger was icy and terrible.

David came home later on that day and I apologised to him and we held each other close.

I didn’t make a conscious decision that day not to drink again, it just sort of happened. One day turned into two, turned into a week turned into a month. When people would ask me why I had stopped drinking, I would make some flippant reply because I was ashamed of the real reason I stopped. I had done something that I swore I would never do, I had become my father.I had hurt my son. Luckily the damage wasn’t irrepairable but his wounds were deep.

I avoided my Mother because I was ashamed.  I reluctantly visited her on Mothers day and we didn’t speak about Anzac day but it was there, the elephant in the room.

Six weeks later Mum was diagnosed with cancer and there is nothing like a life threatening illness to make you sort out your priorities. The elephant vanished with a pop and we embarked upon the next stage of our relationship.

I dont know how many times I said to Veronica. “I am so pleased that I am not drinking” and her reply was always, “We are so pleased you are not drinking as well.”

to be continued…

Organising a funeral is horrible. Mum and I had talked about her funeral, we had even gone to a funeral home together where I listened, as Mum talked about the music she wanted, the flowers that she liked and all the millions of small details.

We met with the celebrant(?) yesterday and I was under the impression that he would ask us questions about Mum and then he would write the Eulogy from the notes we had given him. Apparently not *sigh*

Luckily Mum’s favourite little Japanese tea rooms were close by. So my brother and his son Hayden along with Vonnie and myself brainstormed over lunch. My brother was left with the task of typing it up into a coherent Eulogy, which he would email to me, Vonnie and I would add any bits we thought of, email it back to Mick and he would email it to the celebrant.

AAAAAAARRRGHHHHHHH!!!!!!

This is really, really hard.

Today is also David’s 15th birthday. We are burying his Grandmother on his birthday. Oh shit. What the fuck was I thinking? Dont answer that ok.

I have tried really hard to make this last week as normal for Dave as possible but of course there is nothing really that I can do to distract him from his heart-ache, except hold him and try not to yell at him when he slams my doors.

I will just have to trust that everything will be all right for my son eventually.

Think of us today at three o’clock.

I am expecting a horde of ravenous teenagers up here tomorrow to celebrate Dave’s birthday,(which is on Tuesday, the day of Mum’s funeral *sigh*) I am deliberately not thinking about the mud that will be tracked through the house via the shed (eeek).

Dave’s original plan was to have his friends, who are all city kids come up here and camp in the bush. Tents, campfires, junkfood and a  large bonfire and ‘voila’ with the minimum of fuss, a good time is had by all .

Except that it is the middle of winter and it wont stop raining.

So now the modified plan is for the kids to all cram into Dave’s room as well as take over Jeff’s shed. Jeff is understandably less than thrilled at the prospect of his space being filled with strange teenagers.  All I can do at the moment is try not to think about it too much.

I have bought essential supplies as per the list David gave me. Coke, pizza, chippies and ice-cream, seem to have all the essential food groups covered.

Think of me tomorrow. I will be the one rocking in the corner.

Vonnie would often ring me wondering if it was too late to ring Mum and all I had to do was look out my window to see if Mum was still awake or not.

I didn’t realise how often I looked out of my window to check if Mum’s lights were on, until this last week when Mum was in hospital and all her windows were dark. I would look at her dark house momentarily puzzled as to why she would be in bed so early and then I would remember where Mum was.

Driving home from the hospital last night I looked at the clock and it was only 5.00 pm. I was shocked at how early it was. Time had been stretching out so slowly that it felt like hours and hours since Mum had died.

I am sitting here quietly crying, listening to the rain. It is a gentle rain and mine are gentle tears. My brain is working slowly and I keep on forgetting what I am supposed to be doing.

Veronica and I are meeting with the funeral directors today and we will finish this journey together, my Daughter and I. We were a threesome, Mum, Vonnie and I. We went to every appointment together. We shared the glorious highs when the tumour had shrunk and we started to believe that we might possibly be in the 5 percent who beat lung cancer. We also shared the devastating lows when the cancer reacted unpredictably and showed us just how aggressive it could be.

At our lowest moment when the cancer had really started to let us know just who was boss here, We began to suspect that there were zombies lurking in the hospital. Mum really got into the spirit of the photographic zombie hunt and we giggled away like schoolgirls.

Mum and I had discussed her funeral and she wants it to be a celebration of her life. So any family and friends out there who have a story about Mum that they would like to share at her funeral, please, please email it to me and I will have the  celebrant read it out at the service. Don’t be shy ok. Mum’s friend Lauren has already sent me a great story and I will publish it here later on. Also does anyone want Mum’s cat?

A huge thankyou to all you lovely internets out there who have commented and been with me for this past year. Sometimes reading your comments has been the only thing stopping me from collapsing in a screaming heap. So in a well established bloggy tradition here is an award for you.

The zombie chicken award tadaaa!!!

You can thank Hyphen-Mama for this little gem, cheers Kim

I am sitting here holding Mum’s hand listening to Mum breathe and watching her sleep.

It is going to be a long day.

Some prayers would be nice.

I took photographs all the way home.

I made it home without incident and the next morning I took these.

There are more lovely photographs at Lotus aka sarcastic Mom’s