Category Archives: Life

Thoughts and observations about day to day, or special times in life

fallow…

22 Wednesday May 2019

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delicate detail in light and shadow

Anyone who grew up in the country knows the wisdom of letting a field lay fallow. But if you didn’t grow up in the country you might think a fallow field has nothing much happening. The plot just sits. Wasted real estate. Like a quiet person who may not say much, it doesn’t mean nothing is going on under the surface. A field in fallow still receives rain and sun, may even be planted with a crop that is never harvested, but gets plowed under to help replenish the soil with nutrients. It is a time of restoration.

Humans have our fallow periods. If we are wise enough to not flog our impatient selves over the seeming lack of accomplishment, we can reap enormous benefits from a period of allowing our inner selves to replenish. Our life force comes bubbling to the surface again, renewed. In my experience this can happen over a period of weeks, months or even years. Thoughts and feelings weave in and out of our consciousness as an idea or skill develops into something more fully formed and ready to express itself. But it cannot be hurried. And in my case, it would seem, it cannot be directed. It takes as long as a piece of string, and it goes where I have not been before.

The curious thing is the ingredients that contribute to the end result. It is often very mysterious. It seems to have nothing to do with the final outcome, but contributes to the process the way subtle ingredients contribute to a delicious stew. Have you noticed the difference in flavour of a slow cooked stew that has bubbled on the stove all day long, versus one cooked by faster means?

A slow renewal would describe much of my previous year. Toward the end, only a few weeks ago while we were traveling in the Southwest of the United States, I began to realise the time was not so much a fallow period as a gestation. What has been birthed is a stronger, more energetic self with fresh thoughts, inspiration and appreciation. It feels like the look of drought ridden land, a week or so after a good rain. And  the ‘entrapped nerve’ in my foot is nearly healed. It was taking the long, slower road, of exercise, stretching, rest and shockwave treatments that did the job. I opted to try this less invasive route, rather than the steroid injections. There were moments I doubted I would feel this good again, but I tried not to let this override my thoughts of recovery. An excellent and positive podiatrist and tenacity on my part have won the day. Through the months I finally gave myself over to the process and embraced quieter pursuits with a mind open to various possible outcomes.

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Mud lark frolics in opportune bird bath after the recent rain

You may think I had forgotten you. And writing. Some will have moved on and forgotten this little blog altogether. Understandable. From my end it is often counterproductive to try and confine these changes into some tidy little paragraphs of significance, when they are still busy forming themselves. Of course this process is ongoing, but once in a while it is intensive, as the last 10 months or so have been for me. It seemed better to wait for a time when things felt more fully formed to try and describe what had gone on.

There is no time like one’s birthday to reflect. So, last week on the first day of my 67th year (or is it the last day of my 66th year?) it was the light, the textures and the small everyday things that shone. I missed walking more than I had missed anything in a long time. Just walking. Taking the time to rehabilitate my mobility has not only taught me new things, it has reminded me to appreciate the Now, and the wee, small things.

As Mies van der Rohe said, God is in the detail. A light chaser knows this.

golden grasses wet with
late autumn golden sunset
light and shadow
late autumn garden in the neighbourhood
morning light during my walk

viewer, reader, twitcher, life…

20 Sunday Jan 2019

Posted by in Books, films, Life

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morning light on volunteer basil plant

It is true, that our misery occurs, not because of what happens to us, but the way in which we react to it. Wiser persons than me have said this in very many different ways, but this is how I say it to you.

I shared with you months ago that I was seeking treatment for plantar fasciitis**, an inflammation of the fascia on the bottom of the foot. Over the last few months I have learned more than I ever wanted to know about the manifestations of plantar fasciitis, as well as the treatment. I’ve learned a bunch of other things as well, among them…patience.

I have only just twigged that, for me, this time around, is a much longer process of healing than my first encounter of it some 15 years ago…if, in fact, it will heal at all. It is nothing ‘serious’, as when I had cancer, except that it is. It has threatened the quality of my life significantly. Since October my movements have been very, very curtailed. Even though I had faithfully followed the stretches, the shoe and orthotic support recommendations etc, progress has been slow and frustrating.

Until…

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My collection of shedded gecko skins

I renewed an old acquaintance with a man called ‘Dances with Wolves’, felt a kinship in pain from the death of a tree (Avatar), wept at the horrors of Japanese treatment of soldiers in WW II (The Railway Man), delighted in the wisdom of a Maremma guarding penguins (Oddball), learned about historic figures like Queen Victoria (Victoria and Abdul) and Winston Churchill (Darkest Hour), and felt the anguish of a person who suffers greatly from a wrongdoing they cannot change (Japanese Story). I’ve wept with William Thackeray’s (Hugh Grant) friends for at least the 10th time (Notting Hill), and been completely charmed by a bear named Paddington. I have seen that the chasm of differences that sometimes exist between humans can be traversed more easily than the tinier things that separate us.

