The pub

Walked by the local today. The smell of stale beer lurched into the street like a sleazy drunk. The sweet yeasty aroma caught in the back of my throat causing my top lip to curl with discontent. It reminded me of my childhood; congregating in the pub after a long winters day at the local footy. My brother and I, along with any number of school friends who happened to be in the same boat, wandered like aliens amidst the tall oaks that were other adults. We small things clutched bags of salt and vinegar chips, and carefully weaved our way through a forest of denim swathed legs, mindful to steer clear of those with drinks in hand, so as to avoid a dousing of sticky beverage down the back of our shirt collars.

From the mere smell wafting from the local, I could imagine the decor inside: dart board on one wall, an orchestra of alto voices rumbling incoherently like a turbulent sea. The only recognisable word being an intermittently barked "FUCK", which always seems to beam out from a jumble of mixed voices like a search light onto unsuspecting thieves. In my mind's eye, I could see the bar: a Johnny Walker mirror gleaming in front of a terry towelling swathed counter top. The mirror reflects an organised line of glass bottles filled with the full spectrum of colourful tonics, and captures the movements of fellow patrons; those drinking, those queuing to buy the next round and those leaning on the bar with no other purpose than to be swallowed up by the transient crowd, in an effort to feel less lonely.

The carpet on the ground is dark, with an unsightly geometric pattern of the likes never seen in any domestic arena. It's pattern blares over creaking floor boards, and although ugly, is appreciated for its practicality and effectiveness in disguising peanut kernels, chip crumbs, dirt, spilled drink and vomit.

Like the expected cuckoo bird from a German clock, a scruffy bloke staggers through the heavy wooden pub door - the sign says "saloon". He flinches at the bright sunlight. He did not shave his beard this morning. The man's uniform suggests he has probably been on a construction site of some sort. He wears Rossi boots smeared with the remnants of dried clay, and navy Yakka work trousers that sag in the behind, due to the absence of an arse.

Thinking back to the pub in my memory, I half expect a similar crowd enjoying the sociable atmosphere inside the local - leathery, mulletted, and for more than a few, sparse of tooth. There was a friendly coarseness about these blokes- the epitome of rural masculinity. They were harmless enough though - laugh out loud type of blokes; "she'll be right ya old bastard" type of blokes; take it on the chin type of blokes, comrades; diggers, mates. I smile at the thought.

As the pub door swings to a close, a great gust of stale beer air hurtles in my direction. It is pungent, sickening, overwhelming; not unlike unwashed urinals in an all boys high school. I move along, considering it no mere coincidence that these two amber fluids should share the same euphemism.

Irony

We are getting a new heater. Our wood combustion heater was shot and Ashley was not a fan, so we went all out and invested in a gas log fire - so deep is the investment that we have had to pay big dollars to get the mains gas connected to the house. Thursday, the guys came to put the new heater in, and with temperatures set to plummet over the weekend, it seemed to be fine timing.

However, the plan went to pot when the installers found they had a mismatched flue, and so, with regret, the guys informed me there were no spares of the correct flue in the warehouse and they would have to order another in.... which will take another week or so. Great!

Now, along with the rest of South Australia, I have been praying for rain and some cooler temperatures. It rained the whole day yesterday and all through the night; thunder rumbled overhead, hail rattled on the roof tiles above, and the gutters over-flowed in a steady stream on numerous occasions. The temperature dropped to 6.4 degrees.

Unfortunately the installers had also ripped out my old combustion heater, and it lay useless and most probably, snickering with vindictive pleasure, abandoned in the equally icy back shed. I think my house was the same temperature outside as it was in. And on top of all that, the household decided to go into vomit over-drive with the bedding and rugs being the target zone.

I got to bed some time around 2:30 am after cleaning up the majority of mess. Ice block-like I had washed two quilts and quilt covers, shorting a fuse in the process and screaming out loud at all the injustices of world as my daughter knocked over her dessert from the darkened kitchen table, which the dog gobbled up with lusty determination - there was no more, and her wailing (which I truly could have care less about, given the comedy of errors taking place at the same time while multiple phones decided to ring at once) could be heard across the valleys and nearby mountain ranges and was likely recorded on the Richter scale.

With Ashley away in Scotland, my brother came to my rescue with a new fuse he just happened to have lying around in his shed, and a flashlight, which I was also without.

Much later, I went off to bed in the hope of putting the disastrous night well and truly behind me, only to find, to my dismay, that one of the dogs, in their thunder storm induced anxious state, had gone out in sympathy with the kids and decided to vomit all over MY BED. So with that stripped, and all alternative bedding in use in the kids rooms while theirs was being cleaned, I resigned myself to a freezing night, huddled under a couple of throw rugs, alone and longing for the hot sun.

How was your night?

soul soothing

Went to the salvage yard today, in the hope of finding some old roof tiles that match those on our roof - no luck- but the salvage yard itself was really interesting, and proved to be a surprisingly fun place to visit with the kids.


There were all sorted of wonderful things at the salvage yard - old doors and windows, bath feet, old singer sewing machines, "interesting" garden ornaments and relic machinery. There was also an odd collection of archaic advertising sculptures. One piece involved a life size man riding upon a flying fish - the breeze stirring the contraption in a way that caused the fishes fins to move up and down in a flying motion, and the man's legs to turn, as if he were riding a bicycle - quirky indeed!


The kids had a million questions as to what was this old thing and what was that, but were particularly taken by an old fashioned type writer with sticky, clunky keys. Although I can't imagine hacking out a piece of writing on one of those nowadays (spell check... need I say more?), I do like the heavy clicking sound the keys make - there is something deeply satisfying in that sound, as opposed to the quietly industrious and unobtrusive tap of today's lap tops; all hushed and unwilling to disturb or cause a stir. The old type writers seem to punch the paper with determined zeal, as if applying CPR in the hope of giving the words real life, breath and voice, along with an accompanying exclamation mark to accentuate the points raised within the document.


We managed to escape the salvage yard empty-handed, and began to head for home via the coast, but decided to stop when we came to Port Noarlunga. Although Port Noarlunga isn't too far from where I live, I must say, I have never spent much time there. Noarlunga, a nearby 'burb, is a bit shabby and rough around the edges...in other words it is considered a bit feral, but Port Noarlunga is a bit of a surprise, with a gorgeous beach and sand stone cliffs. The day was perfect - a beautiful 25 degrees, so we bought the obligatory ice cream and headed out to the jetty for a bit of a stroll. Many people were out fishing, but most were mumbling about not having caught much, which was evident by the numerous empty pails positioned hopefully and at the ready, foot-side. I dare say the emergency helicopter doing sea rescue training nearby might be considered a glaringly obvious reason as to why the fish weren't biting, but hey, what do I know.


