Injured
It’s been almost a week since my freedom was stripped from me. The simplist of tasks, now so frustratingly slow and difficult.
I tore my calf muscle on the weekend, doing a triple summersault whilst shooting a goal in a netball game with the other ‘Diva’s’, when I was hit in the back of the leg with a handball, or that’s what I thought. Well the part about the handball was true, and whilst playing netball that was true too … but there was no great story to go with it.
Now, almost a week later I am still unable to put any weight on my leg, making crutches a part of my every move. This makes using the facilities a challenge, preparing any meals, carrying a drink, doing laundry, groceries or any of the usual things that I would do with ease – all but impossible.
So what am I learning through this? I am learning that I find it very difficult to allow other people to do things for me, let alone asking for help. I am learning that my family can step up when they need to and that maybe I need to allow them too more often because they are not only capable, but do a damned good job. When they don’t do a job as I would do it, it doesn’t disqualify them either.
I am not typically one to say ‘no’. However I’m finding that I am having to do that a bit this week. I’m in a new job, and it goes against my grain to say no when given a directive, however there are just some things I cannot do. A lesson is pushing back.
I’m also learning that I have a rebellious streak. If I’m told I can’t do something, it makes me want to do it all the more. Now where does that come from? Sit still. I don’t want to. Rest. But there’s so much to do. Do your assignment. But there’s bejewelled to play and I have the attention span of a blow fly as my brain has gone to mush.
But my rebellious streak combined with what my daughter tells me is OCD like behaviour, may get the washing done and the washing up done. It doesn’t, however, speed up my recovery so I can do these things with ease quicker.
So I resign from my need to be in control and to be independent.
I will sit still and try to do so quietly and unrebelliously. I will do my best to be gracious and not be afraid to ask for help.
Dark Nights Don’t Last Forever
I know of a young woman who has made some really significant and courageous steps over the last six months to reclaim her life from the clutches of abuse.
Mistakes
“The only real mistake is the one from which we learn nothing.” – John Powell
I heard this week on the radio the story of how the microwave oven was invented. The good old microwave oven evolved from a mistake! In 1946 Dr Percy Spencer was facilitating a research project on radars, when during an experience he noticed that the candy bar in his pocket melted. With curiosity he engaged in another experiment using popcorn kernels, and amazingly they popped and cracked all over his lab. His mistake revolutionised the way we cook and formed the basis of a multi-million dollar industry.
So often we fear making mistakes for a gammut of reasons, yet these mistakes are often what we learn from. They are usually not something to be feared at all, however are a learning opportunity. There are so many things we fear such as public speaking – what if I say the wrong thing? Forget my lines? We fear making mistakes in our exams. Some fear social engagements that maybe they won’t be dressed appropriately. We fear doing something new incase we fail. We fear saying the wrong thing to a friend. We make errors of judgement in traffic. We misjudge people. We misinterpret people. We make mistakes in the kitchen, garages, in parenting, in marriages. Noone is immune!
There are times, however when making a simple mistake can mean that other people over react and we bear the brunt of anger, ridicule, sometimes even loosing a friend, family or a job in the process. We all make mistakes – I know I certainly do! I’m so thankful that my husband, daughter, friends and bosses are generally quite forgiving! So I guess it’s important to ensure that as individuals we treat those errors we make as a learning opportunity, and encourage other people to do the same, and also have a forgiving heart for those who make mistakes around us that impact us.
We should not, however, fear making errors or mistakes, because who knows maybe the next ‘mistake’ may lead to something that may impact the world for the greater good? The only true mistake is that from which we have learned nothing!
You shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover!
You know the old saying! You shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover! But it’s what draws me to a good book first! It’s not it’s title, or generally the author – but the cover and how it’s imagery stands out over all the rest. I walked past a book store whilst in Kiama on the weekend and was taken by one book. On it’s cover stood the drawing of a tree and at the top the creative artist drew within it’s trunk a face and it’s branches grew into long arms with fingers and the rich folliage became his crowning hair. This tree took on a new, more human like lifeform. Very creative!
I was reminded today of some years ago as I travelled to and from work by train into the City of Sydney. On this particular very hot summers day, when all the city ‘suits’ hurry to the closest underground station where we all stand bunched together for the race to get through those sliding doors of the train first, in the hope of winning that window seat on the non-air conditioned trains so you could control the air circulation. The ultimate prize would be to get the seats that would be on the eastern traveling side so as not to have the hot summer sun baking you in an over crowded smelly, sweaty train.