Through the porthole of reading I have been allowed inside the suffering and resilience of people who have survived the worst day of their lives (Any Ordinary Day – Leigh Sales). I have gone on a journey with the child of alcoholic and abusive parents, and seen him triumph (Boy Swallows Universe – Trent Dalton). For some ‘light’ relief I learned a new way to meditate that had an immediate and profound effect (The Tapping Solution – Nick Ortner). And then I plunged back into the gritty, horrific reality of someone doing something I could never do (The Trauma Cleaner – Sarah Krasnostein).

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daily twitcher, caffeine and landscape fix

I also became a ‘twitcher’ and joined the week-long annual Aussie Backyard Bird Count with Birdlife Australia. I’ve always been a bird lover, but taking more time to sit and watch has made me keener. ‘The Genius of Birds’ by Jennifer Ackerman has given me a deeper appreciation for their habits, humour, intelligence and social structures.

I’ve taken fewer photos in recent months, having not previously realised how dependant on mobility I had been for inspiration. I began to look more carefully at the light, and the detail in my own surroundings. Experimenting taught me a couple of new editing processes as well.

Our daughter sent us a jigsaw puzzle that has occupied a few hours, so far…. it is a hard one! The photo is by Australian Wildlife Photographer Georgina Steytler who is based in Western Australia. (@georgina_steytler on Instagram). Her photos are stunning and she also works toward conservation. A portion of the cost of the puzzle goes to Georgina and other artists whose work you can select to be made into puzzles as well, @jigsaw_gallery on Instagram.

jigsaw puzzle photo taken by award winning photographer, Georgina Steytler
don’t judge…it’s a 1000 piece puzzle…
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light coming into the kitchen in a rare moment of cooking

The summer weather has not been kind to us. We have broken record after record from heat duration and intensity. If ever there was a summer to have to ‘sit things out’ this one would have been an easy choice for me! Since cooking has been very unpleasant, both for the time on my feet, and the heat, I’ve created quite a few meals in the way of salads. I’ve been grateful for some resources in my freezer, and also sourced some new recipes online. The new barbecue/grill that my husband bought before Christmas, and his willingness to use it, has been a godsend!

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feather amongst the withering leaves and bark from summer heat

So. What have I learned?

  • To love and respect my body more.
  • To spend more time reading.
  • New Depths of Compassion.
  • New depths of Patience
  • To live in the present more. I was anxious. I’m less so now, focus in the present.
  • I was reminded that Things/People are often not what they seem.
  • To try and keep an open heart about every situation. We never know what a journey will teach us.

I close with this favourite quotation, because it seems so appropriate, and because once in a while there is a celebrated artist/person whose passing deeply stirs me. With sincere appreciation to you dear reader, and for the wisdom and words of the great poet, Mary Oliver who died last week…

Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.

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new editing technique using double exposures and distressedFX app on iPhone

 

**The plantar fasciitis has had a complexity to it called ‘nerve entrapment’. As well as the standard PF treatment of stretches, foot massage, strapping, sturdy shoes, orthotic inserts, I have had a nerve block and saline injections to the foot and area around the nerve. That had only minimal impact so I am currently having a series of ‘shock treatments’ to the bottom of the foot to try and ‘encourage’ the tissue to heal itself. Cortisone injections are not a panacea for this condition, but may provide temporary relief, tho are very limited in their use. The journey is ongoing. I am grateful for it all.

ode to joy…

22 Saturday Dec 2018

Posted by in Life

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Early Saturday morning, three days before Christmas, I decided to do my holiday grocery shopping, hoping that only a small top up here and there would be necessary for a week or so after. The produce section was the main focus of my effort, sourcing in season fruit and organic vegetables to the degree that I could. We live in a place where none of it is grown, so we never know what the gods of long haul delivery will bring us! One of the veggies on my list was broccoli. The organic version had been full of moth eggs earlier in the week when I bought it, so I went straight for the regular kind. I don’t care for extra protein in my broccoli and the tedium to clean the eggs and the moth damage out of the broccoli is just more trouble than it’s worth, given that it costs more than double the regular.

As I approached the broccoli bin, a strapping young Aussie man bent over it examining the choices carefully. He picked one up and put it back, then another, and finally chose one. But as he held the chosen one, his serious face dipped down, looking and inspecting more. Ever so carefully. Finally he chose a second one. As he stood up, towering over me (I’m very short on one end) and began to walk away, I quickly said to him “Oh, those are the two I wanted!” He looked at me and said very sweetly “Oh, really?” I laughed and said, “No, no, I’m just joking!” His face broke into a relieved, open-mouthed smile and he chuckled as he walked to his trolley…or maybe that was clucking at what a mad loser he’d just encountered…hard to say.

A lady and I nearly collided trolleys but we finally got our signals right and as we passed in the aisle I said to her, “These things need turn signals”. It’s an old joke, but it made us both laugh. I joked with another fellow that we were ‘doing the dance of the trolleys’ and he laughed as well.

