By this stage in my left, I had expected that I would feel like less of an imposter in the adult world. I'm still waiting for that to happen. That means that I often congratulate myself when I do manage the grown up stuff up well.
We hired a car when we went to Gold Coast, which was convenient. I booked it all online, and even got extra insurance in case anything happened to the car, so our excess wouldn't be, well, excessive. Go me. Then when we got to the car, we took photos of all the little bumps and scrapes it had before we drove it. And I also thought to take a photo of the number plate, mostly in case we parked it somewhere and couldn't remember which car it was.
It turned out the number plate photo was a good idea, because we had to write it on our hotel sign in sheet. And I made a remark to J about how grown up and organised we were, and we both laughed. The girl at the counter though was slightly horrified. She looked at us, and said, "Don't you feel like grown ups?" and we were all like "No, not really, not yet". She looked at the girls and said "But, you have kids. You're parents." She seemed upset. Apparently she is planning to have a baby in the next few years, and was looking forward to how that would mean that she had her life together. We were rolling about laughing by this stage, then realised she was serious, so did try for a more dignified pose, but I think it was too late by then.
I had coffee with an old uni friend and I told her, and we had a laugh, remembering how grown up we felt when we were getting married and having babies at the beginning. We thought we had life sorted out. And now, 20 years on as supposedly responsible adults, we both felt slightly out of our depth and off balance, and had to remind ourselves of how to adult. And were delighted by managing things like not losing our vehicles, and not forgetting to get our hair cut. We agreed that life was definitely not as black and white as it had seemed 20 years before. We acknowledged that we are kinder, with a degree of shame over our less charitable younger selves.
When we got back to Sydney, we had to retrieve our own car from the airport car park where we'd left it four days previously. We had intended to take a photo of the pole we parked next to, with its handy number and colour code. But we forgot. There was also a handy space on our parking ticket for the floor number and colour, but I couldn't find a pen. We did find the car after visiting one wrong floor, so that surely counts as just about having it together, right?
Monday, January 30, 2017
How to relax
We just celebrated 25 years of marriage. It sounds like such a long time, impossibly long to be doing the same thing, with the same person, but I don't want to change it. I recently met up with a friend who shared that her marriage had ended last year. Her husband, ex husband I guess he is now, has told her that he thinks his life is lived in 24 year cycles, and her share of that is now complete, and he must move to the next thing. He repeated this to his 3 daughters, which seems a massively insensitive thing to say to those three young women. As if they no longer belonged in his life, because he'd started his new "cycle". And if he was going to have a stupid cycle, why could he not have a nice tidy 25 year one? A much neater number.
For our anniversary we went to the Gold Coast. I had this vague, snobby little voice in my head shouting at me that going to the Gold Coast is a bogan kind of choice, but fortunately, I suppressed that, and we went anyway, and it was completely delightful. We stayed in Broadbeach at a place called Oceanview Resort. Walking into our twelfth floor flat, everything felt clean and white and peaceful. Even our teenage daughters couldn't come between me and that immediate sense of peace. It was utterly tranquil. The ocean was blue, the grass was green, the sky was high and wide, with wisps of white cloud floating serenely. The bed! Kingsize, pillowtop, glorious. We spent our time walking the block to the beach, or in the resort swimming pool. No pressure to go the theme parks, because the girls don't like rides, such a win.
I could feel myself sinking into a state of relaxation that I rarely achieve. We spent 10 days away from home close to Christmas, first housesitting for my brother, then staying with my parents. Those ten days had me wound up like a spring - I came home and spent the next week recovering from that, and there were plenty of beach and swimming and activities that should have been delightful, but they were outweighed by not being able to shower everyday (because the enviro- septic system would overflow and stink up the paddock with the effluent it hadn't digested properly), and not knowing which light switch to use (the one behind the fridge, and if the fridge is blocking it, well just move it but DON'T knock the television off the top of it). The pressure of constantly being on guard for 6 people, trying to stop them saying or doing anything that might cause an eruption was exhausting. I know better than to put us through it, but did it anyway, hoping it would be ok. Nup. Also, meals had to be eaten strictly on time, and the television was left on, and shush don't talk I'm listening. No wonder I left home at 17.