I am not really one for beach swimming, so Ashley took the kids down to the waters edge for a paddle, while I walked along the rocky edge to survey the scene and absorb the energy of the seaside. I actually felt rather renewed by the experience and was thankful that I thought to gather up my camera prior to leaving.


I always find restitude in the seaside. To me, the seaside always has atmosphere, even when I am its sole admirer on a given day. The sea just is. It orchestrates for itself, simply because it is the sea's way. It is rhythmic and always in tune. Simple words came to mind, just through sitting amongst the rocks and observing, words such as LICK - as the tide crept in touching the sands that had been left to dry since the tide last went out. CONGREGATE - to a yacht sailing in through a small gathering of other yachts anchored close to shore. HEDGING -to a line of rods leaning against the jetty railing - one lone guy seeming to be minding them all or tending them all - who is to say. DIAMONDS - to the sunbeams glistening off the water. TEXTURE while marveling at the many and varied materials represented in this one seascape; the clear slick water; the soft wet sand, giving like warm wax; the salt encrusted dry beach sand, cracking under foot; the sand stone cliffs that had been sculpted into gentle rolling shaped; and the granite underfoot, hard, jagged and pot-holed.



I wasn't gone long, but it was enough. I returned to watch the kids happily playing in the sand, already saturated from running and "accidentally" falling into the water. The joy we found that day.......


While we spent the entire afternoon jetty-side, there are other walks that one can do at Port Noarlunga. One I would like to do another time, leads over a river and winds through the dunes, opening up onto the beach perhaps 600 metres south of the jetty. From the road that meanders far above the board walk, one could see kayakers paddling down stream, and pelicans cruising the waters sage-like. Nevertheless, I leave a couple of pictures captured from the day's visit.

Cogs going around

Yesterday an unsettledness grew in me that I could neither explain nor contain. It sparked and ignited into a smoldering agitation that ate away at the contentment I had previously been feeling on the second day of the school holidays.

It wasn't anything to do with the kids. In fact we have had a great week thus far, and I have truly enjoyed their company. No. This was something else. This was something I have felt before; a kind of festering that bounces off my insides like a moth smashing itself against a glass door in an attempt to fly toward the light.

Today, I tried to arrest the feeling; send it away; forbid it to pester me any longer, but it remained and distracted me, forcing me to analyse its origins.

In my minds eye I was an awkward bird, with broad wings like those of a pelican. The bird rose from the dry red earth; dusty, bedraggled and bewildered. Inwardly I acknowledged the image with an sub-conscious whisper - "Ahhh, Phoenix rising", though I knew not what it all meant.

When Ashley returned home from work, he noticed something in me and asked what was wrong. I didn't know and therefore, didn't want to talk about it. I needed time to reconcile the restlessness with words and rationale, but it was to no avail and I could not look Ashley in the eye.

Later that night, after the kids were in bed, we talked. "I feel like I am in the wrong place", I said. In truth, I had been struggling or more to the point, I had been missing Canada. I keep finding myself harking back to useless thoughts of "this time last year..." and this time last year the blossoms were out and there was a sense of relief that the long dark nights of winter were almost over; the promise of long summer nights; the rhythmic ping of baseballs connecting to bats and the low hum of neighbourly lawn mowers that, to me, is strangely comforting, for it signals a time for flourishing and for growth.

I miss Canada. I REALLY miss it. Having returned to my homeland, I understand that this place, this country, the earthy essence in which I was born, bred and breathe, well it courses through my veins where ever I am in the world and I will never lose it. It is in my blood and I carry it with me with each heart beat and in each breath, and now there is a longing for what I have given up; that place in the north, with its tranquil watery beauty; its healing green hues and earth toned birds that glide silently and serenely upon those chilly arctic winds.

We left Canada for reasons to do with work. Ashley was terribly unhappy and his work was consuming him in such a way that it was affecting our daily lives and our ability to connect as a couple and as a family, but while Ashley was longing for Australia, a place where he had known peace, I think, in hindsight I had found mine in Canada. Our respective Canadian experiences were not the same. Being at home with the kids, as isolating and as lonely as that was on most days, I did have a freedom that he did not. I was able to connect with the land and with nature. I loved nothing more that pulling on a warm coat and strolling along the beach alone, or getting down to the bird sanctuary with the kids or driving to a favourite spot with my little family and having a moment of perfection; present in Gods beauty anew. I miss that. It wasn't yet embedded in my soul. At the moment I am going there in my mind and I see it clearly, but I just feel a longing. I have had these underlining feelings for a while, but reconciled that I was here, not there, so get over it.

We are also still trying to do this house up. We are onto our bedroom and more painting is just not exciting me. There are lots of things that I am not happy about with the house, but hey, Rome wasn't built in a day, so I just have to gain perspective, be patient and slug away at it. We tend to be a bit gung-ho when it comes with renovations and the like, as if it should have all been done yesterday.

I need to get back into the fitness. I haven't had the time to do a whole lot. My window of opportunity is very small 6:30 am - 7:15am and it has to be before the kids get up - that just ain't happening at the moment and with Ashley going overseas for work, as of Monday for three weeks, I am going to have to cut my losses, continue getting my walks in with the kids and dogs and wait until school goes back when Missy enters full time kindy, so I have kid free time to devote to the gym and to fitness in general. And then there is the big one....DA DA DAAAAAA - work.

I have not been in proper paid employment of any serious nature for 12 years! Sure I worked in my Dads bakery while studying at uni. I did prac. work while finishing my social work degree. I have done volunteering here and there, but even still, over the past six years, my primary role has been Stay At Home Mum. I am not dissing that role at all. In fact I feel lucky that I have been able to stay home that whole time. I know many women aren't in a position to do so, and may otherwise have liked that choice. I am happy that I have been there for my kids and helped instill a solid foundation for them, but in the meantime, I have totally lost touch with the working world and I just feel completely overwhelmed with the idea of trying to hack out some semblance of work place experience of the type that an employer would actually find useful. Anyway, this is it. Despite all the other side distractions I have mentioned, it is the desire to work that is stirring in me like dragon awakening from a centuries long slumber. Next year Missy will be going to full time school and I am really feeling the pull to consider my options in what I want to do. I even dared scan the employment websites yesterday, and got excited by a trainee position for an international recruitment company - I reckon I would love doing that type of thing, and think I would be well suited to it. Then today I went into the bank and was served by an older gent who was wearing a tag that said "in training" on it. My first thought was "oh, they were hiring." My second thought was "I could do that. Imagine the possibilities...". My third thought was a jealously misguided "Bastard".

