All posts tagged: over 50

#ActforPeace #rationchallenge #refugeerations #sponsorme

‘I want to eat my lawn’: craving greens on a week-long ration challenge

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I’m heading into Day 5, and after this week of eating the same food as a Syrian refugee, will be avoiding rice for at least the next 3 months. Day 3 was hard: I felt really foggy in my brain, and almost angry that I was making myself do this. Thank goodness that passed. Today has been better, apart from fighting my ridiculous urge to eat anything green, including grass. On Facebook, other Ration-Challengers have been moaning about no caffeine, sugar, or alcohol; I’m just having serious fantasies about superfood green smoothies, bunches of fresh spinach, and steamed broccoli heads with olive oil and cracked pepper.I made falafel-type patties for lunch & dinner: remember I only have salt, flour, veg oil, one spice (cumin), no garlic, no onion. But oh boy, they still tasted delicious!   If you feel like helping me reach the final fundraising target of $1500 (I’m on almost $1300), here is my Donation Page link. And thank you so much. Or please send parsley and kale, express post… 😉 In utter gratitude …

Tri This: One Year!!!

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Originally posted on Curious Steph:
One year ago today, I began my triathlon training adventure. I had been inspired by a report in my local newspaper about a sprint/mini-sprint race held at a rec center the previous weekend. I looked at the distances involved and thought “I can do that”. More importantly, I wanted to do that. Starting out, my goal was to do a sprint distance race about a year from when I began. I’m on track, with that race scheduled for a week from Saturday. I’ve done two mini sprint races in the interim, one last August, and an indoor time rather than distance based race in January. As I’ve mentioned before, this upcoming race is a leap both in terms of distance covered and the swim is open water, in a reservoir. Open water adds some challenges; a more congested group start, staying on course without that black line on the bottom of the pool, and wearing a wetsuit, which will need to be removed before starting on the bike leg of…

When you decide on the perfect gift for your 18-year old son, but then…

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What would you buy a teenager reaching such a milestone birthday? The challenge threw me for days, until inspiration suddenly struck at 3am (thanks menopause): Mum’s ring! Well, it’s my ring actually, which Mum passed on to me many years ago, that I treasure. My Dad gave it to her on their honeymoon in Mexico, and although it’s a simple design, I love it, loaded with sentiment and meaning as it is now. The stick figure is roughly carved, and apparently represents the legend of a Girl holding a Rainbow- perfect for me. My son ’17’ often picks it up when I’ve left it lying around on the shelf after washing dishes for example, and has made frequent comments about how well it fits him, and how good it looks on him (as teenagers are wont to do). But I always refuse to lend it to him, and have remained strict about that, despite his cute cajoling (as teenagers are wont to do). Imagine if he lost it? Then 3am inspiration arrived: why not get …

Teenage Tuesday: The last one ever with ’17’

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This son of mine is funny, strong-minded, sensitive, and kind. He can also be messy, selfish, a bit lazy, and quite stubborn; a fairly normal teenager. We’ve had a good time with him here, haven’t we, laughing at his contributions to bone&silver? But it’s all going to change on the weekend. For this was me, a lifetime ago, standing on the edge of changes I had zero idea about, despite the weekly pregnancy group meetings, and various well-thumbed books. I went past my due date by more than two weeks, which stressed out both my midwives, but then I had my baby at home on the back verandah as planned, with no interventions or pain relief. As long as I was up and walking, labour wasn’t too painful… just long. Very long. Long as in “Started-On-Wednesday-Morning-Came-Out-Friday-Morning-Long”. Anyway, I made it. We made it. Born at 5am, on a clear frosty Winter’s morning, after his Mum had walked round and round the garden wrapped in a quilt for hours. And now this weekend, he’s passing from …

Two comets dancing

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I’m sitting here smiling with the cat at that post title. The attraction dance continues, slowly turning as we tangle in each other’s tails, sparks flying off the edges. [Not me and the cat; me and her.] Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to comment with advice on my last post, it was super helpful. A couple of real life friends kinda told me off for being too personal, and asked me if I was being a self-indulgent narcissist? *gulp. I don’t think so. I was reaching out for support and wisdoms which I didn’t feel I had to give myself, and the call was answered by my awesome blogging buddies. It was a personal post, but that’s the point round here. I’m trying to respond honestly to whatever’s going on, and use it as a stimulus for writing/creativity/art/connection- sometimes it’s ’17’, sometimes it’s politics, and sometimes it’s sex/love. So be it. And as I pointed out to my [wonderfully loving] yet challenging friends: if my post helped ONE person with …