So I came home and showered three times a day, put my airconditioning on when I got hot instead of strictly at 5pm, and stood in front of my fridge with the door open, contemplating what to eat for as long as I wanted to. I don't function according to a timetable, especially one set by someone else.
So in Broadbeach, we ate out a lot, and when we ate in, we had things like croissants and steaks and avocado. I didn't do any clothes washing. I got up when I wanted, I had the airconditioning going all day. I swam in a warm ocean, and drank nice coffee. I also showered as often as I wanted to. We lazed by the pool, and just hung out together. I realised how much I love my husband and my daughters, and how lovely it is to spend time together. The girls told us how much they were enjoying themselves, they thanked us for taking them, and for the fun we had. We laughed. Life was pretty good. and it was a good reminder that, mostly it is pretty good. We've had enough crises that I am well aware of how important it is to acknowledge the really good stuff. Even if the really good stuff is as simple as eating a good steak, or sharing a joke on a dark street walking back to the resort after a trip to Cold Rock.
For our anniversary we went to the Gold Coast. I had this vague, snobby little voice in my head shouting at me that going to the Gold Coast is a bogan kind of choice, but fortunately, I suppressed that, and we went anyway, and it was completely delightful. We stayed in Broadbeach at a place called Oceanview Resort. Walking into our twelfth floor flat, everything felt clean and white and peaceful. Even our teenage daughters couldn't come between me and that immediate sense of peace. It was utterly tranquil. The ocean was blue, the grass was green, the sky was high and wide, with wisps of white cloud floating serenely. The bed! Kingsize, pillowtop, glorious. We spent our time walking the block to the beach, or in the resort swimming pool. No pressure to go the theme parks, because the girls don't like rides, such a win.
I could feel myself sinking into a state of relaxation that I rarely achieve. We spent 10 days away from home close to Christmas, first housesitting for my brother, then staying with my parents. Those ten days had me wound up like a spring - I came home and spent the next week recovering from that, and there were plenty of beach and swimming and activities that should have been delightful, but they were outweighed by not being able to shower everyday (because the enviro- septic system would overflow and stink up the paddock with the effluent it hadn't digested properly), and not knowing which light switch to use (the one behind the fridge, and if the fridge is blocking it, well just move it but DON'T knock the television off the top of it). The pressure of constantly being on guard for 6 people, trying to stop them saying or doing anything that might cause an eruption was exhausting. I know better than to put us through it, but did it anyway, hoping it would be ok. Nup. Also, meals had to be eaten strictly on time, and the television was left on, and shush don't talk I'm listening. No wonder I left home at 17.
So I came home and showered three times a day, put my airconditioning on when I got hot instead of strictly at 5pm, and stood in front of my fridge with the door open, contemplating what to eat for as long as I wanted to. I don't function according to a timetable, especially one set by someone else.
So in Broadbeach, we ate out a lot, and when we ate in, we had things like croissants and steaks and avocado. I didn't do any clothes washing. I got up when I wanted, I had the airconditioning going all day. I swam in a warm ocean, and drank nice coffee. I also showered as often as I wanted to. We lazed by the pool, and just hung out together. I realised how much I love my husband and my daughters, and how lovely it is to spend time together. The girls told us how much they were enjoying themselves, they thanked us for taking them, and for the fun we had. We laughed. Life was pretty good. and it was a good reminder that, mostly it is pretty good. We've had enough crises that I am well aware of how important it is to acknowledge the really good stuff. Even if the really good stuff is as simple as eating a good steak, or sharing a joke on a dark street walking back to the resort after a trip to Cold Rock.
Sunday, January 22, 2017
Television and it's lack of appeal
I was reading a Facebook post about televisions, and how many people have. We currently have just one. And it seems like enough, it's not on all the time, even with the six of us sharing it. We do have various personal devices that we can use to access movies and catch up tv, but no more than your average family. I have very little interest in tv, I don't like reality tv as a genre in particular, and that seems to be all that's on - shows searching for the best cook, the best singer, the best entertainer, the best dancer. The best survivor, the best at losing weight (apparently we can make absolutely anything into a competition). We can watch people choose a life partner, win a modelling contract and remodel a house. We can watch them coexisting with strangers. I think Big Brother was what initially put me off. Being locked up in a house full of irritating, self absorbed extroverts that I couldn't get away from is my idea of hell on earth. I don't understand the kind of personality that would even think about signing up for something so awful. Even for the big money prize, I just couldn't do it.
