I’m FINE, thank you

One of the speakers at a recent forum I attended was psychotherapist Jackie Furey. An entertaining speaker, I found her words touched me in ways I can’t explain… or maybe I can… what time of the month is it?

She talked about it being fine… in the way that when someone says “how are you?” You say: “Fine.”

Jackie says in psychotherapist-speak, fine means:

Fucked up
Insecure
Neurotic and
Emotional

Is she right?

Her message was that if you don’t do your feelings, they’ll do you. And I guess that’s what touched a nerve with me. I don’t think I have been doing my feelings and once a month - bang - they do me.

I’m teary, emotional, paranoid, despairing.

Two days later, I’m positive, engaged, excited and enthusiastic… the problem goes away but every month it’s the same wet deal.

Yesterday I noticed that my big toe on my left foot was numb… that weird feeling numb just before you get pins and needles - you know what I mean? I can feel the fuzziness go up the back of my leg and I think it ends in my neck. My toe has now been weirdly numb for two days.

Maybe it’s unconnected but somehow I wonder if my feelings are doing me. I’m off to the doctor tomorrow to check it out and maybe a chiropractor or osteopath as well.

Of course, Groover has been completely supportive… “Maybe you’ve got MS”, he says not helpfully, “…or Motor Neuron Disease… you never know it might be some sort of stroke…”

Thanks darling, just remember, you said “In sickness and in health”.

That should shut him up.

:)

UPDATE: I’m fine. Hehe. Well, I probably have some swelling in the lower sacral part of my spine which is encroaching on a nerve so I’m going to try some antinflammatories and see if that works, do some physio or chiro, and if it’s not fixed in a couple of weeks do a cat scan to see if that gives us more clues as to what is going on. As well I’ve had full bloods taken in preparation for a general check up. The first for years. Am I a bloke?

In the meantime it’s just me and my fuzzy toe.

Seagulls steal chips… from a shop

I seem to be collecting youtube videos on seagulls.

First there was my little video of the seagulls looking at themselves in a shiny sculpture… and now there’s this one (discovered on Steven Humour) of seagulls stealing chips.

They are cheeky little buggers aren’t they. I can remember Groover’s angst as he left the bakery at Rottnest Island (mmmmm) with a pie and before he had taken one bite having it snatched from his grip by a marauding seagull.

We rescued a seagull once.

We were staying on Rottnest… we went every year for a week’s holiday growing up… and it was raining. A seagull chick had fallen from it’s nest and was being pecked and attacked by some adults. Mum rescued it and put it in the oven… to keep it warm! The door was open. She wrapped it up and fed it milk I think… or something.

We brought it home with us on the ferry in an icecream container cradled in tissues and when we got home Mum made it a little home out of a cardboard box. She cut slats in one site - like a jail - and the little seagull grew.

It was pretty intelligent actually. And toilet trained. Well, sort of. It used to squirt its business through the slats onto the kitchen dining floor. Luckily we had tiles. You had to watch where you stepped coming home.

Eventually it grew too big for the cardboard box and Dad built it an aviary along the backfence. For some reason he’d built the side wall with foot wide partitions extending out which worked really well with some chicken wire.

We called our seagull - Rasputin.

He was a fine guard-dog er… seagull. Every time anyone walked past he’d do that seagull screech. Could wake the dead.

We’d let him out to practice flying and one day took him down to the beach and set him free among his seagully friends. Maybe he came back and visited us. It’s a bit hard to tell.

They all look the same to me.

My youngest child is 11

There have been a couple of things lately that have made me feel old. Trying to buy something hip hap’nin and groovy today… sigh. Being asked if my 18 year old daughter also had her hair done at my salon (I look old enough to have an 18 year old daughter now?!!!) and now little Dippity - The Pigeon - turning 11.

But it’s not about me. Here are seven photographs of my girl.

Yeah. That’s my baby.

Happy Birthday gorgeous one.

The Food Porn Meme

Thanks to Lightening (and Smokey Mountain Breakdown) for this one.