The good thing in all this is the fact that I am considering what I want. I haven't done that in a very long time. The passion I felt for the old direction in my life (prior to children) is forever changed; snuffed out by circumstance and time. But I now feel that search for passion stirring once again. I don't know where this will all lead, but the possibilities are endless and that in itself is exciting.

whatcha been doing

It’s been a while, hasn't it? I have been so completely busy and the internet connection is not real great here, so I have been avoiding the computer a bit. I am probably the most impatient person on the planet, so an internet service that drops out and is inexplicably slow frustrates me to the point of insanity.

I have been very busy though. I wouldn't have thought the home decorating aspect would take up MORE of my time than the initial unpacking did, but it has...or should I say IS.

Rugs. I am learning to hate them. I just can't seem to get it right in my, as yet, fruitless and completely failed attempt(s) to purchase a rug that actually matches the rest of the furnishings in the room. I just don't seem to have any memory at all for colours. I was SURE our bedroom walls were a dark bluey green - no, they are eucalyptus leaf green and rather light at that. I have returned two rugs for Missy Mopps room already, and would have given up the search by now, if she wasn't asking me every 10 seconds for something soft to play on in her room, perhaps we need carpet after all - NOOoooo. I bought a cream rug for the lounge today from IKEA. It didn't work in the intended room, and they told me that I wouldn't get my money back if I wasnèt able to get it back in the original packaging - yeah right! Thankfully the rug worked out in another, unintended room, so I guess I have had one win after all. Still have the ugly curtains up though, but we won’t go there....

We are having all the rellies over on Easter Sunday for a barbie and a bit of a house warming thing, so I have been trying to clear all the packaging away to get things looking semi-ok; should make it in time. I plan on tackling the garden tomorrow - raking leaves, sweeping and doing a general tidy up.

Must say, the last couple of days have not been too bad in getting things done. Our region has just come out of a fifteen day, record breaking heat wave - that is, fifteen days of temperatures over 35 degrees celsius - it was not pleasant, I can assure you. The previous record was 8 days straight, so I hope we don’t have a hot spell like that for a very long time, and the record remains standing for decades to come. Would not mind some rain now, we are well overdue for some. Hope you garden looks better than mine - shrivelled dust bowl.

Removed

Survived the move. A truck came friday to load up all our wares. It was such a hot day; 40 degrees. The poor removalists were dripping with sweat at 8 in the morning, and they hadn't yet had the fortune of tackling the goat track like slope of our new driveway. When they did, they needed to call in for back up to get the piano down without sending it crashing into the side of the house - ebony and ivory unhinged and splintered all over the place - can you imagine? Ha.


We are practically all unpacked, which sounds kind of miraculous, but we have spent the past two weeks couriering suitcases and boxes of brickabrack over by car and putting it away on the spot.


Ashley has spent his nights over here alone, painting the hideous colours out - fuschia pink replaced with a subtler greem; frog green replaced with ochre; paddle pop chocolate brown replaced with "dried herb". We got a guy in to fix the cork kitchen floor - it looks nice now - good as new, and we have also installed built-in wardrobes in the kid's bedrooms. Now we would like to get rid of the hideous salmon pink curtains that run the entire course of the family room; the brown curtains in the lounge room and revolting green curtains in our bedroom which are accompanied by this hideous metallic lilac sheer umm...thing that hangs like a torn web and should be thrown in the fire - it is shuddersome. I DETEST it.


Anyone need a couple of suitcases? We have enough to satisfy the luggage requirements of all inhabitants of a small nation. What do you do with these things? They are so bulky. Seriously, if you live in Adelaide and require a couple of large suitcases - give me a burl and I will happily pass on the excess- at the moment all 7 are sitting out on the back deck.


And on to the surprises -no new home owner can escape without them. Our new place in not exactly new and therefore, not immune to the nasty surprise factor - it is nearly 40 years old. The miserable previous owners have passed on their old place without fixing the dishwasher -have to get someone out for that tomorrow, and when we attempted to hook the washing machine up, the hose broke off in the wall, resulting in a day without running water while we waited for a plumber to come and fix it - on a long weekend. $400 later we have a sizeable hole in the wall and yet another job on the ever increasing todo list. I hope the house is just ridding itself of the old energy and will settle for us now.


Well, I had better get back to it. I want to kick this joint into gear by Friday so we can enjoy the weekend and give the kids a reprieve from house stuff for a while. Toodles.

Stirring the waters

Tuesday we get the keys to our house - YAY! It has been a long time coming. It will be nearly 5 months since we moved out of our last house, and I can tell you, we have felt every day of those last five months.

Since October 2007, we have lugged all our earthly wares into seven different places across three different countries. Some stays were more fun than others, but each abode has been about the size of a shoe box...or smaller. We are seriously over it. For Ashley and I, I think our current situation has been the most unharmonious time in our entire 18 year relationship; this whole temporary waiting game has been completely unsettling, stressful and disconnecting - we literally, haven't known if or when we were coming or going.

We bought a house three months ago, JUST after we had signed a three month lease on a rental property. Sounds unfortunate, but actually we were very lucky. We needed to go somewhere, and this unsightly place, with its crappy bathroom; barely functioning toilet; tiles falling off the wall; archaic kitchen with no bench space and hideous wall paper, was the only place that was offering a short term rental contract, and as luck would have it, the place happened to be situated near the area we wanted to buy into, so we grasped it with both hands and figured we would live - and we have.

We have seen our new place twice, so I can't quite remember what the hell it looks like inside. I know (and shudder) that it has a nightmarishly steep driveway, but otherwise, I think it should be all right. It needs a bit of work, but nothing like the dump our old place was when we first bought it. I do remember this new place as having a bit more room for the four (or six) of us to spread out in, than our current dive. It also has a fenced yard for both kids and dogs to run around in. I can't wait.

We are spending about 10 days painting the kids rooms and installing built-in robes, fixing the kitchen floor and other tasks we are anticipating on surprising us, once we enter the place empty. It is our hope that we will be moving in on March the 7th. Then, with some luck, our family will finally be able to settle, and we will be able to start thinking about more interesting things.