Today a clip came up on my Facebook feed, one of those click bait, watch this amazing thing, you'll never guess what is going to happen but it will change your life things. I often refuse to be drawn by such tactics, but I caved today, it's been a slow day and I have nothing to read. So it was about "old men (40 -60!!) doing amazing stuff". They were dancing and it was good, and I watched a bit of it, but being a non dancer, I'm not massively impressed/interested in dancing (bores me to tears), so I didn't see it through. But then I started thinking about the headline - Old Men. Old. 40. (to 60). Is 40 old? It doesn't feel old. I don't feel past my use by date, I'm probably only about half way done. Maybe this is the reason I'm bored by television, I feel unrepresented. Television is about the young and the gorgeous, and when you aren't young and gorgeous anymore, apparently you aren't relevant. Or interesting enough to be on the telly. So television has rejected me, except as a curiosity, so I have rejected it. Maybe.
Or maybe it really is just massively dull and everyone feels this way. Nah. I know they don't, that Facebook conversation about numbers of televisions in your average Australian household? As many as 9. In one house. Nine. Ridiculous.
Today a clip came up on my Facebook feed, one of those click bait, watch this amazing thing, you'll never guess what is going to happen but it will change your life things. I often refuse to be drawn by such tactics, but I caved today, it's been a slow day and I have nothing to read. So it was about "old men (40 -60!!) doing amazing stuff". They were dancing and it was good, and I watched a bit of it, but being a non dancer, I'm not massively impressed/interested in dancing (bores me to tears), so I didn't see it through. But then I started thinking about the headline - Old Men. Old. 40. (to 60). Is 40 old? It doesn't feel old. I don't feel past my use by date, I'm probably only about half way done. Maybe this is the reason I'm bored by television, I feel unrepresented. Television is about the young and the gorgeous, and when you aren't young and gorgeous anymore, apparently you aren't relevant. Or interesting enough to be on the telly. So television has rejected me, except as a curiosity, so I have rejected it. Maybe.
Or maybe it really is just massively dull and everyone feels this way. Nah. I know they don't, that Facebook conversation about numbers of televisions in your average Australian household? As many as 9. In one house. Nine. Ridiculous.
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
Exercise Post 40
I used to run. Back in the day, about ten years ago, I read online about couch to 5K and how anyone can run. And at the time it was true, I did work myself up to running for 30 minutes at a stretch. My toes would go numb, and sometimes I vomited, but I could do it. I went through the cycle about 4 times, building up to 30 minutes, then having a few months (or years) off, then doing it again. I didn't run fast, but I was definitely running (not jogging, jogging is so 1987).
Then all of a sudden, when I tried to do the program, my hips hurt. First one, then the other. And my feet felt like they were collapsing in on themselves when I got out of bed every morning, I could hardly put weight on them, and between that and my hips, I was walking like I was 80 years old for 20 minutes every morning. And the old lady hip hurt to sleep on, and it was all quite ridiculous. So I took myself off to the GP, and had a moan, and she told me it was because I was getting "older". Apparently, these aches and pains are what I have to look forward to. Great. I'm so excited. She also said I should stop running and see if it made a difference. It did. So now I don't run anymore. because old lady hip and feet, boring.
It turns out my feet object to inappropriate foot wear also, so I get pain if I don't wear sensible shoes, which is fine in winter when I can wear my purple Docs every day, but in summer, the options for sensible shoes are so boring, and I have loads of pretty shoes that look awesome, so for my vanity, I put up with the sore feet.
This morning I went walking, because that's my exercise now. I have a walking buddy and we stride around the river and solve the problems of the world one by one, two birds one stone, it's great. The river is a 7 km walk which is just about right, it takes just over an hour. Not even 1pm and I'm almost at 10000 steps, that probably means I can sit on the lounge and read my book all afternoon right?
