If one more person tells me how 'lucky' we are.....

I may very well lose my shit.  Yes, my husband and I both work.  Him in the mining industry in a FIFO situation and me locally in administration.  But it hasn't been luck, and the grass isn't always greener.  Yes, the mining industry is fantastic and pays well.  But none of it has been luck and we pay a bloody high price for it.

It's taken my man many years to obtain security in the industry and a stable job.  What shits me to tears is that people constantly say how lucky we are that he has a FIFO job in the mining industry.

Here's my rant.  He will be away for the next SEVEN Christmases in a row.  That's seven.  In a row.  Unless he manages to get annual leave at that time of the year, which is highly unlikely.  For the next 12 months, the only public holiday or family event he is home for is Australia Day next year, when he flies in that morning off night shift.  The last fortnight he worked 157 hours before coming home for a lengthy 7 day break.  The 'camps' the staff live at are at many times lonely, isolated compounds where they have little contact with family or friends outside of their work crew.  Many couples and families can't cope and relationships suffer, not to mention the astounding suicide rate among FIFO workers.

Yes, it is our choice.  The money is 'good', unless you break it down to an hourly rate....  But none of it was luck.  He didn't win the job in a lottery, he worked damned hard to get it and many of the guys on these crews work harder than most in unimaginably difficult conditions to keep their jobs on site.

Then there's my side.  During the time he's away, all home maintenance, grocery shopping, getting fuel, gardening.... every.. little.. thing.. is mine to take care of outside of the hours of my full time job.  Those little tasks you may share as a couple, all mine.  I generally attend functions alone, as he's usually away for special occasions.  I take my hat off to the mothers of young children who are doing it.

Again, this is our choice, we are doing this in hopes of securing a decent future for ourselves and our children.  Just please, please, think before you tell someone how lucky they are.  Luck is very different than a result of years of hard work and effort.

Chan and Sukamaran

Unless you've been living under a rock, you would know that this week, eight, yes, eight - not two, men were executed this week in Indonesia.  Two of those were, quite infamously now, Australians  Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukamaran.  Opinions on the executions have quite divided our country based on whether you Pray for Mercy, or believe they got the punishment that was coming to them.  I don't believe it's that simple.  I've seen comments that those of us who didn't support the endless candle lit vigils and barrage of support and pleas from politicians and celebrities alike lack compassion and are the saddest examples of humanity.  I take offense to that.  I respect the opinions of those in support of saving lives.  I admire those who take a stance in what they believe in, particularly when done with a good heart and kind intentions.  Still, I can't condone the way this issue has been dealt with by our country.

Here is why.  

• Have you heard of Van Tuong Nguyen?  Unlikely.  He was a 25 year old Australian, hanged in Singapore in 2005 for attempting to traffic 396 grams of heroin from Vietnam to Australia via Singapore.  It was his first offense.  Three years after his arrest, he was hanged by the neck until he was dead.  396 grams.  Between them, the 'Bali Nine' carried over 8 kilograms of heroin.  8 kilograms.  Think about that for a moment.  Where is the media coverage for Nguyen?  The national support.  The outcry against Singapore?  The #boycottsingapore campaign.  The videos of celebrities pleading for him to be saved?  The outrage that Singapore could be so barbaric as to murder a young man?  Non-existent, that's where.  Hypocrisy. 

• I don't know the full political repercussions and don't claim to, but I don't believe it is as simple as telling another country to give a reprieve to Australian citizens because we don't believe in their punishments, that we believe they have rehabilitated themselves.  There must be massive consequences when we ask to make a deal like this.  As for the cries of "but we sent millions in aide when the tsunami happened" - did we do that as an advance payment for Australians to be given special treatment and not punished to the extent of Indonesian law or because we do have compassion and goodwill to other nations?  To withdraw this kind of assistance now would just bring us down to a level I don't wish to be associated with.  Humanitarian efforts shouldn't have conditions.

• As for the #boycottbali campaign, I completely respect anyone's right to travel to wherever they choose.  However, if you choose to boycott Bali, please research the countries you do travel to.  Are you going to Malaysia instead?  They hung two Australians by the neck until they were dead for drug trafficking offenses also.  China?  An Australian is also on death row there right now.  Thailand?  Death penalty.  The USA?  Death penalty.  Let's not turn this into a trendy 'stand' we make, but truly make your convictions and stand by them.  