Here are the really simple rules. Answer each of the five questions. Tag five bloggers you would like to pass the meme to. Have them link back to you and to this post as the source meme.

1. What food do you consider the best “date” food? In other words, what meal or food item do you think is sexiest to eat in the company of someone you would like to look sexy around?

I think you should always start with classic French food. It’s posh but you know what you’re getting and there are rarely any nasty side effects… well, apart from the garlic… The risks of loving on your first date are enough without the prawn jalfrezi repeating on you when activities below the equator (so to speak) have been initiated.

2. What well-known person would you like to share a meal with—with or without clothing. (saying whether or not clothes are involved is optional).

Mr Darcy, no shirt. Is that really a question??

3. What does your perfect breakfast-in-bed look like? (Food AND the details, please. Candles? Music? Flowers? Hot tub? Dancing girls?

Grilled pancetta with crushed roma tomatoes, hand-torn basil on crusty Italian toast. Served with a long black coffee and fresh orange juice, a trashy novel and sans children.

4. What do you consider the best application of whipped cream to be?

On scones with jam… or pavlova… You are after all asking a 6th generation Australian.

5. Oh-God-No, Biff, the yacht is sinking! You are sent to the galley to retrieve the food. What luxury food items do you snatch first? The champagne? The caviar? Smoked Salmon? Truffles? Chocolate? Or something else?

Who took the wine? Own up now! Because I want to share your lifeboat.

You’re it

The Food Pornographer (well… who else?)
Reading Circles
Hot Water
h&b
and James - my Sydney food guide :)

photo credit: Tiago Macambira

Would you run in the torch relay?

Groover asked me the other day: “If I’d been selected to run in the Olympic Torch Relay in Canberra - would I pull out?” and it’s a question that has been plaguing me all week.

I imagine the thrill of being asked. The honour. The excitement of representing my chosen field, my family, my country, my Olympic representatives - the athletes who have trained so hard and for so long - in such a public event.

Then the dilemma. Does running mean that I support China’s action in Tibet? And if it does, can I live with myself if I run?

And then the horror of watching the other relays - in London, in Paris, in San Franscisco - and the debacle they’ve turned into. Watching other runners being caught up in the protest. Being attacked.

Being shoved into a warehouse as organisers try and work out what to do next.

Being surrounded by a phalanx of secret service guards.

Where is the honour in that? Where is the glory? Where is the pride?

So imagine. You’re sitting at home watching the news on the telly. Your torch relay uniform, clean and sparkling new is in its box. Your brand new sandshoes gleam. And you, with your heart in your mouth, have to decide whether you’ll take part.

It’s easy to say “No I won’t take part” from your lounge room when you don’t have to make that decision but if you were actually in those gleaming new sandshoes… would you withdraw?

I am torn on this question.

What I will say on behalf of those who decided to run is that at least they have provided a very public platform for the protesters.

What about our athletes? Do they boycott? What difference would it really make? Did boycotting Moscow back in 1980 really achieve all that much? Could you turn your back on four years of training, of dreams?

Sport and politics should not mix. Is that possible in the real world?

And so we get to Kevin Rudd, our Mandarin-speaking Prime Minister. Is telling the Chinese that he doesn’t agree with what they’ve done in Tibet enough?

Does he have to turn his back on the Olympic Games now?

Does he risk Australia’s relationship with China?

I’m sure of my response here. I’m afraid the answer is yes. I know we might risk our trade and that our resources boom is largely dependent on China. But greed cannot trump human rights.

So in summary: I think I would run in the relay as it is a great forum for the Tibetans to make their protest. I don’t think athletes should boycott the games, after all we don’t expect our companies to give up their trade contracts. And at this stage I think Kevin Rudd should consider not going to the Games although, I can’t imagine the Chinese would care if he were there or not.

Your thoughts?

photo credit: Monster Pete

Brain space - the zen of blogging

I can’t tell you how often people ask me how I find the time to blog, but the truth is where others might meditate, or do some yoga, or pray… I blog.