By this stage I suppose I was in danger of being hauled off to the looney bin, or at the very least being pulled up for misdemeanour merriment. But, unbridled, my mirth knew no bounds.

There were numerous other people at whom I smiled warmly. Some mirrored the radiance, others looked stunned, as if they could not even consider a smile. Perhaps I did look a little out of place. Finally, at the checkout, the staff member who was looking after the self-check-out registers, and I, exchanged smiles and best wishes for the season. It occurred to me that what could have been a stressful shopping trip was made very fun because I could connect with people in a light hearted way. It may have even improved their day, who’s to say?

As I drove home, I realised I was genuinely relaxed. At Christmas!! And for the weeks leading up to it as well. This was unfamiliar territory. Some weeks ago I realised I was teetering on the edge of depression, as many people do this time of year. What is the saying ‘if you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten’. I needed to make some changes. About the time I took that decision, or probably because I took that decision, some things came into my life to assist me. Have you ever noticed how that can happen? I discovered a new (to me) meditation technique which worked for me from the first time I tried it. I began my early morning walks again, though my foot is still quite sore. The walking is just so good for me mentally. We are all different. Because these things were good for me does not mean they would be good for everyone else, or anyone else.

Others may look forward to finding just the right gift for everyone on their list. They might revel in cooking foods that everyone looks forward to all year long, or writing that family newsletter to keep in touch with everyone. But for me, I knew I needed to say ‘no’. No to most of the gift giving, all the decorating, baking, card sending…so that I could say ‘yes’ to giving myself space to find my inner joy again.

We have had unprecedented high temperatures so far this summer, up to 43 and 44C (109+ F). The traditional Northern Christmas, celebrated with decorated pine trees, snowy landscapes and mountains of food hot from the oven just doesn’t translate well to this hot, arid zone climate. As I sit here, sipping my iced coffee in air conditioning, having gotten my chores out of the way before the day gets too hot, I’m thinking of those very sensible countries who practice ‘siesta’. I can see more serious relaxation in my future, and a little bit of celebration with close friends. I always have plenty to be grateful for, but this year I will add something else to the list. I will celebrate the gift I have given myself…the space to rekindle inner joy.

My warmest and very best wishes of the season to you all. I’m sending along my very favourite of all the season’s greetings…

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let it go, and move on…

30 Monday Jul 2018

Posted by in Alice Springs, Life

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There is a long tradition of lawn sales in Alice Springs. In the US we called them garage sales. Either way, it’s a way of moving along items you no longer want or use so that they find new homes, and so your home is less cluttered…or has more space for new stuff, depending on your motivations. My reason for decluttering is because I have discovered I function better, and more peacefully, with less stuff to have to store, clean, use, wear, whatever. I’ve never been a hoarder or even much of a collector. I am too much like my paternal Grandmother for that. My first serious divesting of goods was over three years ago. It felt wonderful to have space in the cupboards and drawers, but I realised how difficult it is to responsibly dispose of things you no longer require. The process made me respect the act of acquiring new things much more deeply. In addition, we also have the concern of waste in the world, and how to dispose of things properly and conscientiously.

Lawn sales, a solid tradition here, are both sociable as well as practical. Some even find them fun, which they are—on the day. However, the sorting, pricing and organising preparations are more like punishment. That part can be made more fun with friends to help, but ultimately you just have to make the decisions yourself. Recently a good friend and I had a ‘team sale’ where we put things together so that it would have a larger presentation. I didn’t have nearly as much as the one a couple of years ago, because I have been pretty careful not to accumulate things again. What I had realised, however, was the first culling uncovers things that later on you can see you should have let go of as well. Hence the most recent cull and gathering of things.

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photo courtesy of google

There is such an eclectic selection of things people put into lawn sales; things you have never even heard of or seen before, but suddenly yearn to own at that bargain price! There was a humorous documentary made in 1996 about the culture of lawn sales in Alice Springs. It is called ‘The Search for the Shell Encrusted Toilet Seat’. I saw it on TV all those years ago and have searched for it to watch again but have not found it. It was clever and quirky and I think surely it will find a place on YouTube or somewhere one of these days. It tells the story of someone who saw a toilet seat with sea shells ‘suspended’ in acrylic for decorative effect. If you have ever sat on one, which I have because my former mother-in-law had one, you would know they are most disconcerting. You feel like your bottom will certainly come off the worse for the experience, but in fact no lacerations were caused in the use of that seat. There are some things in life we really don’t need to experience. The fellow in the documentary prevaricates and doesn’t purchase the shell encrusted toilet seat when he first sees it. He later regrets it. But where was it he saw it? At which lawn sale of dozens had he seen it? Thus begins his search to retrace his steps through Alice’s interesting lawn sales and characters.