Time Travelling

I have just finished reading The Time Travelers Wife by AudreyNiffenegger. It is about the unconventional love story of Clare and Henry.

Clare meets her future husband - Henry - as a six year old, when he, as an adult, time travels and runs into her in a meadow on her family's property.

The story recounts the history of Henry and Clare's relationship; Clare's life offering the reader a lineal anchor as Henry flits here and there into the past, and occasionally into the future.

Henry's time travelling jaunts are dangerous. He disappears with little warning, leaving only a pile of clothing in the last spot he stood, and a bounty of worries for those left behind - namely Clare.

Henry winds up in another time and place, naked, exhausted and nauseous - he then sets about on the daunting quest of finding clothes, or risk the elements, authorities or the real threat of being chased down by angry mobs intent on knocking the be-jeebus out of an assumed pervert...and other fun shenanigans.

Henry mostly comes from the future, but, for the most part, chooses not to impart knowledge of the future onto those he meets - he is clearly a much burdened man. But what of poor Clare? She is loyal to her man, that is for sure. Her attempts at bearing a child, whereby the time travelling gene appears to always be dominant, is heart breaking indeed. And one can certainly sympathise with her as she helplessly wrings her hands at Henry's frequent and often inconvenient vanishing acts.

Clare's character has known Henry all her life - his comings and goings are normal, if not agonising, but I couldn't help feel a smidge annoyed by these characters. When things apparently got stressful or uncomfortable in Henry's life, he did a virtual runner. If I were Clare, I am sure I would grow to become more than a little bit resentful at such behaviour. I am sure Clare wouldn't mind skipping out whenever the going got a bit tough, but instead, Clare is left carrying the proberbial can and the burden of having to explain the whereabouts of her husband and, when he appears, why he is staggering around naked. She never complains. Not only that, Henry (at her urging) tells Clare all the details concerning lifes little surprises, like who her future husband is, and what their future child will look like, along with possible future vocations.

Makes me wonder how convenient claims of time travelling could be. Much evil could be done, couldn't it? As a time traveller, you could claim things were a certain way in the future in order to get your own way... think of all the possibilities for mind games; could be awfully manipulative for the unassuming and trusting.

I don't think I would like to be a physical time traveller myself. I can't really see the point. How did Henry help humanity through his time travelling? Besides, there are enough opportunities in the present to travel through the ages - take photographs, music, movies and even smells.

Photographs offer a concrete record of an actual time, place, and sometimes, mark a stage in one's development. Photographs are the material evidence of being there. Music, movies and smells are richer, personal and more tangible.

Take music for instance. INXS and Icehouse remind me of 1987 and the dreamy summer I spent high and stupefied on first love. I can feel the heat of that summer; a summer I spent with friends at the local pool; eating chips from a paper wrap bought from the corner shop, and Ebony, the tan emhancing cream that my friend and I lathered on our skin, making our skin unnaturally dak and scarily leathery...whatever happened to that product.

The smell of vine ripened tomatoes and Morton Bay Fig trees remind me of my childhood; spending holidays with my Grandparents on their farm on Kangaroo Island. Whenever I smell vine ripened tomatoes I am back in my Gran's veggie garden clutching a plump, sun warmed tomato in my hand. A whiff of a Morton Bay fig sees me transported; swaying on the tyre swing under the dappling leaves of this grand old giant, which was posited in the space that separated the sheds and stockyards from my Grandparents large homestead.

I am ten again whenever I see anything to do with the movie Grease. I am sitting mesmerised with my best friend in her front room, singing the songs and wishing I could be Sandy - the nice dork who snares the hot guy. We don't understand what "sloppy seconds" means, and fast forward the cheesy bits, like when Danny is left high and dry at the drive-in and starts singing "that really boring song", and while we hang out for the carnival scene, when Sandy reinvents herself and does the big reveal - we pretend it doesn't end with Sandy and Danny sailing off in to the sunset in a ridiculous flying car...we never speak of that part.

I don't need to physically time travel when I can do this using my God given senses and memory. So how does that serve humanity? Not sure that it does directly, but these things have served as markers for times of learning in my life - red flags, whether INXS reminds me that over exposure to the sun leads to premature aging and potential melanoma (yeah right) or merely to stop and appreciate the simple things, like fresh tomatoes, ripe and warmed in the sun. This is the kind of time travel I am up for it; first class all the way, baby.

This post has been submitted for the Writers Island prompt - Time Travel.

The pearly whites

I have pretty nice teeth. I get quite a lot of comments about how white they are, and how lucky I am. I feel like such a fake.

I often get asked what I use to brush my teeth to make them so white....umm, tooth paste? My teeth appear extra white because I was over-fed fluoride as a child, which resulted in discolouration of the teeth in just the right places. I have large white patches on my two front teeth and other white flecks elsewhere, on the teeth I reveal when I smile.

I have run the orthodontic gauntlet in my time too. The majority of my baby teeth were pulled out in the dentists chair, as opposed to falling out naturally (apparently to deal with over-crowding issues), and I have had braces not once...not twice, but three times.

I was nine years old and in the fifth grade, when I received my first set; these were fitted to straighten my hideously crooked teeth. My parents didn't order portraits of me from the class photographer that year, because they didn't want a record of my metal mouth. If that rule had been held consistently, there would be no photographic records of me during 7th, 8th or 9th grade either, when I had my second set of braces. These were fitted, supposedly to correct an under-bite that possibly made me qualify as a candidate as Jay Leno's sister....It didn't work, but I do remember the day I got the second set removed.

My Mum asked me what food had I been dying to eat, that had been off limits while the braces were on. I told her I was dying to bite into an apple. So off to the fruit stall we went.

My Mum bought me the deliciously crisp green apple I had hand selected. Before the fateful first bite, I considered the apple for a moment. I took in its unblemished skin, skin so shiny it reflected the light bathed scene behind me. I considered its roundness; its solidity and the weight of this piece of fruit in my clutching eager hand, and when I could bare it no longer, I endeavoured to sink my teeth into the skin, piercing it, and anticipating my mouth to be flooded with the tart, juicy tang I was so longing. Instead my teeth failed me, and bounced off that taut skin like I had just attempted to bite a chunk out of a metal shot put...Oh, and the PAIN! My God, I can still feel it. I remember panicking, and immediately pulling my hand up to my mouth to make sure my teeth were still intact and hadn't spontaneously shattered upon impact. My gums had turned to jelly, so it seemed, due to having been released of the orthodontic imposed tension...I think I ate nothing but custard for three days after that.