• Are these men victims of Indonesia's corrupt judicial system?  Of the AFP?  Of our lack of power in negotiating with other countries?  I don't know.  Are they victims of the drug trade?  Absolutely.  Will their deaths cause other young people to think again before attempting to make a quick buck by dealing in drugs in any way?  I sincerely hope so.  I take no pleasure in the waste of life, I see no cause to celebrate their deaths - but I do hope they are not in vain.  That this awful situation helps to educate young people that - not just in the case of drugs - whenever you are in another country, you are at the mercy of their laws and punishments.  There are severe consequences for your behaviour.  That you can have the support of our Prime Minister and many others, but that counts for absolutely nothing.  Yes, everyone makes mistakes, particularly when we are young.  I only hope that our young people are becoming more educated about making these mistakes on foreign shores.

• The medias treatment of the two Australian men and their families disgusts me.  The rolling coverage of the executions, the hero worship - completely inappropriate.  If they behaved with dignity at the end, great.  All I could think of at these reports was that I bet whoever is haggling for the rights to the telemovie was rubbing their hands together at what a moving final scene it would make, the eight prisoners staring down their executioners while singing hymns.  Chan and Sukamaran are not heroes nor role models.  They are drug traffickers who were caught.  Yes, they were claimed to have rehabilitated themselves whilst in prison.  I hope they did some good for others during this time, but it does not change the fact that they were convicted criminals who have been treated as national heroes in the most inappropriate manner.  Yes, let us learn from their mistake.  Let them be an example and a warning to others.  Don't exploit their families trauma for a click on a news site or the sale of a newspaper.  Don't make them out to be innocent victims to back your cause or gain votes.  Don't judge me as heartless and having no compassion because I chose not to light a candle nor beg for their lives to be saved.

Lest We Forget

This year, we commemorate 100 years since the ANZAC force landed at Gallipoli.  For many Australians and New Zealanders, it is an important time to remember.  A significant date in our history which, unlike many of our holidays throughout the year, is not taken lightly nor turned into a bogan celebration with fireworks and drunken celebrations.  It is marked with sombre dawn services, the playing of the Last Post - perhaps a game of two up and a quiet beer while listening to stories from those who remember.

Some believe that ANZAC Day should not be a part of our calendar.  That war is murder and we shouldn't glorify it.  I don't believe that our current way of remembering this day in our history is a celebration.  The stories we are told and the information we are given absolutely shows the horrors and loss of war.  How is that glorifying it?  So many men and women were lost forever, family heritage changed and those who did make it home permanently scarred.  I see no glory there.  Purely respect and remembrance.

Yes, we also use this time to remember and honour those past or current service-people in other parts of the world and other combats.  We are honouring them, their bravery and that of their families and support networks.  Not those who make the decisions which lead to them being sent into danger.  Not the reasons behind the conflict.  The individuals who leave loved ones behind to protect our way of life, our right to be an independent nation.

I believe we owe it to their memory to ensure that our children continue to honour this date.  To keep it sacred.  To never forget the sacrifices which are made on our behalf and those which were made a century ago.  It's the very least we owe them.  One small day.

We should never forget.

Being Mama

One of the many things I am, which I have been for more than half my life, is Mum.  I am beyond proud to have this title to Daniel and Casey.  There are not a great amount of things in my life I can truly say I am proud of, but they are one, well... two.

My kids.  My babies (ok, so they are adults now, but that's just to the rest of the world.  To me, they are my babies).  A son and a daughter.  The two people I love the most in this world and who I would literally do anything for.  I am filled with wonder that two humans have so many characteristics and personality traits from each of their genetic backgrounds.  They are individuals with their own unique thoughts, feelings and personalities... yet those traits sneak in and define how those thoughts, feelings and personalities develop.  Offspring are a constant source of education in science.  Nature vs Nurture.  Genetics.  I am well chuffed to have created these two people.  To have been any part of who they now are and their place in this world.  They are caring, funny, intelligent creatures.  They acknowledge their imperfections.  They love and are loved.  They are so different from one another that I used to watch in awe that they both came from my body and were both raised in the same way by the same mother. 

Before I had children, I so wrongly assumed that being a parent meant taking a little person under your wing and teaching them about the world.  They have taught me so much more than I could have imagined possible.  About the world, myself and others.

I love to watch them interact in a way that only siblings can.  To express their opinions and frustrations to and at one another, yell, scream, stomp and declare war... then jump in defense of one another at the slightest hint of a criticism from anyone else.  Their own little 'in jokes' which make no sense to anyone but us.  I feel pure joy when I am fortunate enough to encounter the friends they have made and chosen to be in their lives, to see others care for them and appreciate the traits I love and admire in them.  I feel a secret pride when they each try to make me say "You're my favourite".  Who wouldn't love to be fought over?