Then all of a sudden, when I tried to do the program, my hips hurt. First one, then the other. And my feet felt like they were collapsing in on themselves when I got out of bed every morning, I could hardly put weight on them, and between that and my hips, I was walking like I was 80 years old for 20 minutes every morning. And the old lady hip hurt to sleep on, and it was all quite ridiculous. So I took myself off to the GP, and had a moan, and she told me it was because I was getting "older". Apparently, these aches and pains are what I have to look forward to. Great. I'm so excited. She also said I should stop running and see if it made a difference. It did. So now I don't run anymore. because old lady hip and feet, boring.
It turns out my feet object to inappropriate foot wear also, so I get pain if I don't wear sensible shoes, which is fine in winter when I can wear my purple Docs every day, but in summer, the options for sensible shoes are so boring, and I have loads of pretty shoes that look awesome, so for my vanity, I put up with the sore feet.
This morning I went walking, because that's my exercise now. I have a walking buddy and we stride around the river and solve the problems of the world one by one, two birds one stone, it's great. The river is a 7 km walk which is just about right, it takes just over an hour. Not even 1pm and I'm almost at 10000 steps, that probably means I can sit on the lounge and read my book all afternoon right?
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
Twenty Five Years
25 years is a long time to do anything. Even living 25 years seemed quite an achievement at the time, I was still close to that 15 year old self who thought anyone over 30 was well past it, and I knew I was really edging up there.
I can look back and laugh at my younger self and her silly notions, but I still think twenty five years is quite a long time. Today is our 25th wedding anniversary. Apparently that makes it a Silver Anniversary, which sounds impossibly grown up and kind of old. Silver. Crazy.
It hasn't been 25 years of smooth sailing by any means. I'm far too temperamental for that to be the case. One of my new years resolutions this year was to always use a nice voice to my infinitely patient husband, who can't bear a certain tone in my voice, that bit of snark that creeps in, that sarcasm that is just a bit nasty, and which I am ashamed of. I am conscious that since the Making of The Resolution, I have failed on at least one occasion (where I made a mental note of it, and urged myself to do better). However it is only the 18th of January, and I am on holidays, sleeping in, playing games, creating, I should be less snarky right now, the real test will be February, when school goes back, and I have to be prepared every morning for the unknown. The house will get messy, and the lawn will grow too long, and it will still be hot, and the girls will both be navigating the high school environment, and there will be tensions and pressures that don't exist in lovely January. So we'll just see how that goes.
I was thinking this morning about the remarkable achievement of staying married for such a long time, year after year, and it seems amazing, particularly in light of the fact that I have a low threshold for boredom. I get bored doing the same thing over and over, I am a casual teacher, which means I get to go to new places and meet new people all the time. I don't like to eat the same thing 2 nights in a row. I move the furniture around all the time, because I get bored. How have I stayed committed to the one man for so long? It's nothing short of a miracle.
Do I have any advice for this? I probably should. I would say -
* have things that you like to do together, but also things that you do separately. You don't have to live in each others pockets.
* don't make decisions when you are angry. Let the anger dissipate, give yourself time and space to think before you do anything hasty
* talk. Always talk about stuff
* Look for the best in your partner, and let go of the small stuff
* eat together regularly
* don't expect it to be perfect, it won't be
* be respectful
I don't know it all seems like common sense, not magic. I think, attention spans and boredom thresholds aside, I'm very stubborn. Which makes me difficult in some ways, but it means I don't give up easily. Also, we got married quite young, and there were so many people convinced we wouldn't last, because how could we possibly now our silly young minds at that age, and I was hell bent on proving them wrong.
I can look back and laugh at my younger self and her silly notions, but I still think twenty five years is quite a long time. Today is our 25th wedding anniversary. Apparently that makes it a Silver Anniversary, which sounds impossibly grown up and kind of old. Silver. Crazy.
It hasn't been 25 years of smooth sailing by any means. I'm far too temperamental for that to be the case. One of my new years resolutions this year was to always use a nice voice to my infinitely patient husband, who can't bear a certain tone in my voice, that bit of snark that creeps in, that sarcasm that is just a bit nasty, and which I am ashamed of. I am conscious that since the Making of The Resolution, I have failed on at least one occasion (where I made a mental note of it, and urged myself to do better). However it is only the 18th of January, and I am on holidays, sleeping in, playing games, creating, I should be less snarky right now, the real test will be February, when school goes back, and I have to be prepared every morning for the unknown. The house will get messy, and the lawn will grow too long, and it will still be hot, and the girls will both be navigating the high school environment, and there will be tensions and pressures that don't exist in lovely January. So we'll just see how that goes.