This particular day I didn’t make it as far as a seat, and instead crammed like sardines in the vestibule area near those sliding doors, I was squeezed between a few well dressed fellows with sweaty, smelly armpits as they clung to those poles for stability as the train jolts along tracks. A few stations along we came to Redfern station, a rougher neighbourhood, where a fellow pushed his way into our vestibule area. He was looked rough and ready, looking like he hadn’t washed in months. His front teeth were missing. His hair a matted mess. His eyes glazed over – but the smell! The women around me, including myself hugged our handbags that little bit closer.
The train pulled into Sydneyham, the very next stop and you could actually see, hear and feel those alongside me, myself included let out a long breath of relief as this fellow left the carriage. Before the doors had a chance to close to depart the station, the fellow reboarded this train – into our carriage! What happened next I will never forget. This man, who looked like the scum of the earth had seen what noone else saw that afternoon. This man saw a woman in our carriage who wasn’t feeling so well. He left the train at the station as he saw a vending machine close to where our carriage pulled up. He purchased a bottle of water with the very few coins he held in his possession. He came back on board, and gave the ailing woman his purchase and asked for seated passengers to give up their seat for her. That woman was so thankful and I’m sure his gesture touched and stunned her even more than it touched and stunned me.
How quick I was to judge this man because of the way he looked and smelled. We have many homeless people in our suburbs and our beautiful city, many of which are not there by choice, but due to mental illnesses, sex trafficking, abuse and hopelessness. How quick I was that day to judge this man and yet who was the better person that day? The one that looked out for someone in need, and did something about it, regardless of what he looked like.
I thank that man publicly, for the message he gave me that day, many years ago and the impact that he had on me that day through his selflessness. May I be half the person he was that day. He taught me that I shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover no more than I should judge another person by what I first see.
Kiama – Scoops
“Age does not diminish the extreme disappointment of having a scoop of ice cream fall from the cone.” Jim Fiebig
A family trip to Kiama, whether it be a day trip or a week long stay, is not a trip without a visit to Scoops. My daughter has discovered their delightful array of flavours and choice being the highlight of highlights.
We spent a lovely weekend just passed, in beautiful Kiama, where regardless of the weather, together we take a daily stroll or cycle across the beaches, around the coastline into town where we fosick through St Vincents for a good ‘find’ and enjoy an icecream.
On Saturday as I enjoyed my aromatic coffee and my husband, daughter and nephew enjoyed their icecreams, I pondered over the different flavours on offer. At our table I was surrounded by cookie dough, mango gelato and a stairway to heaven. A ‘Stairway to Heaven’ just about sums up our stays in Kiama, as it is there that we stop, and just enjoy each other’s company, the beautiful view of an Australian beach and coastline with it’s lighthouse out on the point, and all the stress of our daily chaotic lives melts away like the ice cream on a hot summers day, as the waves continue to roll in. There’s nothing like falling asleep to the sound of the ocean’s gentle rhythm of waves crashing along the beach, and the trill of birds calling out to each other high up in the pine tree’s above.
I am reminded as we come back to reality (home) of the importance of that down time, and the simple pleasures that we so often deny ourselves, and it makes me wonder why? It’s often the simple things like buying an icecream from our favourite place, or swimming at the beach or in the local river, or a simple picnic at the park that provide that nurture to our spirits, at very little expense. There’s nothing like reading a good book, whilst watching the kids create blisters on their hands from riding their bikes around the park for hours on end, building creative new paths and challenges to test their skills and racing each other, even in the rain.
On Saturday afternoon my husband and I took a lovely stroll along the beach to dip a toe in the water to test it’s degree of iciness (and it was damned cold!) and arrived back to our simple pop up and out coleman caravan, with the kids looking like they were up to no good, to find that they had laid out an afternoon spread of nibblies and drinks. They were so excited to have been able to surprise us, not to mention fill a hole in their hungry stomach’s from all the riding!
So pondering the weekend I think my challenge is to create that little down time space not just for myself, but for my family at least once over a weekend from this point on, where we remove ourselves from our chores and to do list and do something different just to be… maybe a bushwalk to the local creek, a swim by the river, a spot of fishing, a picnic dinner on a Friday night, a walk through the rockpools out at Kurnell. The options are only limited by my thinking.
So thank you to all that Kiama represents to me, for refueling my creativity and desire for balance! Oh – and to Scoops - for the delight I see in my daughter’s eyes at the mere mention of the name!
School
“When you were five and walked to school,
And you met things to tremble at,
Were you as brave as great big men,
Or did your heart go pit-a-pat?“
Author: Etherl Turner
As we commence Term 4 of the school year as a parent of a Year 6 child, it is with some excitement and at the same time a touch of anxiety at High School beckoning, hormones raging and all that goes with that.