Fast forward 6 years to my 21st birthday, when I had received my third set of braces only a couple of weeks prior. After the second set was deemed a failure, my parents were advised to wait until my jaw had finished growing before other corrective measures were considered. As you can imagine, I wasn't too keen on doing any more with my teeth, and I refused to consider other options. But as time went on, it was found that my back teeth were being worn down at an alarming rate, due to the position of my jaw. On top of that, the self-consciousness I felt about my under bite were causing me to tense my jaw to a point where I felt I had somehow broken it. It really was that painful. To hide my under bite, I also avoided smiling. One day, my Dad mentioned that his co-worker has seen me at my work place and thought I looked like a miserable bastard (my parents have always felt it their duty to pass on all negative comments). This comment was in fact, the kick in the pants I needed to get me to do something about the whole jaw issue. I didn't feel miserable, so why should I look miserable?

I had a jaw reconstruction, which required me to have my jaw wired shut for a month, hence the necessity for braces. After a month, the wires were cut and I had to wear a number of bands over night for another month or so. It was a painful operation - my top gum was cut through and moved forward and the palette was split and adjusted accordingly...but it has paid off. I no longer suffer any pain and I can say, even at 34 years old, I do not have one single filling.....I also smile more, and as they say "when your smiling, the whole world smiles with you".

Submitted for this week’s Sunday Scribbling prompt - teeth.

exhaling...with reservation

Week three of school was greeted and entered into with baited breath. I am happy to report that things are settling - he is settling. We have had no tears at all this week.


He murmured one weak protest late Sunday night, but I was able to smother the worries before they engulfed into a raging inferno.


Monday morning: we walked to school without the chase shenanigans of previous weeks, and I managed to calmly have him seated, crossed-legged on the carpet with the other kids, without getting out the straight jacket or tranquilisers; although it is possible the teacher was wearing shin guards, just in case.


Today was a definate win; the first time he admitted to having a "good day". I am quietly relieved, but am not yet willing to stay any longer in his classroom, than is minimally required - that means brisk drop off and pick up only. Perhaps in term two, when Missy Mopps is at Kindy four days a week, I will feel that things are calm enough for me to volunteer for his class reading.


Thanks to all who offered advice, reassurance that "it gets better" and personal anecdotes - they were all required. Apologies to all I neglected while my head quietly exploded last week, I will get back to you in the next day or so.

Separation Anxiety

Week two of school has gotten off to a rough start. I feel utterly exhausted by yesterday's events. The two days off has proved to be a regressive exercise, no more.

The kids have school swimming lessons this week. I volunteered to help dress the kids afterward. I thought this would help Mister, but it made everything worse. He ran away from me again as we walked to school, and it took me 10 minutes to catch him and drag him back again - so we were late.

Mister refused to go in the pool, and instead, spent the hour pleading for me not to leave. It was a nightmare. When it finally came time to say Goodbye, he howled and screamed. It took two teachers to prise him off of me, so I could leave. Missy Mopps was so upset by the commotion that she was foiling my attempts to leave by attempting to drag me back in to soothe Mister.

The lonely walk back to the car was accompanied my much sobbing and pain.

The school rang me later to say he settled well after I left - of course - but suggested I NOT attend swimming anymore - pretty humiliating. They felt my presence was making the inevitable separation, worse. It is, I know. I just cried all day long.

When I picked him up yesterday, he appeared quite happy. After speaking with the principal over the weekend, the school put on a lunchtime activity which was attended by a couple of other kids too -that helped.

Upon our return home, Mister started up again. He did not want to go to school. The pleading and the tears continued until 9pm last night, when he fell asleep after crying uncontrollably.

The anxiety I am feeling about today is extreme right now. I feel physically sick, highly stressed and exhausted. The whole swimming thing, which takes place at 9am, is making matters worse.

I will be taking him - it is the only way for him to get used to school. I have tried to focus on the positives; tried to explain every angle, but I just can't seem to console my boy and wonder if and when this behaviour is ever going to end....and how.

Demolished

Angry arm rises skyward. It slams down with perfect intention. Wood and metal are no match for a fist; clenched and venting. The materials, foundations and structure of what once was, lay splintered and twisted - forever transformed.

The heart has been ripped from this house; the soul having already escaped, bares witness to the destruction, like a dark bat peering out from a neighbouring belltower.

What remains, now lays strewn across a leveled field and out onto the grotty sidewalk running parallel beyond a chain-linked perimetre. A rusty letterbox stands erect like a tombstone out front - a somber guard inscribed with the number 9.

Its innards, spilled, are spread for all to see; a white lavatory exposed to the daylight, lies unnaturally with a lifeless oven, baking in the sun. A timber wardrobe stares blankly up at a perfect sky; its doors unhinged, hang open - spent and heaving. No contents remain inside, it has merely been discarded; while a buckled skeleton is uncerimoniously heaped into a mountain of past memories, sprouting distant echoes of laughter and joy amongst the rubble, along with a lifetime of tears, broken hearts and smashed windows.

The Brave
3rd February 2008

Goodness Gracious! Great balls of fire.

Anyone got a bean bag? Ever had the clean the darn thing? My son has and we had too.
DOG PEE!

What a nightmare. Had to vacuum all the stupid beans out of the bag. Do you know how static sticky those things are? THEY. GO. EVERYWHERE.

I did manage to get them into garbage bags; double bag them and put them up high so the kids couldn't get them. Then I washed the bag and left it dry.


That was a couple of days ago. I was waiting for some help to get the beans back in...wasn't too sure how I was going to manage that task without creating a big old mess and was even toying with the idea of throwing the lot out and putting the empty bag away - should have.


Went to Victor Harbor today, to visit the parents. Dogs stayed home; locked out in the back room. Upon our return, we opened the back door to - you guessed it - beans, millions of tiny, white balls stuck everywhere and on everything. Looks like the dogs climbed up onto the boxes we had stacked out there; the boxes the bags were sitting atop. Looks like the dogs climbed up there, accidently knocked the bags down, then decided to give the bags a bit of a sit on. Somewhere along the line the bag was scratched to smithereens and the beans were spread all over the place.


We were hopping mad and have just finished cleaning up the disaster zone - NEVER AGAIN. If the dog pees on that thing again (and God only knows why he did it in the first place) it is going straight in the bin. HUMPH!

The Mount Compass Cup

What better way to get reaquainted with one's Aussieness than to do something completely ocker (stereotypically feral Australian), and on Australia Day, no less.