When a comet shoots by, but it’s probably just your Attachment system getting rattled

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Time for a dating update folks: I met someone in real life. Well, I noticed her at a dance party about a year ago, but being a loyal partner to my ex, I just ignored her… Then 6 months ago, a very good mutual friend actually introduced us properly, and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking ‘Oh you are so cute’, but being a loyal partner to my ex, I just ignored me… Until 2 weeks ago, when on another funky dance floor in my killer blue jumpsuit over my freshly-healed heart, I found myself facing her, and just couldn’t ignore her for one more second. We danced. We smiled. We yelled in each others’ ears. We flirted, then drifted away and back together a few times (I got on that dance floor at 5pm when I arrived, and barely left till the party closed at 11.30pm) before I finally asked her if she had a girlfriend (my middle name is clearly ‘Direct’). When she said no, I may or may not have seen a small firework …

Time to get a little serious, and possibly hungry

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So we’ve been having a nice time here lately haven’t we? New fun hair dos, online dating adventures, and even occasional Teenage Tuesday posts [still in negotiations for full time returns of this activity by the way]. I haven’t told you how devastated and outraged I was by the increased conflicts in Syria, and now the latest school shooting in the US; I know you’re all with me in this distress and disbelief of course. Remember the friend I went walking in Tasmania with for her 50th? She is a tireless advocate for those less well-off than us, and has easily encouraged me to join her in the Act for Peace ‘Ration Challenge’ Australia’. Basically, we’re going to gain sponsorship to eat only refugee rations for a week, which I’m going to find REALLY HARD. Here’s how it started: “Four years ago, Act for Peace staff members Ben Littlejohn and Karen McGrath visited a Burmese refugee camp on the Thai-Burma border. Cramped together in tiny bamboo shelters, people were going hungry because there wasn’t enough …

For the second half of our date, we met visual artist Patricia Piccinini at Brisbane’s GOMA

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OK, that statement may not be strictly true… After our great night together, my date and I decided to treat ourselves to a café breakfast in the morning, then go to the Gallery of Modern Art (GOMA). Siri was back on board being deceptive, so after yet another convoluted journey via a random overpass network (those things sure are hard to get off once you’re on), we lashed out on underground parking just to get rid of the city-car-driving responsibility ASAP (no traffic lights or roundabouts in my home town y’see). Then in the Gallery foyer, the descent into Patricia Piccinini’s darkly vivid and futuristic imagination began: Flowers? Brains? Sacrums? Aliens? Who knows. But it’s just the start… A few years ago, ’17’ and I went to the Adelaide Art Gallery during his school holidays, and rounded a corner to see this sculpture ‘Mother’ displayed in a huge archway of her own; we’ve never forgotten the shocking image. Here she is again, no less disturbing to me: Using silicone, fibreglass, human hair, and wax, Piccinini’s …

I went on a great date in the big city with a truly fabulous human being

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I live a cruisey 1.5 hours drive from Brisbane, and there was a Queer Arts and Culture festival on called Melt that I wanted to check out this weekend. So I’d already arranged to stay with a dear friend of mine, which helped the rest of the plans for my date fall easily into place. I was excited. I brought my fav blue jumpsuit to wear, and my cute-but-super-comfy platform shoes. I took my time getting ready (my friend had already gone out to a different engagement), and I must admit, I scrubbed up quite well. I even put a tiny bit of mascara and lippy on! Dumb Siri got me a bit lost on the way to the rendezvous, so I went the long way round through a tunnel I’d never even heard of before, but I’d allowed plenty of time, so it wasn’t a drama; I even found a park right outside the massive venue, a pre-war industrial power station turned iconic arts centre called Brisbane Powerhouse. I snapped that photo above which led …

Teenage Tuesday: Being 51 (going on 15), & retiring to bed alone with wet hair

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Me *yawning at 6am: Did I just catch a glimpse of someone utterly dishevelled reflected in the kitchen window? Me: Yes, you did. It’s me. Me: But… what the hell happened? I just went to bed peacefully after my bath… Me: … with wet hair. Me: Oh yeah, that’s right. Is it bad? Me: Definitely. Take pictures as evidence for later once you’ve found your glasses and woken up a bit. Me: Great idea.