I consider them both my friends.  Not in an attempt to be the 'Cool Mum', but in a genuine way that I enjoy their company and conversations with them.  I would choose to spend my time with either or both of them.  Not out of any kind of obligation, but out of desire.  Their company makes me feel content and happy, their hugs are soothing for my body and soul. 

We have been through a lot over the years, together and as individuals.  I don't claim to have been the best parent, but I've been the best one I could manage to be.  When people say you get no instruction manual when you have kids, I don't think you really listen - even now, with so much information at your fingertips I don't think you'll ever feel as incompetent as you do when you are holding your own screaming child with no clue as to how to make it stop.  To see hurt in your child's eyes and not know the right thing to say to help them feel better.

One day they won't have me around anymore.  I wish for this to be in the very distant future.  The thought of not being their Mum anymore is sad beyond words.  I'd like to think that when the time comes, they will be ready for the shift in our family dynamic.  That we will have thousands more memories and stories about times when Mum was a total loser that they can laugh about.  I know they will be ok - my ego isn't that big.  I also take comfort in knowing how caring and supportive they have been for me when I've needed it.  Another parenting surprise.  You expect to be the one giving your children support, comfort and solace.  I don't think anybody prepares you for getting the same in return - tenfold.  I'm pretty sure if I get the chance to haunt them, it will be with music.  They'll know I'm still around them.  Always.

Get outta my SPACE!

For as long as I can remember, I've bucked against people getting in my face like a drunk Texan in a bar on one of those mechanical bulls.  (Whose idea was it to put those things in bars anyway? Pure genius.  I bet less people get hurt because they're too drunk to tense up when they fall) 

Nothing has changed.  Right now, for example, I completely respect anyone's choice to worship any God and abide by any religion - I am talking religion here, not crazy extremist groups.  I think it's wonderful if people can afford to do so, help out charities.  I'm sure the new coffee shop / chiropractor / juice bar / gym is just fabulous.  Passionate about politics?  That's great. 

However. 

While I am walking down the street on my way to work / the train station / home / the shop do NOT, I repeat, do NOT attempt to walk in front of me, hold out your hand for the 'I will engage this sucker' handshake and ask me if I've found Jesus / want to try a new coffee place / have a bad back / want to donate / want to join the gym.  Nor do I want your insulation, roller shutters, raffle tickets, performing monkey, miracle glad wrap-slimming device / $3000 multi purpose kitchen knife/scales/throwing stars. 

My personal religious beliefs (or lack thereof) are not the subject here.  It's the principal of the thing.  I work in the city.  I have a limited amount of time to get from point a to point b.  Same as on the weekends or evenings if I have forgotten something at the supermarket and absolutely cannot avoid going in.  NO, I don't want to sign my child up for a cute dress-up photo shoot.  He is 25 years old and quite possibly would love to, but nobody needs to see those photos. 

This is the information age, is it not?  If I want to find out about your wonderful product, I will.  God only knows, it will fly around Facebook in no time. 

Oh, wait, is that only for the shite that doesn't exist, like the Listerine foot soak?  By the way, if you're reading this and you have shared that damned foot soak post, I KNOW you didn't try it before you shared it because the total contents of that recipe equals one cup of liquid.  Unless you are Barbie herself, you ain't soaking no dry, cracked feet in one cup of liquid.  That dry skin ain't falling off, honey.

I'm not saying you shouldn't be able to advertise your cause freely... but if you can see I'm trying to walk by, don't force yourself on me.  You know I saw you.  We both know I saw your t-shirt, hat and flyers.  We both also know very well that once I saw all of the above, I immediately changed my path to avoid you.  Do you REALLY think the best plan of action is to jump out in front of me, beaming with that extended hand?  If you do, I'll straighten things out for you right now.  You're WRONG.  You may think you're quirky or hilarious with the way you jump out in front of pedestrians, beaming.  You're not.  We see at least twenty of you a day and frankly, the novelty factor wore off after my third pants wetting - before I knew what was going on and was certain I was being mugged by Hi 5.

I don't mean to offend anyone who has taken time out of their day to voluntarily collect much needed cash for a charity they're passionate about.  To be honest, this most likely doesn't apply to you.  The volunteers collecting for the one day of the year charities never seem to jump in your face like the ones who're paid a commission for everyone they get to commit to a monthly payment.  They stand respectfully and probably get a lot more donations.