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The view over our rooftop of the blood moon full lunar eclipse with Mars in attendance

Each sale has its own unique quality. I’ve always strived to only sell things that are well kept and clean, even if they are well used or old. My friend is the same and so the items we had were of that ilk. The starting time was 7am, and believe me when I tell you, people were parked on the street at least 10 minutes before that, so you’d better have yourself organised! We had the sale at my friend’s house about a three minutes’ walk around the corner from our house. It was the morning of the beautiful blood moon and rare full eclipse, with Mars in attendance. As I set out from our house at 6.36am and walked up our driveway, I looked back. Over the roof of our house was the beautiful sight. I hoped it was an omen for good sales!

Social and material exchanges
One person’s trash is another’s treasure…

The evening before, my friend had arranged things on tables, so that the following morning all we had to do was carry the tables out of the garage to the carport area. Easy. The punters swooped like hungry birds, one going immediately to the large number of CD’s and DVD’s we had, saying ‘Here they are!’ as if she had discovered gold! We haven’t played any of them in years and are not likely to, given we only have one old boom box left to play the CD’s, and nothing on which to play the DVD’s. Early on, a nicely presented and discerning woman came and very, very carefully looked over everything. She added an item at a time to her purchase pile. When she finished she had quite a stack and had to make two trips to her car. A little while later she returned, accumulating another stack of things and then departing. Finally, a while after that she returned again, buying several more items. We heard her say as she walked out of sight ‘you won’t see me again, but thank you for the great lawn sale!’

And we didn’t.

As they used to say in the newspaper in the small town I am from,

‘And a good time was had by all’.

 

(In the link above, to my previous post on this topic, there are references to helpful guides. In addition you may find what Courtney Carver has to say helpful. This link is for clearing your wardrobe, but she has books and other courses you may find more interesting, or you can just use her newsletter for inspiration)

the stories within us…

01 Sunday Jul 2018

Posted by in Alice Springs, Inspiration, Life, nature

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Just after the sun had broken over the horizon, sending a few bleak wintery rays across the grasses in front of the house, I looked out the expanse of windows that stretch the width of the west facing end. There, about 30 feet in front of the windows, silent and purposeful, strode a lone Dingo. So quiet, the neighbourhood dogs even missed a good chance to raise the alarm. So quiet, I later wondered if I had seen it at all. Nearly the same colour as the dried, blonde grasses, only the dark spot of his eye and his nose and the sunlit hairs on the ridge of his back and the plume of the tail shone his shape. Perfect camouflage.

Lingers in my mind’s eye like a dream.

I set out for my walk moments later, in the direction the Dingo was heading. A single lone Dingo was probably nothing to be concerned about since I wasn’t walking a small dog that might be mistaken as breakfast. I kept my eye on the tall grasses walking over crisp, frosted ground, down the desolate back of the golf course on a Sunday morning. No further sightings. I wondered…is this the new normal of our cohabitation? The Dingo casually strolls through the neighbourhood while I keep a watchful eye and go for my morning walk.

Stranger things have happened.

The day before, a small mob of Wallabies had converged on our patio, scratching themselves thoughtfully, studying the windows…the same windows on the world through which I had seen the Dingo. The two adults and two joeys probably saw their reflections, or maybe some slight movement inside as I adjusted myself for a better view of them. Most likely the reflections of the rocky outcrop and sky behind them was their point of interest. It must be very confusing for them. Imagine if we all became focused on what was behind us rather than moving forward. The Wallabies were not seduced. Slowly they moved up the breezeway that gave them safe passage to the bottom of the driveway and within a few hops of the road. If they cross the road safely, which has always happened in the 20 years we have lived here, there is only one row of houses and then they are back in the bush again.

With the Dingoes.

Almost 40 years ago, I looked out of another expanse of windows. It was a whole lifetime ago for me–for the world. I was high atop the World Trade Center in New York City. The place was called ‘Windows on the World’. We were there for a cocktail reception for a national gathering of Television Promotion Managers and Art Directors. Below, an enormous world of skyscrapers, tiny ships and cars, and even tinier humans, spread out for many miles. They went about the business of the world. And now, I watch the business of Mother Nature where species learn to live with one another and it is survival of the fittest. No trace or photos of any of it, just what my brain has selectively conserved. Why would this memory visit me now? Why can I remember conversing with two fellows from Australia, one from Sydney, one from Wollongong, forty years ago, but have trouble remembering what I had two days ago for breakfast?

How do we reconcile the worlds within us? For the most part it is an unconscious process. But now and again we tell stories and make art and that turns something with seemingly no purpose into something of value.

 

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Winter Solstice

 

 

nothing lasts forever…

21 Monday May 2018

Posted by in Life, Travel

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I knew if I left writing about our travels until I got home again the writing would not be the same, if it even happened at all. There is always so much catching up to do, even when you are away for only three weeks, as we were. And then there is this thing I have noticed…I am never the same when I return from a trip to another country. I can never quite fit back into the same groove as when I left. Truth be told, I kind of like that. Travel changes me in ways it is difficult to describe. At least I have photos, and a few notes I managed to make along the way.