I reflect upon my own Year 6 expectations of High School and recall Year 7 kids that had left us only the year before come back to tell us of their experiences of head dunking in toilets, and glad wrap over toilet bowls, honey on seats and the bigger thugs expressing their experience and power. I remember the fear of going to High School.
High School wasn’t like that for me, however I wasn’t really a fan all the same. They were difficult years, although not due to High School itself. The benefits from High School were having met my husband, and a few good friends I maintain contact with now.
I left High School at the end of Year 10 and remember thinking that was it for school. Done and dusted, as I wiped my hands of all that I saw held me back from perceived freedom.
What I didn’t know then, was that 10-15 years later I would be back there. I would be back for my first day of Kindergarten, wondering whether any of the other parents would ‘be my friend’. Would I be the mother that forgot to pack their child’s lunch, or remember to pack the necessary items for each different day. Would my daughter be accepted and meet nice friends, or would her school years be fraught with bullying and challenges in her academic studies?
For my husband, Brad returns quite literally to his school whenever he goes to support our daughter in school events, as he attended the same primary school just a few years ago (being kind…). As our daughter started Kindy the librarian was still there that taught Brad!
And here we are on the edge of yet another era of schooling – as we prepare to make my daughters transition from Primary School to High School. And then it’s over, right?
I walked up the street this morning and bumped into a beautiful lady, who is the mother of one of those good friends from High School. She told me that at a young 68 years old she is still helping with the HSC Exams! I remember she was serving in that same capacity when I was at school. So at 68 years of age and still actually attending school!
Come to think of it, one day there may well be grandchildren and I am sure I will be front row centre to support my grandkids in their schooling achievements, just as my daughter has her grandparents come along to different events throughout the year, rain (and there’s been a lot of rain), hail or shine.
So I’m learning that school is a part of life from the beginning right to the end! It ain’t over ’till it’s over!
Motorcycling
It’s been at least a year or so since I’ve been on the back of the motorcycle, however yesterday I donned the leather jacket, jeans, boots, gloves and helmet and managed to still get myself up and over into the saddle!
What amazed me was how quickly the creative side of my brain kicked in. Over the years as we’ve glided along country roads a stone throw from home, breathing in the crisp and fresh country air my creative juices flowed and I would come home with some colourful and creative ideas, whether it be to draw or to create, plant or pull down.
I marvel at the rich colours of our landscape as we headed down the coast road with the beautiful green tree’s overarching the roads and the sun filtering through. We are so blessed to have such beauty right at our doorsteps, so easily accessible.
Many motorists are somewhat intimidated by the motorcyclists, and as wives of motorcyclists it can be a little frightening letting our men go of a Sunday morning for their ride as we know the huge potential dangers on the roads, whether it be at their doing or their lack of visibility to other motorists.
However, I was reminded yesterday of the importance of this hobby of my husbands and that of his friends, as there is such a strong sense of community spirit amongst the riders. As we travel along roads through the National Park, to suburban streets, as we pass other motorcyclists there is this subtle nod of the helmet that is generally reciprocated. They come together at known meeting spots to appreciate the lean machines that other’s bring to the mix, but more importantly to share a laugh or two over a coffee, or cup of tea for the tea tiddlers. I’m sure there is more time spent at the meeting spots these days than time spent riding, however that time is as important for these blokes as it is for us girls to get together and spend time together. We all need that sense of belonging and community, don’t we?!
So there’s much to be said for this love of motorcycles – the fresh air, the thrill of the ride, the community spirit, and the time out in one’s own space and helmet to think, or let your mind go.
So to the motorists – be aware and to the motorcyclists – take care!
I will leave you motorcyclists with the top ten laws of motorcycling from the Old Guys Place http://www.oldguy.us/easy-riding/wisdom.php :
1. A motorcycle will not fall over without a crowd present.
2. The odds of a motorcycle falling over are directly proportional to the size of the audience and the owners ego.
3. Moving motorcycles are to juicy bugs what U.S. Navy carriers once were to kamikaze pilots.
4. You will not feel a need to go to the restroom until after you have put on your rain suit.
5. The fact that your keys are in your pants pocket will only become apparent after you have put your gloves on.
6. Quick fixes are named for how long they stay fixed.
7. The only part you really need will also be the only one on permanent backorder.
8. Nothing is harder to start than a used motorcycle being shown to a prospective buyer.
9. You will never have a flat tire on the road unless you leave the flat repair kit a home.
10. Universal kit accessories are so named because without modification they fit no bike in the universe.
Submission – Empowerment
“Submission is not about authority and it is not obedience; it is all about relationships of love and respect.” — William P. Young (The Shack)
A couple of weeks ago as I started a college counselling subject on Marriage and Family my lecturer spoke on the original meaning of the word submission. She explained that the concept of submission was to empower another as opposed to the squashing or opression of another.