January 26th is known as Australia Day and is also the day of the famed Compass Cup -"Australia's only cow race". In true Australian enthusiastic style, the Cup only kicks off at 12:50 pm. The day is not only about cow racing, no siree. There is truly something for everyone at the Compass Cup. You can enjoy such athletic delights such as the Thong Throwing competition (footwear variety not undies) and tractor pull; all the glamour of the cat walk with the rubber boot marathon, and for the culinary enthusiast the Australian Iron Guts competition, which amounts to demolishing large quantities of Aussie treats, such as meat pies, lamingtons and Iced Coffee, complete with the always classy vomitting equals disqualification rule. There was also the very blokey ute competition, which consists of hotted up man toys with big engines parked in a line with burly owners posing along side and of course the mandatory drive by with obligatory elbow sticking out the window sunglasses pose - iconic Aussie rock classics like those screamed by Jimmy Barnes, Cold Chisel and The Angels blaring from the stereo and a bit of an engine rev ....so impressive, I almost fainted. But wait folks, it wasn't all glitz and glamour, there were legitimate scientific experiements which involved moments of risk and daring; the Engine Blow promised to deliver this brand of edge of your seat action.

A waterless and oiless old beater was presented in the middle of the arena - the sacrificial lamb if you like - the object of this high brow experiment was to see how long it took to blow 'er up. Fire extinguishers were at the ready as several blue singletted scientist initiated the experiment, but like all worthy experiments the outcome was surprising and not the least bit expected - bugger all happened in fact, the engine simply died a quiet death after about 20 seconds (quite the anti-climax).

The cow race itself was painfully non-action packed, although quite comical. The main challenge was staying on the cow - no saddles you see. But unlike race horses, the cows weren't into it and planted their hooves into the turf like unwilling mules. It wasn't a race persay, rather a win by default. The winning cows were those who just happened to be walking in the right direction for long enough to have eventually and quite accidentally wandered over the line, while the rest of the handlers chased loose riderless cows all over the arena as over zealous chaps attempted to climb on board. It was a crazy spectacle and a weird day, but after that... I knew I was home.

Flight of the Bumble Bee

Tuesday was the fated first day of school....it didn't go well.

It wasn't that I was actually stupid enough to think that Mister would do the miraculous and enter into something new all enthused and willing, afterall it was the first day of big kid school, so some anxiety and tears were expected, but it is Mister we are talking about. Whatever drama was going to unfold was always going to be extreme. Having said that, the school itself effed up all our preparation for us. NOT happy!!!!

Late last year we went to the school of choice to take a tour. While on the tour, the principal mentioned that the kindergarteners (pre-schoolers) were currently undertaking transition visits with the school and had their final visit the following week. Mister was invited to come along and spend the morning, where we were assured that he would be visiting the classroom and teacher he would get next year. We, as parents, thought this would greatly help Mister, and remove some of the mystique surrounding this looming building and the people who contain it.

On the day, he wasn't too happy for us to leave him, kicked and screamed, but when I came to pick him up, he was fine, and was seen talking to other kids; had made a craft and the teacher gushed that he had settled quite quickly once I had left. Needless to say, it was encouraging for me to hear that, but I felt even more assured when Mister told me about the fun things they had done and the "buddy" he made, who just so happened to be called Mister too (fancy that!!!). So banking entirely on all these positives and totally downplaying the separation thing, we drilled it into him that his first day was going to be "just like the last time", just a little longer.

He had been worried about the lengthy day, and had been having nightmares about being left somewhere and never being picked up (total separation anxiety dream), but over all we were encouraged to find him quite excited about school and looking foward to seeing Mrs Fibberty-Jibbert again. It seemed the initial taste had given him enough confidence to feel that he could suck it up for the cause....in our dreams!

So on Tuesday, we arrived at the school on time. Unaware of where to go, so we asked at the front desk:

"This is Mister. He is starting new today. Can you please tell us where Mrs Fibberty-Jibbert's classroom is?"

"Oh! Mrs Fibberty-Jibbert doesn't start until tomorrow. She takes the new kids who have had no school experience. I have Mister down for Mrs Oozie-Kaphoops' class."

Upon hearing this information Mister's thin veil of containment goes up in smoke like a kleenex next to a naked flame. He screams that he is NOT GOING as he proceeds to high tail it out of the head office.

I am left to argue the point and wrap my head around the confusion to the front desk person, who assures me that Mrs Oozie-Kaphoops is lovely and how much Mister will really love her; and then I realise that Mrs Flibberty Jibbert just isn't going to happen and our months of careful reassurance amounted, in Misters trusting mind, to a conspiracy of EPIC proportions and a pack of dubious lies - at best...."so what ELSE have they lied about, I could imagine him thinking. It was just awful, but was about to get worse.

I tried to take in the location of the classroom from the map explanation given by the front desk person, all the while glimpsing flashes of Mister running for dear life outside the administration office with Ashley hot on his heels - if it was someone else, it would have been downright comical and Benny Hill music would have been playing in the background.

When I finally emerged from the office, Ashley had cornered Mister and we proceeded to lead (read: drag) him over to his designated classroom. Once there, we were greeted by the teacher, who was quite lovely and gentle. Mister wanted nothing to do with her, and given the time wasted chasing him around, all the kids were now seated, cross legged, on the carpet, heads turned and staring in Misters direction -just the thing he HATES, consequently Mister decided to do another bolt. This time I chased after him, and managed to get him back to the class room. The teacher suggested Ashley stay with him for a bit and then leave without too much fuss. It didn't happen.

Once the suggested time arrived, Mrs Oozie-Kaphoops approached and said "say goodbye to Dad". to which Mister protested loudly. Mrs Oozie-Kaphoops then took his hand and told us to leave - kicks and punches were thrown and we left the class room with our hearts breaking and the sound of his tortured screams ringing in our ears all the way to the carpark.

The secretary rang us later, to tell us that the principal had to be called to subdue him and he was now "sitting quietly and looking around" (made it sound like he had been straight jacketted and tranquilised). Mister later admitted that they had to lock the doors because he kept trying to flee. To his detriment NO ONE was game to befriend the wild man, and although he is now resigned to the reality that school is here to stay, he has struggled to find a friend. It is tough being the new kid at school. I do wish he had started in the other class with all the other fresh stock, but he is considered to have had "previous experience" and so he doesn't qualify for the newbie class. As it is, he is in a mixed R-1 class, which I am also not too happy about (internal GGRRRR!).

