All posts tagged: personal

Intentions

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So the year has ticked over. And I must confess: it was the first New Year’s Eve celebration I ever slept through. Is that it? Am I officially ‘getting old’? Is it now a downhill slide, from choosing to be asleep in my comfy bed more than any wild partying offers? To redeem myself, I got up at 5, and drove to the most Easterly point of Australia, in Byron Bay. Specifically, to the lighthouse on that point. There was a steady stream of cars and people heading the same way, yet the Parking Fairy graced me with a miracle ‘rock star’ spot for my car just in time, so that I could slip onto the blanket my friends had saved for me at 5.25, ready for the 5.30 ceremony. There was crystal bowl sounding, chanting, and a meditation for global peace. Baskets of crystals offered everyone the chance to hold a piece of tangible focus for our intentions for 2016: As the first rays of the sun sang out, we were singing over and …

Home for two weeks today, and had a visit from my [dead] Grandma

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The jetlag has gone. The season of European winter, chilling my bone marrow, has gone. The tangled history of my childhood and youth has slipped more than 10,000 miles away again. My quiet heart yearning for France has been replaced by the delight of my dear friends, cute home, happy cat, and humid, tropical lifestyle in Australia. Son ‘15’ and I are having a little break from each other’s company (till approx. January 2016 he reckons), which gives me back the freedom I’d missed to just be Me: read, write, garden, walk on the beach at sunset, all without speaking, or providing for/tidying up after a teenager. Bliss. Can you tell there’s a ‘But’ coming? I remember learning years ago, on some college communication course, that anything positive you’ve said is then negated by the use of the word ‘But’ afterwards… So everything I’ve said above is actually true, AND YET I’ve also felt misplaced. Rebellious and resentful even. Coming home here is like coming back to your Mum’s house when you’re 23: you’ve been …

Ugh. Jetlag. Who needs it? #firstworldproblemsIknow

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We’re back in Oz safely. ‘15’ was SO ready to leave Europe, and had become obsessed with Instagram surfing videos, dreaming of his first dive into our warm, welcoming ocean. I had to practice patient acceptance of his daily mantra ‘I just want to go home and be with my friends…’ So now we’re back. We landed early in Brisbane, and high-fived each other. I hadn’t seen such a big grin on his face for a while, and it was delightful to see him hugging his Dad (he and I broke up when ’15’ was about 3; I wouldn’t define us as ‘good friends’, but it’s been a long, rocky road, and this is probably the best it’s going to get, which is fine). They dropped me at my place on the way home (we live 20 mins apart), and ‘15’ ran in quickly to say hello to our beloved cat, plus comment that ‘the house smells different’, then got back into the car saying ‘I’ll probably see you in January some time Mum…’ I …

Cutting muslin

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Remember when ‘hybrid, multi-arts exhibitions’ were all the rage? Live theatre or sculpture in front of projections, scrolling across tulle or muslin? My life’s been feeling like that lately. So removed am I from the reality of my true work/home balance that I’m starting to feel like a performer in someone else’s show. Never more so is that true than when I go back to the small seaside town I grew up in (see previous joyful post about it HERE). Last weekend I popped down on the coach for a couple of days, which is a 4-hr trip. We used to call it ‘Little D by the Sea’ in the old days when CB Radio was a brief, furious fad (remember that?) [I can’t believe how old I just sounded] I left ‘15’ to groove his way round London with his cool cousin and Uncle, our first break since we left home Sept 14. ‘D’ remains the same slightly worn out tourist destination it always was (you really DO need to read about it in …

Our last swallow has flown South for summer

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We arrived 2 weeks ago in the Dordogne (rural France at its best), down by train from Paris through late summer fields and villages. Old stone walls glowed gold at sunset. The air was warm, thick and welcoming, like a fresh baked cinnamon bun straight out of the oven. The ‘Barn’ has stood for more than 300 years, and been in the family since 1981, thanks to the pioneering and determined spirit of Aunt ‘M’ (she of the infamous parking fine in previous post HERE). The solid stone building was full of energy and chatter: twin girls here with their Dad, an Uncle from England, cousins, partners, ‘M’ the matriarch, a visiting octogenarian, old friends and locals alike popping in. Badminton games and barbeques. Loads of washing taken in and out, beds made up, beds stripped down. Wine bottles brought home, and emptied with loud laughter. Old stoneware bowls filled with baked potatoes, garlic, cheese and cream, matching the smoked salmon and rosemary baked chicken. Various neighbours invited for afternoon snacks, as we piled chips, …

Is there a skeleton on your back?

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Have you returned to where you grew up? Noticed how much smaller the streets are, and narrowed with more cars? Did you feel nostalgic, longing for good times past, or relieved to have gotten the hell outta there, no matter how picturesque it looks at sunset? My experience was definitely the latter. My son ‘15’ and I were just in Dawlish, a quaint seaside town, full of aged tourists and desperate English families trying to find shelter for their beach picnic. I lived there aged 10-20, and haven’t looked back since I fled to Australia. We’ve come to visit my Mum, who now lives 100 metres from the house I grew up in. The beach still smells of fish, piled with pebbles and seaweed. The amusement arcade still flashes distraction that sucks all coins. Ducks still waddle, but now outnumbered by monstrous seagulls, closely followed by multiple grey gangs of pigeons. The many gift shops still lack style; the strings of coloured light bulbs along the brook running through the town centre flicker like lost …

Travelling with a teenager: Then and Now

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I last came overseas with my son when he was 12, three years ago. We went to the UK to reconnect with the cousins he hadn’t seen since he was 6, and his maternal grandmother, who used to live in France. We snuggled in the same guest beds, took tourist tours on open-top buses, and ate familiar foods from home, like fish and chips. We posed with wax loookalikes at Madame Tussaud’s, and got scared witless in the London Dungeon. We played cards, watched crap English TV, and bonded with relatives by telling silly Australian stories (I think they were just enjoying listening to our accents more than anything). Now he’s 15. Tall, growing his hair, hyper-aware of his daily outfits, and often attached to his smartphone (yup, just a regular teenager). Everything is different. He sets the agenda: I want to go to Chinatown. I want to go to Camden. I want to go second hand clothes shopping. I don’t want to go on a bus tour, I don’t want to do the wiping …

Dear Society, incl Kim Kardashian

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I turned 49 last month. I feel like 25 on the inside, but I don’t look it. I have silver hair, crow’s feet and forehead wrinkles, a double chin, the beginning of a saggy neck, cellulite, varicose veins, and a wide variety of moles/skin tags/blemishes. Yet I have strong legs from running and walking on the beach listening to the Arctic Monkeys, from swing dancing every week, and doing 5Rhythms too. I have a great arse for the same reasons (plus Pilates). I have clear blue eyes, great smile, delicate ears, fine fingers, nice toes. My hair has an interesting curl when it’s wet. I am kind, generous, cheeky as hell, playful, honest, and creative. I can also be grumpy (especially when tired), a bit of a stress head about details like punctuation and punctuality, and stubbornly like my own way most of the time. I’m also a bitch when I’m hungry, or conversely, when I’ve eaten too much sugar. The point of this post is that we ALL have it ALL: the good body …