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Debris along Bruce Bay

About a week into the trip, on a grey, overcast and lightly raining day between Franz Josef Glacier and Haast in the northwest of the South Island of New Zealand, we came upon Bruce Bay. We had not heard of it but it came at a time when a break in the driving was welcome and we were curious. When we first got out of the car I noticed an odd pile of smooth, white stones. It was obvious they had been intentionally placed there, but to what purpose? Looking up and down the beach we could see that there must have been some serious weather in recent times. The beach was eroded and large pieces of trees and giant seaweed had been washed up. Don walked off a little way, while I studied the stones. I was curious about the source of the stones and looked over the edge of the small precipice created by the erosion. Down below, maybe 10 feet, I could see smooth stones scattered all over the wet sand. It appeared people had been walking down to the beach and choosing a stone to bring back up to the top. And then, being human, they did a very curious thing. Each stone had been written on with texta (markers). There was either a message or a person’s name. I wondered if the name on the stone was the person who was writing the message, or someone they were missing. While we were there we noticed a couple of other people who arrived just after us, contributing to the pile. We did not. I recently heard, it says more about us, the things that we don’t do, than the things that we do. I wonder. Don said he was amazed how many people were carrying permanent markers! We laughed…and later I realised I had one too, in my drawing kit!

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Stones of humanity

The day was monochromatic, ranging from mid-grey to almost, but not quite, black. As I looked up I saw Don standing on the beach, debris strewn on the sand as far as one could see. At my feet were the stones, a kind of monument to the human race, I supposed. Individual, but gathered together as a whole. Most were inscribed in a very considered way, and so neatly done, some faded, some vibrant. I took the photo of Don. And then I took a couple of photos of the stones. I wish now I’d taken more, why, I have no idea.

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Some faded markings on beach stones

Later that evening we settled into the least luxurious accommodation of our trip, and logged into the Wifi to check email. The room was cramped and smelled of dampness, which was the prevailing condition in this part of the island. The wifi was good but there was no telephone signal! Haast is in a 244km blackout zone, and was just about to get mobile phone reception for the first time at the end of May 2018. This small, remote  community had a nice information centre and several motels large enough to hold a few busloads of tourists. The town also housed the people who serviced it all.  Don looked up from his iPad and said, “I’ve just gotten a message from Steve…Dad has died.”

I thought of that solitary silhouette I captured on the beach, and the pile of humanity represented at my feet earlier that day. I wonder how many people have a photo of themselves on the day their last parent has died? Alone, but not yet knowing you are alone. It was all okay, but still. Don had returned from seeing his Father, for what he knew would be the last time, only two weeks before departing for New Zealand.

Such is life. And death. They find us no matter where we are.

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Alone.

a voice from the ages…

15 Sunday Apr 2018

Posted by in Life, Travel

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Evening stroll to the concert. View of the Yarra River.

We have just returned from a little ‘warm up’ trip to Melbourne. Even though I arrived home beyond tired, I’m calling this a warm up trip because it is a small prelude to a longer trip in a week’s time, to New Zealand.  Here is how the Melbourne trip came about…

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Satu Vänskä, Principal Violin, Australian Chamber Orchestra

A little over two weeks ago I saw a television interview with Satu Vänskä, Principal Violin, of the Australian Chamber Orchestra. The ACO has on loan a 300 year old Stradivarius Violin and Satu is the talented musician who plays it for their performances. Her interview captivated me as she described the violin as an extension of herself, as her ‘voice’, were she a singer. She explained the ACO has a fundraising program that enables them to purchase vintage instruments which become part of their orchestra. They are not just for show, they are participants in their art. She played a couple of short examples of the music they would be performing. It went straight to my heart, the way things do when we are open to experiences.

It so happens my husband was already booked to travel to Melbourne about a week hence, for a series of meetings. He encouraged me to check the ACO performances and see if they happened to coincide. They did. And there were seats available.

I believe in synchronistic adventure.

We enjoy listening to classical music but are not cognoscenti, especially me. I just listen and enjoy. Neither of us had ever attended an ACO performance. But there was something about the sound of that Stradivarius, even heard over the inferior quality of television speakers, that filtered to my innermost being. I suppose that is what great art does. But there is more…

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Dad and Mom in Rome

About forty years ago, when my Italian speaking skills were fresh enough from studies to be of some use, I organised a trip to Italy for myself and my parents. In those days I could only get two weeks off from work so it was an ambitious plan. We flew into Rome, enjoyed the delights, picked up a rental car and headed to an area about 70 miles outside of Rome to meet my father’s extended family, then south to the Amalfi Coast, then back up through Tuscany and through Cremona on our way to the Lake Como area. Like I said, ambitious. Dad and I took turns driving —oh the things a fearless father and a confident young daughter can achieve! I wonder if my Mother spent the entire trip with white knuckles?

When we neared the Cremona area, Dad sprung on me that he wanted to stop, to see if we could find anything about the Stradivarius violins that were made there in the 18th century. Himself, a musician, Dad was from a very musical family. His father played the violin and his Uncle made violins, one of which is in the possession of the Smithsonian Institute in Washington DC. Musical talent certainly skipped my generation, though perhaps there is a lingering gene or two in my other creative endeavours.