I find it relaxing. To let my consciousness stream via the keyboard onto a white screen. To play with the words. To shape and reshape my thoughts.

Blogging opens my mind and releases the frantic thoughts that buzz inside my head.

When I blog, I’m not thinking about all the jobs I haven’t done, the mountain of work awaiting me. How I might approach a meeting tomorrow, what words to achieve my goal with that report. Not to mention the housework piling up, the kids’ dinner, health, glasses… and where is Groover anyway?

I just blog.

I just am.

I add a photo. I jot down a few tags. I select the categories. I hit publish.

My thought bubble, now words on a screen, floats away into the sunset.

My mind is clear.

Nirvana.

The power of the itch

I’ve got an itchy foot. An actual itchy foot, not wanderlust. Or maybe it is wanderlust too? It’s just at the top of my left foot near where the leg starts but on the flat of the top of the foot… if that makes sense.

Have you ever noticed that if you start thinking about an itchy foot or somewhere else and you don’t scratch it immediately that all of a sudden other bits start getting itchy… like your right shoulder, the back of your left thigh where it’s against the chair, your head… And then you scratch your foot but it’s too late …your shoulder, thigh, damn now my chin niggles at you.

What’s going on?! It was just my foot one minute ago!

Does that ever happen to you?

It’s like when you hear someone talking about nits - that’s it! I’m scratching my head. Even if there is no, absolutely no chance of me having them, I’ve been living on my own in the desert for a month, no contact with children and my head is shaved anyway… suddenly it’s itchy.

Sorry. Are you scratching your head now?

That was just mean wasn’t it? But isn’t it true!!

It’s like our bodies are pre-programmed for suggestion… maybe it comes from when we were apes… I mean we’re still apes but when we were in the jungle picking lice off eachother… maybe it’s hard-wired into our DNA to scratch so that others will come over and groom us, pick the odd crawly out of our hair…

After all that saying “I’ll scratch your back, if you scratch mine” had to be based on something…

GROOVER! What are you doing? My back! Oooooooh darling that’s it… a bit to the left… ahhhhh.

What? You’ve got an itch where?

Isn’t it time for me to be putting on the dinner…

photo credit: belgianchocolate

2020 - I’m just not engaged

No, not the cricket game… the 2020 Summit!

(I bet John Howard wishes it were a cricket game…)

Yeah the summit. Where 1000 Australians will discuss matters of import such as:
* Productivity Agenda - education, skills, training, science and innovation
* Australian Economy - the future of the Australian economy
* Sustainability and Climate Change - population, sustainability, climate change and water
* Rural Australia - future directions for rural industries and rural communities
* Health - a long-term national health strategy – including the challenges of preventative health, workforce planning and the ageing population
* Communities and Families - strengthening communities, supporting families and social inclusion
* Indigenous Australia - options for the future of Indigenous Australia
* Creative Australia - towards a creative Australia: the future of the arts, film and design
* Australian Governance - the future of Australian governance: renewed democracy, a more open government (including the role of the media), the structure of the Federation and the rights and responsibilities of citizens
* Australia’s Future in the World - Australia’s future security and prosperity in a rapidly changing region and world

*yawn*

Sorry, where were we?

Yeah the summit. I don’t know why but this one just hasn’t captured my imagination. I’m sure it’s all very worthy. I’m sure some good stuff will come out of it. Eventually. I’m not saying it shouldn’t go ahead. But… I’m not excited.

And if that makes me a head-in-the-sand, political neophyte who couldn’t give a toss about the future of this great country… well.

Bugger.

Because I wish I were more engaged! I wish I did care a little more. I wish I had time to read the briefing papers and think about the issues involved. To have my say. To stand up and make a difference.

Maybe, you just have to be there.

Maybe that’s one good reason why I’m not.

How long should it take to name a child?

There is a high profile person in Perth who has recently become the father to a healthy baby girl (as opposed to a fully grown one). She is beautiful and the mother is by all accounts a very lovely and organised person.