As it stands, he seems excited about the learning aspects and experiences that school offer, it is the long lunch time play that is bringing him the most anxiety. I am sure it will take him a couple of weeks to find his feet yet, but I do feel bad for him, and rather helpless. I just hope he clicks with a nice kid and is able to enjoy his play time. Today he begged me to persuade the family of his Canadian best friend to move to Australia (sob).

Is this in any way, an even remotely familiar new kid in school story, or are we just odd?

Disneyland

Ummm, I seem to have forgotten something....
Overlooked in the aftermath of the international move mayhem, I think I failed to mention our side venture to Disneyland. Imagine anyone forgetting to tell their mates about their recent trip to the happiest bloody place on earth...how completely abnormal, not to mention thoughtless and incompetent.

Yeah....for those who regularly read the old blog, I did happen to mention that we were going to Disneyland on our fateful voyage back to the mother country, and I assure you, particularly if you were wondering, we really did go there.

We had originally planned to return to Australia a week earlier than we did, but due to the needs of the buyers of our Canadian house, we ended up moving out many weeks earlier than planned and therefore, didn't really need that extra week in Canada to pack our wares and hit the road. Stupidly, we had chosen to say Bon Voyage to Canada the week of the American Thanksgivings holidays, which, we only found out later, is the absolute WORST time to go to Disneyland. After much toing and froing, we decided we weren't really achieving a whole lot by twiddling our thumbs in Canada for an extra week (Ashley was already committed to his leave date at work), so we bit the bullet and moved everything up a week, including the trip to Disneyland...so glad we did that. I doubt we could have gotten a more perfect week there. The weather was fantastic and there weren't that many people. On top of that, most rides and exhibits were open in readiness of the approaching holiday and ensuing crowds.

I was secretly freaking out after reading about the notoriously long line ups for rides (couldn't imagine lining up for more than 30 minutes to go on a 2 minute ride, let alone 90 minutes), but believe it or not, we were able to pretty much walk on to each ride. The Finding Nemo ride was our longest wait - 25 minutes. When we arrived to that ride, we were told that there would be a 45 minute wait (no fast passes) and "this is as good as it is ever likely to get". I guess some people got fed up and left along the way (?).

We were there for 4 days; arriving en route to Australia with eight large pieces of luggage, four pieces of carry on luggage and two kids car seats - basically clothes , important documents, laptops and all the things that made our six week stint in temp accommodation, bearable. I have to say, it was mighty embarrassing showing up with that much baggage - the looks of disgust and utter disbelief we received from passers-by as we attempted to wheel this virtual mountain up to our hotel room - even I was disgusted. Some people pointed with gaping jaw scraping the pavement or simply did the slightly subtler double take as we wobbled and teetered our way through the reception area, while others rudely remarked on our excess and shook their heads, at which point a felt obliged to inform them that we were in the middle of an international move, and with that piece of information and perspective, mouths went "OHHHH" and suddenly felt that we didn't have much stuff ofter all, given the circumstances (not that it is any of their bloody business, but telling them did make me feel less like a marauding capitalist pig).

Anyway, with the luggage carefully stowed again, we were able to go in hard for the first three days; making sure we got to see and go on everything we wanted. The final day was mostly spent at California Adventure Park, where the Cars movie characters hang out (Mister is a crazed fan!!!) and going to Ariel's Grotto for breakfast with all the Princesses for Missy Mopps. After lunch on the final day we went back to Disneyland for one last ride on the Disney train that circles the park (Mister loves trains... actually vehicles in general) and strolled the shops eating ridiculously large ice creams - that was a Saturday. I am so glad we went mid week, because the crowd had probably quadrupled in size on the Saturday, and the line ups were insane. We were happy to be saying farewell at that point.

As for highlights, I really enjoyed the New Orleans area of the park. I loved the atmosphere there. Mister really like the Haunted Mansion and the pirate themes. Missy Mopps liked Adventure Land; Dumbo, the Tea Cups and anything that wasn't in the dark - Winnie the Pooh ride and seeing all the characters were also highlights for her. But most of all, Ashley and I simply enjoyed seeing the joy on the kids faces. We must have spent 10 hours each day, and Mister walked the entire time without complaint (we hired a stroller for Missy Mopps), and since our return, they have both been asking us to reminisce upon and re-enact various aspect of our time there; always asking "when can we go back?) - I think they wonder whether it was all just a beautiful dream.

Of course I took a zillion photos, none of which seem to have really captured the essence of the place - it is truly a wonderful place for children; both the real kind and also the inner one's that lurk inside us all, forgotten and oppressed; just yearning to come out and play - that is the gift and legacy of Walt Disney.

ShuuUUU-TUP!

It rained last night. Really rained. A good rain that strummed a gentle, consistent lullaby atop the tin roof right right through the night. I had washing out last night and it was soaked through this morning. I didn't mind. Since our return from Vancouver, it had rained only twice before (probably would have been the non-rainy day count if we had still been there). I have really been missing the rain - although I am not requesting a deluge on any scale similar to that received by Queensland recently - I appreciate the rain and I honestly do miss it.

A good rain makes everything seem less tired; the trees have been given a lift after weeks of hanging their limbs in an exhausted droop in an attempt to conserve energy. The hydrangea leaves which had formerly resorted to rolling up into the fetal position, have uncurled entirely, like the thankful arms of the devoted, outstretched and receiving the Lord.

The world seemed alive again; even the dank puddles, dirty with a collection of old leaves and other debris, rapidly evaporating in the gutters, were being enjoyed by swarms of tiny sand flies, but it was the crickets that were really in full swing last night. So loud was their combined sound that it sounded like the squeal of metal on metal of a train winding its way along the nearby track - honestly, that is what I thought it was! There must have been hundreds of the little blighters out there. I went out to see if I could see any, but even with my ear seemingly hanging over a particularly noisy cricket, I could not see him nor any of his mates. I can't say I have heard such decibels of cricket music since our return, and wondered if they were in symphony, expressing their joy and delight in receiving the rain. If I were a cricket, I think I would have joined in.

time...

My baby boy got his school uniform yesterday. He proudly put it on and modelled it for us all - backpack on, lunch box at the ready. Seriously, where HAS the time gone? It appears to have slipped through my fingers and slunk out the door when I wasn't looking. Perhaps I should put up a sign on all the electricity poles and local shop windows, simply reading "LOST. Time". It probably won't return, nor do I expect anyone to called to say they have found it. Looks like it has gone forever.