Keep in mind, this was well before GPS systems, the internet or smart phones! We had only an ‘old school’ road map and my Dad’s sketchy knowledge of the Stradivarius. I could scarcely believe we actually found a museum or school or some such place, where there was said to be a Stradivarius. But when we arrived it was ‘chiuso’—closed. The hours were posted on the door so we decided to try and return when it would be open again. As we turned to leave, an Italian gentleman came into the piazza. Dad, never one to hold back, but knowing not a word of Italian, stopped the man, then realised I would have to do the asking… thanks Dad. If you’ve ever learned a second language, you will know that often it is not the difficulty of asking the question that is the problem, it is understanding the reply that is tricky. Eventually, what I understood was that this gentleman, a ‘professore di musica’ was also the person who came once a week to play the Stradivarius that was kept on display here–to keep it in good working order. He told us when he would be playing if we wanted to wait.

We waited.

Eventually the door was opened, probably after siesta, I can’t quite remember, I just know it was a warm day and we were waiting on hard stone benches in the piazza for a while… We were told where to go and il Professore, true to his word, was preparing the famed violin. He, and we, were the only people present. He played. Dad was riveted. Me? I was young and not as appreciative as I might have been. The uniqueness of the moment didn’t fully sink it at the time, but somewhere deep in the folds of my grey matter it has been waiting to come forward and be gratefully acknowledged.

Hamer Hall, where the ACO performed

Hearing that Stradivarius on television restored that memory as if it was only a few years ago. Perhaps the spirit of my Dad was urging me to go to Melbourne. It was the sort of adventure he would appreciate. The actual star of the performance was the up and coming Australian Soprano, Nicole Car, who has performed in London and Paris to acclaim and who is performing later this year at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City. She was superb.

But for me, the star was the Stradivarius.

What a voice Satu has…a three hundred year old Belgiorno Stradivarius that lives on through her artistry.

 

 

If you live in Australia, the ACO tour continues for the month of April. Also, there is a performance from this series that will be played live on April 22 with Nicole Car singing. I will be out of the country and can’t imagine that I will get to hear it, but who can say, with these synchronistic things? Link: http://www.abc.net.au/classic/live-music/classic-live/

remotely challenged…

10 Saturday Feb 2018

Posted by in humour, Life

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IMG_0836If you have ever been in over your head with technology…

Among other things, my husband has a degree in Information Technology. After many years, I have figured out they taught him never to intervene if there is someone else foolish enough to try and do the job. So. I am the ‘tech guru’ of our household. I have just finished setting up the latest addition to our family of technology, an Apple TV. Silly me, I believed everything Google said, ‘you just plug it in and follow the instructions on the screen to set it up’. Oh, yes, that ole’ fairy tale.

I’ve had Apple products almost since their inception, so I’m kind of used to them. I stay with them because they integrate so well with each other. I was a freelance artist and an early adopter of desk top publishing and eventually I used the computer for most of my design work as well, so I am not without skills.

IMG_0850Less accomplished are my skills of using a remote. Or three in this case. The Apple TV is a toy, a luxury. I enjoy watching YouTube videos, TED talks and the like, but I don’t like sitting at the computer to watch them. I can also view my 30,000+ digital photo collection on the bigger screen, as well as use other apps from my computer. Also I like movies, and for a modest fee, this will let me subscribe to Netflix. (Shhh, don’t tell the satellite provider) Our TV is seven years old. It is not a totally smart TV. It isn’t stupid but it is no longer the valedictorian of its class.

Our daughter had encouraged me to buy the Apple TV in the first place, assuring me it would augment the smartness factor, and convincing me that I had the tech skills to set it up. Ego being what it is, I believed her too.

First attempt: Early in the morning, fail. I send her a text message. 

Me: “No success so far, but I think it is operator error”

Second attempt: A couple of hours later…I sat sympathetically in front of the not so smart TV, three remotes lined up in front of me. I did not feel so smart either. The design of the Apple remote is such that you need to be able to access ‘settings’ on the TV to see if the remote is fully charged and connected. Therein lay the conundrum. I could not advance from the screen after selecting ‘English’ as my language of choice. Nothing would happen.  But it didn’t happen in English. At least I’d gotten that far, though how, I wasn’t sure. If I have learned anything over the years it is that going back to basics often fixes a tech problem. Perhaps it would help, I thought, if I tried charging the new remote, just in case it was flat and not working.  Apple usually sends things already fully charged, but it was worth a shot.

…charging for a little while.

Text reply to my earlier message, from our daughter, who has owned an Apple TV for 7 years and who lives 1000 miles away:

Daughter: “I would help if I wasn’t so far away”

Me: …contemplating why I let her leave home.