Thanks, have a great day.

Dancing with Yourself

Some things are still taboo to discuss with others - and I appreciate that.  Certain topics are perhaps more comfortable kept between close friends, family members and discussed appropriately at home.  Certain things we do are considered bad, dirty or we just don't want to admit we do them because they're just rather unpleasant but necessary.  Other things, we're conditioned to believe are 'bad'. 

Masturbation.  I'm quietly confident that most people have tried it in some way, shape or form.  Why is it still something that we, and particularly young people are made to feel ashamed of?  When you are a rampant pile of hormones, pimples, new hair in weird places, sweat and confusion shouldn't there be some pleasure?  Is it just me, or isn't it perfectly natural?  It's your own body and shouldn't feel free to explore it as you please?  Not on the bus, mind, that's just a bit far, but in private.  It's generally accepted that boys will start to spend considerable amounts of alone time, but what about the girls?  Nobody mentions that, so if a young girl wants to do some experimenting alone, does she feel like there's something wrong with her?  Moreso than she already did with regular teen angst?  Does she feel like some kind of a weirdo perve?  Probably. 

For many young people, puberty is the lead up to new relationships.  Possibly romantic, possibly sexual.  These relationships are terrifying, exciting, unknown and wrought with expectation.  We're jumping into them, sometimes with no example of how a 'happy' relationship works.  What a healthy couple looks like.  We've had many different examples of interracting with family and peers - but this is a game changer.  All things going well, you may begin to want to give and receive physical pleasure.  We tend to know what goes where and the general basics... but here's where I think we're setting ourselves and our kids up for failure.  If you don't know what pleases you or what doesn't, how is someone else supposed to guess?  How much extra pressure and stress are we putting on what is already a major event in our lives to navigate?  How much easier would those early fumblings be if you at least have a clue about what your physical preferences are - and if you could tell your partner what they are? 

Just in case you actually need convincing:

1. Masturbation helps you sleep.  It lowers your blood pressure and produces endorphins which ease stress and increase relaxation.

2. Masturbation prevents prostate cancer.  Best news you've heard all day, gents?  It flushes toxins from the urogenital tract.  True story.  You're welcome.

3. Masturbation alleviates urinary tract infections.  Similar to above - it flushes out old bacteria from the cervix.

4. Masturbation boosts your immunity. Ejaculation releases the hormone cortisol. It’s a stress hormone, but it can help strengthen and maintain your immune system.

5. Masturbation makes sex better. Practice makes perfect. Sex therapists strongly recommend that women who have not had an orgasm begin by pleasuring themselves.

Finding My Inner Cliche

I had a bit of an epiphany over the weekend - or after the weekend... I'm not entirely sure.  Partly, because of some amazing women.  They didn't DO anything, necessarily.  We didn't buy anything, change our lives in some dramatic way (other than laughing till I may have an internal injury)... they just helped me with a realisation - and they wouldn't even know it.

I'm blaming Hollywood, The Movies, TV and fiction books for my ongoing confusion about 'when will I be happy?'.  Will I get a 'happy ending'.  Maybe if I go for a massage in a very special massage parlour.... no, the OTHER happy ending.  When does that happen?   How will I know if I don't hear "Don't you forget about me" playing in the background as the credits roll?  Movies always end at the beginning.  About 90 minutes of kerfuffle.... then everything comes together.. The End.  No, no, no, no, NO!  That's not how it goes.  You can't just have that happy rush of excitement at a new thing, then The End.  I don't just mean relationships.  Work, a house, car - life.

Then I realised it.  It actually hit me.  That fricken fracken quote I keep seeing about life being about the journey and not the destination is true.  Well, shiver me flippin timbers.  Whoda thunkit?  My gob is smacked. I've spent all this time thinking that happy had to mean fireworks, surprises, shiny things and excitement every day when in fact, for me - it's being comfortable and content in general, everyday life.  I was certain I would feel a bolt from the blue, or see a billboard one morning "This is IT.  You are Now Happy".   It's not something that I will get to eventually if I do enough stuff in my lifetime.  It's now, enjoying what I already have, what I'm doing now.  I have a great life.  I have to work, so that sucks a bit - I would quite like to be wealthy enough to just enjoy a lifestyle to which I would like to become accustomed, but that's not on the cards right now.  In the meantime, I'm fortunate enough to be employed.  I earn enough to pay my bills, put food on the table and have a bloody good life.  I have friends and family who I love and who love me.  Ideally, I would like to see them more often, so it would be nice to not be quite so busy, but when I do, it's comfortable.  Comfortable must be my new happy.  My man and I are comfortable.  We can have conversations.  Or not.  It's ok because we're comfortable.  I can be honest with the people in my life.  "How are you today, Son?".  'Bit crap, actually, but that's ok.'  "Bugger, anything you need?".  'Yeah, maybe a hug and some cake'.  Done.  Sorted.  Ok, it's not always quite that simple... but you get the idea.  Works so much better than "Fine thanks".  Then not being fine, stewing on not being fine and wondering why Nobody Gets Me.  Fool woman!