The baby was born on the 14th March and to date the babe is not named.

Now there are probably very good reasons for that. Who knows what is going on with them.

But I find it hard to imagine going three weeks without naming my babes. I think I took one look at my babes as they were laid on my chest and said “Welcome to the world little Hugamuga/Dippity”, barely seconds old.

With Hugamuga we’d had a tulmultuous time… first births often are. I’d gone into labour two days before and after getting to 8cm and having my waters broken in the home birth centre at the hospital it was decided to transfer to the hospital proper - so I could have an epidural and a rest.

Things didn’t proceed well - the baby was posterior and presenting the widest part of his head - and I was transferred from the labour ward to theatre, prepped for an emergency caeser and they tried first to suction him out… yep, I got the cut.

I was pretty high on drugs at this point but what I remember is that the doctor was pulling on the suction thingy and the bed started going with it. The brakes weren’t on!

Then we heard a loud sucky sound and we thought - omg! Here he/she comes! Then there was a loud theatrical “pop” and the suction cap fell off and the doctor went flying.

The monitoring equipment went wild and it was decided they couldn’t wait for a caeser - they just had to rip him out. The student midwives observing at the back of the room visibly winced as the forceps went in and Hugamuga came out. (that’s not a good sign)

He scored 4 on his first apgar, and 8 on his second. He looked like a little blue frog with a squashed nose and bruises on his head both where the suction cup had been and by his ears - like sideburns - where the forceps were clamped. But he was okay. Safe. Yes a rocky landing but the plane didn’t crash. I was lucky.

Meanwhile at the other end of the bed the doctor was busy practicing his needlepoint. Third degree tear. 40 stitches. Please remember I’m still very high on drugs. “So you won’t be able to have sex for two months and you’ll need to take laxitives regularly for 6…” sew sew sew… “Oh,” says I, “So I guess anal sex is out of the question?” The midwives glare at Groover. I was joking! I think I’m hysterically funny. “Don’t distract the doctor darling”, says Groover, “you need him to concentrate at the moment…”

But I digress what were we talking about again???

That’s right. Names.

I don’t think I’m especially well organised but I did have the name thing organised. We’d agreed on both a boys and a girls name for Hugamuga… he would have been Madeleine if a girl.

And for Dippity we had a deal, Groover got to name the baby if a boy - Declan (hmmm not so much) - and I got to name her if she was a girl, which happily, she was. But again no delay.

So (finally) here’s my question. Did it take you a while to name your babies?

And if so, why?

Religious reasons perhaps? You’re the Crown Prince of Denmark maybe? You had the baby unexpectedly early?

I’d love to know your story…

The importance of a best friend

The other day at work I mentioned a friend in a conversation and my colleague turned to me and asked “Is she your best friend?”

It stopped me in my tracks.

I’ve been thinking a lot about best friends lately and how important - to 10-year-olds at least - it is to have a best friend.

I met my best friend at school at the age of 10. In years 6&7 we were inseparable. I’d go over to her house 2-3 times a week, we had sleepovers, secretly liked the same boys, played hopscotch, trampolining, elastics, and board games endlessly. We were both born in Canada. Her family Canadian, my family Australian (working abroad at the time). I went to Wave Rock with her family. She came to Rotto with mine.

She taught me how to riffle shuffle - a skill I enjoy to this day. I don’t think I taught her anything. Her dad would wake us up in the morning singing lougly:

Good morning to you
Good morning to you
Whatever the weather
We’ll face it together
In work or in play
a beautiful day!

Note the similar fashion style, even similar hair! We’d have been around 12.

I remember on the way home, her dad stopped on the side of the road. A fox had been killed. I don’t know why he stopped - maybe to get the foxtail. He turned the dead animal over and I can still see to this day the teeming maggots, green and maroon.

Today we don’t see each other. We grew apart when she moved schools in Year 9 but kept in touch. She has moved to Vancouver with her husband and two boys. Maybe she reads this blog. I hope so.

If you’re reading girlfriend: Thank you for being a great best friend!

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