I retrieved the charged (presumably) remote and returned to the task at hand. Wot??? Suddenly appearing on the TV screen, the remote shared with me, it was ‘connected’! Well, thank God for small mercies. Upon a second third look, I realised I had not noticed the track pad on top of the teeny tiny remote. Oh for Pete’s sake, how did I miss that? Yeah, the same way I missed the most important item on my grocery shopping list, yesterday. (Will give myself a personal flogging later.) Finally, I could advance the screens and set things up. Setup finished, and connected to Wi-Fi, I suddenly had a new problem.

How do I return to the regularly scheduled programming on the satellite service? This was dicey. I had screwed this up in the past and it took ages to sort out. Stakes were high. 

Daughter: “Once it is connected you need to select the correct HDMI port”

My reply: “Yes, I know that, but I have no idea how to get that screen up on the TV”

Silence.

I’ve been in this space before. Being technically challenged is surprisingly stressful, probably up there with childbirth–without the Oxytocin or drugs. Stomach gnaws, angst grows. Which button do I push now? Truthfully, I have no idea what a quarter of the buttons do. And I’m the guru.

Sweaty palms.

(Does not even know which remote she should be using at this point…staring, sweating, considering her options, which bears mentioning, the actual ‘options’ button does nothing discernible. More contemplating… )

Incoming text message from my friend, the Bricklayer, who wants to know if he can come THIS very morning to patch something I spoke to him about two months ago. Really? You want to come in an hour? Trying to complete my task at hand before needing to be at the airport to pick up my husband, whose plane was to arrive early, after which a friend was coming for coffee, was closing in on me. Something in my response must have signalled ‘danger Will Robinson’*.  He later replied he would come another day.

Fine. Better. I will apologise later, in case I made him feel unloved. I don’t think I did. He is very intuitive and probably just picked up on a vibe.

Honestly, who needs extreme sports to get the heart rate up?

Basically I was just pressing the same button over and over, hoping for a different outcome. Insanity, I know. BUT, then I noticed on the TV screen, a teeny, tiny icon I had previously overlooked. (more flogging later) OMG, that looks like another icon, where did I see that….desperately scans all three remotes at once. Could it be…THIS other teeny, tiny little button that almost looks like that?

Deep breath.

Push button.

Presto. I have just graduated summa cum laude in ‘remote education’. I am wildly happy. Ridiculously happy. But at 8.30 am, I’m also wondering if it is too early to open the bottle of vodka.

I message our daughter about the victory and the vodka, who replies:

“Call it a Mimosa”**

I text back to her: “How did you get so smart?”

Her reply: “Good genes”

I may be technologically challenged, but I raised a smart and funny young woman.

Things always look easier in hindsight, but keep a bottle of vodka just in case. –ardysez

 

*”Danger Will Robinson” is an often quoted line from a 1960’s TV series called “Lost in Space”. Will Robinson was the son of a family who was supposedly lost in space on an alien planet. His ‘minder’ was a protective, humourless robot. If Will, who was a bit cheeky, would test the limits of their alien situation, the robot would sound the danger warning. Here is a five second clip 🙂

**A ‘Mimosa’ is a drink often served at fancy brunches, that is half champagne or other fizzy wine, plus orange juice

sixties and you’re done…

03 Saturday Feb 2018

Posted by in Life, People

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fullsizeoutput_3eb0Reviewing life events is not unusual for anyone who has had a serious illness, or life event. Mine just happened to be breast cancer, but it could have been any number of things. Most of you probably have your own version of this. There is a periodic reconnoiter, that my husband and I have done many times over the 34 years of our marriage. Without reviewing where you’ve been, it’s hard to see if you need to alter your course.

When I did a major rethink, about six years ago, for the most part I was very happy with life. Trepidatiously, I had wondered if I would find some things seriously out of whack. I discovered, blissfully, that much was ‘in whack’. There was some tweaking to be done, but that is always the case, isn’t it?

In subsequent years I closed a few chapters of my life and focussed in on some others. After four years or so the theme of these adjustments became apparent. I had reached the limit of my shit tolerance. And by that I mean I’d had enough of badly behaved people. And by that I mean, people who should know better, treating our relationship with a distinct lack of care. There were only a few of those people, but they were part of my inner circle and they didn’t deserve to be there. They occupied space in my psyche that could have been much better fulfilled by others. None of them will be reading this, or would even recognise themselves if they did.

Did I have a big confrontation? Did I tell them how I saw them? Eventually, I just didn’t feel the need. Any anger I’d had was dissolved. Poof. Ethers. I realised that none of those people meant me, personally, any harm, they just didn’t know better, and didn’t see any reason to change. Me, I’m all about change. It’s how I could move my entire life halfway around the world and start over. It’s one of my superpowers.

I realised I would gain nothing from having a big blow up with those people. Nor would they. Perhaps this was even why they were in my life, to teach me this valuable lesson.

So what did I do?IMG_0792

Just as the observation goes, when we ask God for something, and don’t get it, the answer is ‘no’….

Just as I have realised that having less stuff in my life means saying ‘no’ so that I can enjoy more of what is left…

I have learned that there are some people with whom I can have a satisfying relationship, and some people who were not built for it.