What is happiness?  I don't know.  I can't make the words for anyone else.  I still reserve the right to bitch and moan about things, be a grumpy old bag from time to time.... but in general, I am happy.  I'm there.  I laugh a lot.  I enjoy the company of those around me - and even myself.  I have enough in my life to be comfortable, to relax in my downtime or to do things if I feel like it.  I don't need to keep looking around for what I want to do, where I want to be, who I want to be with.  It's all already there.  I just need to sit back and soak it up. 

Now... what do I want to be when I grow up?

Oh My Giddy Aunt!

If I could just have a moment out of my own head.  What would that be like?

Instead of a morning starting with, "What day is it?  Where am I?  How could it possibly be morning already?  Right, must get out of bed now or we'll start running late.  Won't have time for coffee and will miss the train." Meaning I won't get to work early enough to not consider myself late.  "How hot is it actually going to be today?  Are we talking the firey depths of Hell, can't touch the steering wheel, only handle the seat belt buckle with asbestos gloves or just hop across the ground like a Masai Warrior kind of hot?  Do I wear the dress that allows me to wear the comfy bra, or do I go with the one which looks nicer (no brainer, comfy bra wins every time)  Did I wash a comfy bra yet?  Damnit!  Do I now have time to drink my coffee out the back while talking to the dog, or do I have to sneak sips in between fixing hair and makeup application?  Urgh, then I'll have to brush my teeth after I've put my makeup on and we all know how that's going to end.  Is Cam awake yet?  Does he need coffee too?  Did I remember to order the catering for that board meeting today?  Is that board meeting still on today?  Do I have any lunches left in the pantry?  Please don't make me have to buy one, that's a whole other decision I'd have to make - not to mention a complete waste of ten bucks just for a ham sambo.  Alright, really need a wee, let's go." 

This is before my feet have hit the floor.  It may look like I'm just slow to get going or I'm procrastinating, when the truth is, I have so much to get in order before I can start. 

Don't get me started on the night time head space.  Too late.  Here's a taste.  It starts while I'm reading in bed.  This is to fool myself into having wind down time to switch off before I go to sleep.  Currently, the main character in the book I'm reading has Asperger's.    That's thought provoking enough and raises many questions for me, which I sometimes have to Google to find out the answer to (looking at phone while in bed is bad, I KNOW!).  Then I start looking at the time and bargain with myself.  "If you read for 10 more minutes, then fall asleep within 15 minutes, you'll still get 6 hours sleep and feel ok tomorrow".  Never going to happen, because I don't get to the end of the chapter at exactly the right time, so I strike up a new deal.  Have to get up to pee?  "Well, there's no way I can go right to sleep, might as well start a new chapter.  If you finish THIS chapter within 15 minutes, then fall asleep within 15 minutes, you'll still get 4.5 hours of sleep.  Not great, but you can still function on that".  This can go on literally for hours.  Not even kidding.

My husband, however.  Wakes up.  "Bloody nuts are itchy.  Gonna take a leak then have a shower."  Walks to wardrobe, picks up nearest pair of jeans and shirt that have been washed and hung for him.  Starts day.  Asshole.

Why I don't have any gay friends

I don't have any gay friends, or work friends, or coffee friends.... I just have friends.  I don't feel the need to label people I know by how we met, how I know them or a particular feature they have.  Once someone is my friend, I would rather think "that is my friend, Esme".  End of.  I don't think "that's my straight friend, Esme", or "I used to work alongside Esme and we had great conversations and spent hour after hour together at work" or even "oh, Esme, remember that time you emailed our boss a picture of your.."... never mind.... 

Actually, I don't think I have any friends named Esme. If you know an Esme whom you think I would get along with, please let me know.

I find the labels people are given to be of an odd significance.  For example, if I were to achieve greatness, sorry WHEN I achieve greatness (as soon as interpretive dance is an Olympic sport, I'm in) I would be disappointed to be referred to as "Straight White Brown Eyed Interpretive Dancer".  The gender of the person I am in love with and the colour of my skin and eyes are irrelevant to my given talents and profession.  They most certainly shouldn't be credited first.