In our society today submission has taken on the later context and we are seeing more and more those lines being removed from wedding vows as women are fighting to be treated as equals. From what I understood from that lecture, the word submission in it’s original Hebrew origin was not about oppression, but about getting underneath another and lifting them higher than they could achieve on their own.
To empower another is to work towards establishing power in another, not yielding to another person’s wishes or giving away one’s own power to another. It is an active and purposeful desire to help someone else to grow by helping to equip them, strengthen them and through encouragment. To empower someone else is to help them to recognise their own potential and then achieve that potential with guidance and encouragement. To empower another is to come alongside another and affirm them, their gifts and to build their confidence to reach that potential. Empowerment is not about controlling another person or the use of force or coercion. It is about love and respect for another.
Through this lens I see that in a marriage relationship that by submitting in the context of empowerment it is to come along side my husband to encourage him to be more than he could be on his own. I see that my role then is to help encourage him to reach his full potential. The beauty in this is that it is also his role to do the same for me and is therefore a reciprical process whereby together we are empowering each other.
My college lecturer took from me a couple of weeks ago my finished coffee cup from my hands to wash. This lovely lady demonstrated a heart of service and of coming alongside me and encouraging me with this simple act which was so humbling. She demonstrated to me that this concept of submission from the perspective of empowerment is about a servant heart. There was no essence of doormat, but just a simple act of the heart which spoke deeply into my spirit on that day, and for that I thank her.
Neighbourly ‘Pot Luck’
I claim that we have the best neighbours. I currently work with a small business that provides surveys. When I went for the initial interview for this survey business four years ago, I was thinking of cold calls wanting information on goodness knows what! I quickly learned that it was not that type of survey business, but land survey’s including boundary, identification, site detail survey’s and the like.
In the four years I have been working in this field I have been privy to the number of people that fight with their neighbours and end up engaging our services to play referee to arguments over boundary issues. One of the many things I’ve learned is that a fence is not usually an accurate reflection of where the actual boundary between two properties is.
I have known of many friends and acquaintances who have had immeasurable difficulties with neighbours, from friends that have resided in units having to share flimsy walls that are not sound proof, therefore hearing all the colourful goings on next door, to dogs barking all night keeping everyone awake night after night, and I’ve know people who have been threatened and intimidated by their neighbours.
On the flip side there are many people living with neighbours but a stone throw away, and who do not even know their neighbours name, or even what they look like. We sadly hear of older people who pass away and it is weeks before anyone even knows. It seems that for many in today’s society with our busy lives, and increased use of communication by technology, that we have lost sight of that real sense of community.
I consider myself so fortunate that we have been blessed by neighbours that are incredibly supportive and a lot of fun and that always have a cup of sugar or flour and eggs on standby and also look after our menagerie of pets when we go away! Our houses are edged on a very busy road, and as parents with young kids running between the two houses frequently, we decided to put in a gate in the backyard between the two properties in the old paling fence. There is a small concrete hill through that gate, engraved with each of our names, which also provides a great skate board ramp.
On their side of the fence they successfully grow a wide variety of vegetables and herbs which do not successfully grow on our side of the fence. On our side we are managing to grow fruit trees, with orange, mandarine, lemon with mango and avacardo underway. Between us we will hopefully be able to be self sufficient in that department, and it’s been such a pleasure to share the produce.
On a Sunday night we hold ‘pot luck’. Together, the more feminine amongst us pool together any left overs and between us and decide what masterpiece we are going to create for dinner and together we have cooked up many a storm over a glass or two of bubbles for the girls and a cold ale or two for the men. These times have been invaluable to connect with our neighbourly friends, share concerns, cooking ideas, laughs and much more. We have saved countless dollars in meals over the years cooking up anything from bbq pizza’s to throw together bbq’s, salads, make your own hamburgers, curries, roasts and much more. Mind you, what we’ve saved on food we’ve possibly spent on the champagne!
I am thankful for my neighbours and that they look out for us, lend many a hand, laugh at our gardening style (Morticia Style – as it’s affectionately known). I am thankful for the boundaries that we have, and that there is a hole in the boundary fence that enables easy access to community. I don’t care whether the fence is officially on the boundary, and am thankful that our neighbours don’t either.