Many years ago I heard advice (via Oprah, from her mentor and very good friend Maya Angelou)

When people show you who they are, believe them the first time. —Maya Angelou

This wisdom bore a shaft of light straight to the centre of my understanding and has guided me many times since. Another of my superpowers is the ability to almost immediately assimilate wisdom that rings true to me. When someone shows you openness or compassion, believe them. When they show you ego and intolerance, believe that too.

I don’t expect more than is possible from those who have shown me who they are. I’ve learned to identify those people within minutes of meeting them. They are the people who want to tell me what is wrong with everyone else in the world. They are self absorbed. They tell me how I should behave and what I should do, and they never ask me about myself with genuine curiosity. There is ego and judgement…or worse, passive aggression. When I meet people like that, my inner voice says, I will not engage with you on a level that allows you a conduit to give me your shit.

And I say it with love.  And respect. For myself.IMG_0787

A couple of years ago I began saying out loud, in the company of others who know me well, ‘I’m done with badly behaved people’. It might seem unnecessary, or even dramatic to say, but it is my personal emancipation from the quiet tyranny of those who portend a kind and loving relationship and can’t deliver.

Recently in an interview with Oprah, she confirmed it. I knew I liked that woman. She and I are the same age for about five months of the year, currently both 64.

When asked to tell about life in her 60’s, here is what she said…

You take no shit. None. Not a bit. In your 40s you want to say you take no shit, but you still do. In your 60s you take none. There’s both a quickening and a calming—there’s a sense that you don’t have as much time on earth as you once did. For me, there’s also a sense of calming about that. —Oprah

You go girl.

the perfect gift

25 Monday Dec 2017

Posted by in Life

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fullsizeoutput_3e83They were a new family in our neighbourhood. Partying and a high threshold for noise and disruption seemed to be their goals in life. We knew their daughter, our travel agent for a couple of years—lovely and good at her job. We also knew of the husband, reputed as a good builder. In fact the house they bought was in need of a renovation and was eventually turned into a stunning home.

The disruption to our quiet cul-de-sac-life was noticeable. Apparently they did not quite appreciate the subtle characteristic of the quiet neighbourhood. We wondered when it would calm down. A year or so after they moved in we heard on the grapevine that the son had had an accident which sounded very much like one from partying too hard. For a while there was doubt he would be able to follow on in his dad’s footsteps as a builder. As he recovered, we noticed that their large life seemed to get quieter and smaller.

Processed with VSCO with oak1 presetA year or so later, we had returned from traveling only a week or so earlier. We were still at the settling in phase. I had let our dog out into our unfenced yard, which was our normal routine. I walked him mornings and either my husband or I walked him evenings as well. But for a little midday pee, he would wet the tree out the front on the golf course side of the house, and then settle himself in the sun on our grass until ready to come in again.

Over the recent year or so, I noticed he had gotten hard of hearing. He was 18 years old, after all, though he still looked fit as a two year old. A result of his growing deafness was that when I would call him, he would often go in the opposite direction, disoriented, no doubt. And I had not realised that occasionally he had started wandering a little further afield to the neighbours on either side of us, even climbing the steps to one house for a daily treat!! The secret life of pets!

IMG_0312It was afternoon and I was home alone with Storm. I let him out and only a few minutes later there came a knock at the door. It was our close neighbour who had been feeding him the treats. Visibly shaken. ‘It’s Storm’. I sensed what was coming. He had been hit by a car on the road side of our house, the side where I thought he never ventured. Later everyone said that they had never seen him there before, which was some small comfort. Our neighbour assured me he died instantly but told me not to come up the driveway that he would bring him if I had something in which to wrap him. I handed Storm’s clean bedding fresh from the clothes line to our neighbour.

It was a horrible day, as you can imagine. I felt so responsible because I was the one who had opened the door for him. Later I realised it was far better that it was me than our daughter. I was surprised to see flowers at our door soon after, from the woman who had hit him. She was from the house of the noisy neighbours. I learned that she felt horrible and even though our neighbours said she was driving too fast around the bend, I had not witnessed it.

It seemed to me I could carry the burden of resentment and anger about it forever, or I could forgive and move on. I knew that no one would do such a thing purposely. I walked across to the house and the young son answered the door. I asked if I could see his Mum. As I entered I could see her and her husband, in the shadows of the room. ‘Let me have it’ she said. That was not why I went. Through my tears and choked words I told her Storm had been a rescue. He had lived 17 good years with us and that it was I who opened the door to let him out that day and that she mustn’t blame herself.

It took me longer to forgive myself.

For 7 years we have inched slowly toward each other. Forgiving is not forgetting. Very early on this hot Christmas morning as I returned from my walk, I saw their family gathering on the veranda. We waved and greeted each other warmly and I wished them all an unreserved Merry Christmas. I realised one of the best gifts I have ever given myself or anyone else, was the gift of forgiveness. One size fits all, and the returns are gratefully received.IMG_0659xx blessings to you all.