I was thinking this morning about the remarkable achievement of staying married for such a long time, year after year, and it seems amazing, particularly in light of the fact that I have a low threshold for boredom. I get bored doing the same thing over and over, I am a casual teacher, which means I get to go to new places and meet new people all the time. I don't like to eat the same thing 2 nights in a row. I move the furniture around all the time, because I get bored. How have I stayed committed to the one man for so long? It's nothing short of a miracle.
Do I have any advice for this? I probably should. I would say -
* have things that you like to do together, but also things that you do separately. You don't have to live in each others pockets.
* don't make decisions when you are angry. Let the anger dissipate, give yourself time and space to think before you do anything hasty
* talk. Always talk about stuff
* Look for the best in your partner, and let go of the small stuff
* eat together regularly
* don't expect it to be perfect, it won't be
* be respectful
I don't know it all seems like common sense, not magic. I think, attention spans and boredom thresholds aside, I'm very stubborn. Which makes me difficult in some ways, but it means I don't give up easily. Also, we got married quite young, and there were so many people convinced we wouldn't last, because how could we possibly now our silly young minds at that age, and I was hell bent on proving them wrong.
Monday, January 16, 2017
Another resolution
Periodically I am inspired to do better as a writer, and actually write. I know the drill, write regularly, write often, you will get better, form good habits, write the shitty first draft. And still, I have to practically staple my legs to the chair and kick and scream before I can start. Which is stupid, because when I start, the words pour out, and I am reminded again how much I love the craft. And I remember that I am a writer, it is what I am meant to be doing.
Currently there are about ten teenagers in my lounge room (the only living area in my home), on their second day of their Harry Potter Marathon. It is 41.6 degrees outside (feels like 41.7), and I am banished to my study, which is much hotter than the lounge, but I am perfectly happy for this to be happening. My daughter has lovely friends, girls and boys who seem to be supportive of each other, who aren't tearing one another down. Kind kids, who I really like. It hasn't always been this way, and seeing their consideration of one another, it makes my heart sing.
Having said that, 2 days is a long time to host such a big group. Only 2 slept over, but the others arrived from about 11.30 am, and probably won't go home till after 11 tonight. I can't walk around in wet bathers (well, I could, I suppose, but I won't), I can't go to bed at 9pm and sleep. I am going to have the junkiest junk food for dinner (party pies and sausage rolls, last night pizza). But I like that they like to hang out here, even if it isn't the biggest or fanciest house, they just like being together.
This definitely qualifies for shitty first draft status. And also, stream of consciousness. But I've started writing in 2017. Go me.
Currently there are about ten teenagers in my lounge room (the only living area in my home), on their second day of their Harry Potter Marathon. It is 41.6 degrees outside (feels like 41.7), and I am banished to my study, which is much hotter than the lounge, but I am perfectly happy for this to be happening. My daughter has lovely friends, girls and boys who seem to be supportive of each other, who aren't tearing one another down. Kind kids, who I really like. It hasn't always been this way, and seeing their consideration of one another, it makes my heart sing.
Having said that, 2 days is a long time to host such a big group. Only 2 slept over, but the others arrived from about 11.30 am, and probably won't go home till after 11 tonight. I can't walk around in wet bathers (well, I could, I suppose, but I won't), I can't go to bed at 9pm and sleep. I am going to have the junkiest junk food for dinner (party pies and sausage rolls, last night pizza). But I like that they like to hang out here, even if it isn't the biggest or fanciest house, they just like being together.
This definitely qualifies for shitty first draft status. And also, stream of consciousness. But I've started writing in 2017. Go me.
Thursday, June 30, 2016
A long time between drinks, and thoughts on death
I haven't written on this blog in some time. And I am resisting the very strong urge to start a new one, nice and fresh and shiny. I like starting new things. New books, new projects, new ideas. There is something in it that is soothing and exciting all at the same time. But this time I won't. This time I will plod on with my thoughts. They are still my thoughts, although three years down the track seems like too long to be thinking the same way. So I guess it's ok that I'm not. Three years on from my last post, three years older, three years wiser? Maybe. I'm not sure about that.