The Bush

In Australia, I have always tended to find myself in bushland surroundings; whether it be the dry husk in the middle of nowhere, or located near conservation parks; trees seem to have a strong drawing power for me. I like it. The bush offers great wildlife, and even in suburbia, the bush provides a sense of space; a sense of peace; a sense of solitude, despite the awaiting concrete catastrophe humming in the background like a swarm of bees. There is a lot of beauty in the bush; in winter especially. I love to journey deep into the soul of the nearby bush and immerse myself in the colour, the smells and sounds; doing so is about as close to nirvana as I reckon I am ever likely to get.

Unfortunately, the big risk in living with untamed bushland on your doorstep, besides the inevitability of snakes, is bush fire, and in this part of the world, along with the ensuing drought, this threat is absolutely real.

South Australia, along with other parts of Australia, has had its fair share of bushfire already this season, but Friday, fire was threatening the closest suburb next to us - it is not a good feeling to hear the unnerving wail of emergency vehicles, nor smell the faint yet distinct aroma of smoke, and it is rather alarming to nonchalantly duck outside to hang out the washing, only to catch sight of a water bombing helicopter flying over head, amidst dumping a load of water, seemingly in the next street. Where is it? How far away is it? Are we safe? These are questions that filter into the old scone, prompting the Internet to be switched on in search for answers.

We were in effect, safe. The fire, in no way compares to those recently experienced in California or even in Kangaroo Island for that matter, stands as a warning that bush living offers both gifts as well as dangers. You see, life is fundamentally, always about balance.

Welcome

New year, new blog, new country...well old country, but I am getting reacquainted with it.

Ok, I have written a brief introduction in the previous post, so where have I been? I mentioned that I had moved. Yes indeed, it is true. Let me explain....

Some weeks ago my family and I moved from Canada, where we had been living for the past three years, back to good old Australia - the country of our collective births. Why? God only knows. It is hot and dry here! No seriously, we moved for work, we moved back for work. It's a whole switcheroo kind of thing. I liked Canada, I really did. It was green and lush and the landscape captivated me and grabbed me by the heart strings. But alas, I am not there now, and I need to get over it. So here we are....



It wasn't the easiest move back over (self funded...eeek!, but that is not the worst bit). The purchasers of our Canadian residence wanted to move in earlier than we had wanted, so we have been living temporarily in various locations since early October. I have two small children AND two dogs, so finding short term, family and dog friendly rental has been quite difficult, but in the end, with perseverance, something always seemed to work out for us. This run of good fortune briefly took a vacation, which decided to coincide with our arrival into Australia.

Imagine turning up to the property you blindly booked online, to rent out for a month (at an exorbitant rate mind you), believing the property was a nice hotel that you were familiar with, only to find that you were terribly terribly wrong and in fact, she's a bit of an inadequate hovel (Similarly named on the same street - GRRRRR!). Then imagine making the snap decision (after having flown 17 hours on a plane) to drive around town with no phone or clue, panic stricken with a terse husband, two grumpy and over-tired pre-school aged kids and 8 bags of cursed, worldly possessions, searching for appropriate, CLEAN, available and, dare I say, affordable, lodgings. Believe me....it wasn't fun.


For a start we discovered there was a week long car rally in procession, which inadvertently caused most of the hotels in close proximity to convenience to be booked out or to be suddenly and ridiculously over-priced. Example: after many hours and in desperation, we looked at a caravan park and were told that a cabin room was going to cost us $200 a night, no Internet, and the kids had to sleep on the floor. Eff that!


After a near nervous breakdown and 8 hours of helplessly driving around (crying, pleading children somewhere in the back seat shrouded by luggage), we decide to chow down at MacDonald's, buy a cell phone and peruse the yellow pages in search for the nearest hotel that had Internet use chucked in. It was a stressful and costly day!


We managed to persuade my brother into allowing us to stay at his place for the next two nights while we assessed our new situation. In the meantime miracles happened and we stumbled upon a tiny advertisement wanting someone to house sit for 4 weeks while they went interstate for medical treatment. It just so happened that the rental period was the exact time we required and was required to commence in two days. We met the woman and she was happy for us to stay in her house without concern for our lack of references and what not. It was squishy; just a two bedroom unit, but we didn't care, if fact we were thankful to just have a place.

We moved in on my birthday, which no one but my brother bothered to acknowledged. Since then we have covered a lot of clerical and practical territory; trying to set ourselves up and find a permanent address. We are presently staying in a property we agreed to rent for three months, after which, we will move into yet another property; one we have bought. We relieved that we will soon be able to settle.


I am not good with stress. I like my life and my surroundings to be calm and tranquil. I am getting back to that now. Now that the foundations have been laid and have dried off nicely, I have found myself starting on the framework: kids schooling, social groups for them and fitness for me. Having been so lonely over the past three years, it has been nice to re-connect with beloved old friends, chat and take in a coffee with them. My new years resolution (like everyone else's) is to be fit and healthy; so far so good. The brickwork begins......

The Brave - new world

HELLO!.....Well, this is awkward...standing here in the spotlight in front of this crowd - lovely crowd too, I might add. I have kept a couple of blogs for a while now and through the gentle encouragement of well-meaning, kind friends and folk, I have decided to start fresh with a new blog and continue my flouncing about on the international stage, well...at least I am making a shaky kneed attempt at flouncing. So why the new blog? Why burden humanity with the burnt offerings of my feeble mind, not to mention blind editing faux pas' (dear me)? Well, I have moved. And in all my computer illiteracy and stupidity, I am darned if I can sign in to my other blog (very frustrating).

I wasn't sure if I even wanted to start blogging again, I didn't have much to say, so it seemed. I felt that I could barely string two sentences together, let alone formulate and jot down an entire dialogue that might be at least half comprehendable to the masses. But lovely readers of the old blog have been kind enough to give me a little nudge of encouragement to get me back in the game....so here we are, Fortune does Favour The Brave...as I am sure you are all too well aware, so why not?

So what is this blog about? Themes, hmmm.... I don't care too much for themes. People provide me with my greatest inspirations and I love to write about the insights people give me whenever I allow myself to open and observe the surrounding world. I also love nature - I have often found a multitude of metaphorical answers to many a heart pain whenever I have casually placed the burden of my soul on the alter of the observable natural world...if you get my drift!!! No? Oh well. This is my poor attempt at offering up some kind of introduction to this new blog. Basically I am saying it is impossible to look deep into the future, or even scour the horizon of next week to suggest some of the things I might favour to write about, for one never really knows where inspiration might lie. So bear with me - we might both be surprised.