This week we had news that rocked us to the core. News so shocking and unexpected that all we could do was weep. One of our sons friends took his own life. This young man would have been 22 next week. He was one of the smartest children I've ever known. We knew him from the day he was born, a tiny scrap, and I loved that little boy. He spent a lot of time in our house, until the day his mother decided that I couldn't be her friend anymore, with the knock on effect of ruining the boys friendship. The email declaring our Not Friends status was out of the blue for me. It probably shouldn't have been the shock it was. I knew the way she spoke about other people we knew, I don't know why I thought I was immune. I clearly wasn't, and the ugly lies that filtered back to me confirmed that walking away at that point was a blessing in disguise. But this story isn't about her. Not really. It's just for context.
On Monday I got a text from my daughter, after our son who had just landed in England that morning rang home shattered on finding out about his friend, rang home incoherent with grief, and I wept. I felt like someone had sucked all the air and the sound out of the room. I was at work, and managed to get to a colleagues office and ask her to take care of my students, while the room swam around me.
There is a complicated layer to the grief, one of guilt. Almost shame, that I was sad, because I'd missed so much of his growing up after the family friendship was ripped apart. He had been in my home, but the anger and bitterness I felt, meant I was barely able to speak to him. I would see him at his job in the supermarket, and turn my face away. Still hurt. Still coldly angry. And there is a voice inside me asking, what if I was one of his last things? What if my disdain was just one more thing in a crushing wall of things that he was dealing with. What if I was a contributor to the pain. Pain so big and so wide he felt his only option, the only solution was to be found in death, in not being? And then I remind myself, it's not all about me. It's not. But.
We are a community of people. The loss of one will affect many. If I feel this loss so deeply, this loss that is removed from me, how much more are the people closest to him feeling? How wide are the ripples? How wide are all our ripples?
I never want to feel this guilt again. And I pray that I can be kind. Always. Even in the face of unkindness and dislike and disdain, that I might not understand, let me only be kind. I don't want to wonder if I am someones last straw, the last thing that saw them hurtle off the edge of their sadness.
Rest quietly, rest in peace.
This week we had news that rocked us to the core. News so shocking and unexpected that all we could do was weep. One of our sons friends took his own life. This young man would have been 22 next week. He was one of the smartest children I've ever known. We knew him from the day he was born, a tiny scrap, and I loved that little boy. He spent a lot of time in our house, until the day his mother decided that I couldn't be her friend anymore, with the knock on effect of ruining the boys friendship. The email declaring our Not Friends status was out of the blue for me. It probably shouldn't have been the shock it was. I knew the way she spoke about other people we knew, I don't know why I thought I was immune. I clearly wasn't, and the ugly lies that filtered back to me confirmed that walking away at that point was a blessing in disguise. But this story isn't about her. Not really. It's just for context.
On Monday I got a text from my daughter, after our son who had just landed in England that morning rang home shattered on finding out about his friend, rang home incoherent with grief, and I wept. I felt like someone had sucked all the air and the sound out of the room. I was at work, and managed to get to a colleagues office and ask her to take care of my students, while the room swam around me.
There is a complicated layer to the grief, one of guilt. Almost shame, that I was sad, because I'd missed so much of his growing up after the family friendship was ripped apart. He had been in my home, but the anger and bitterness I felt, meant I was barely able to speak to him. I would see him at his job in the supermarket, and turn my face away. Still hurt. Still coldly angry. And there is a voice inside me asking, what if I was one of his last things? What if my disdain was just one more thing in a crushing wall of things that he was dealing with. What if I was a contributor to the pain. Pain so big and so wide he felt his only option, the only solution was to be found in death, in not being? And then I remind myself, it's not all about me. It's not. But.
We are a community of people. The loss of one will affect many. If I feel this loss so deeply, this loss that is removed from me, how much more are the people closest to him feeling? How wide are the ripples? How wide are all our ripples?
I never want to feel this guilt again. And I pray that I can be kind. Always. Even in the face of unkindness and dislike and disdain, that I might not understand, let me only be kind. I don't want to wonder if I am someones last straw, the last thing that saw them hurtle off the edge of their sadness.
Rest quietly, rest in peace.
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