When Ian Thorpe came out publicly about his sexuality, he instantly went from Five Times Olympic Gold Medalist to Gay Swimmer.  Why do we do that?  Oprah was an African American Talk Show Host and now Ellen is a Lesbian Talk Show Host.  How far does it need to go?  Will we start changing our email signatures and business cards to point these details out?

I don't want to downplay the positive aspects of people in the public eye being honest about their private lives - if they choose to do so.  If they can make the road less bumpy for others to travel, that's wonderful.  It just seems to me that perhaps the focus is constantly on a trait which is not necessarily what makes them a person.  Just my humble opinion.

Chuckin' a Tanty

As a child, when people would ask that fateful, annoying question that adults love to pose to small creatures "what do you want to be when you grow up?", the only answer which ever came to mind was "a grown up, of course.  What else?".  Well, something very much like that, anyway.  I wanted to make my own decisions about where I went, what I did, ate, drank and who I chose to spend my time with.  I desperately wanted to drive myself around.  IN.  MY.  OWN.  CAR.  And it would be a cool car too.  Not a stupid practical car like my own mother drove.  How embarrassing.  I would have a pink convertible, preferably one which sparkled.  I anticipated the ever so mature freedom of choosing my own bedtime - a responsibility which I am clearly not cut out for, by the way.  I absolutely would not spend my time doing boring things like cleaning the house, grocery shopping or gardening.  Hell no, not this rebellious little black duck.  My life was going to be the complete opposite of the suburban bore that my parents had chosen.  I was baffled that with all the freedom of having nobody tell you what to do, parents continued to make such mundane choices.

I would live on a farm, preferably, with approximately 47 pets of different sizes and styles, staff to do my cooking and cleaning, obviously a gardener and I'd quite desperately need someone to clean the pool (which would have a slide from the third level balcony so I wouldn't have to trudge down any stairs like a pleb when I wanted to swim).  Of course, the fact that I couldn't sing wasn't going to hold me back from being a world famous rock star (turns out, that hasn't stopped many people, it just hasn't happened for me yet).  I could have ice-cream for breakfast and read in bed as late as I wanted without having to hide my book under the covers and use a torch.

Fast forward a few decades and here I am.  Things haven't quite turned out according to my carefully laid out plan.  Now can I throw myself on the ground, arms and legs thrashing and scream until someone gives me a Freddo Frog.

Can't I just have that childhood freedom back for a teensy little while?  Puhhhleeeeaaaasseeeee???????

 

They do WHAT? For how much?

Born and raised in Australia, as I have been, I am not particularly afraid of spiders, snakes and other famous 'nasties' our country is famous for.  I have a healthy respect for their potential to kill and won't deliberately put myself in harm's way, however, I don't jump and squeal if I see one.  Bushfires.  Those, I am terrified of - and I believe, rightfully so.  They can start in what seems like no time at all, move literally as fast as the wind and turn in a new direction at the drop of a hat - or cigarette butt as the case may be.

While we are fortunate enough to spend the hot days of summer taking refuge in the shade, air conditioning, pools or at the beach, our brave firefighters kiss their families goodbye, load themselves up with heavy protective clothing, drag heavy equipment with them and walk, drive and fly directly towards the flames.  They risk absolutely everything to save our land, homes, wildlife and lives.  They work day and night, in the heat and smoke that we are lucky enough to escape, then get up the next day and do it all again.  

For many of them, come payday.... nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Zero.  Zip.  They volunteer for this stuff.  For FREE.  Does anyone else see the problem here?  We pay our football players millions of dollars each year to entertain us, but those saving our country must volunteer?  What is wrong with us?

As I write this, much of our beautiful state is ablaze.  I've been watching in horror as the many fires spread, taking some of our most spectacular scenery, robbing farmers of much needed grazing land and taking the lives of countless animals.  Families are on standby to leave their homes, taking only what they can carry and leaving the rest behind, not knowing what they will return to.  Planes and helicopters fly overhead, moving non-stop from the nearest water supply to the flames.  Vehicles carrying more of these brave men and women race towards the danger that we retreat from.

Thank you seems so insufficient.  For these sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandchildren and grandparents to drop their regular lives to save ours is unimaginable.  I can only hope that they are returned safely to their loved ones - unharmed and into loving arms.

Black Dog

If you only read one thing I write from beginning to end, please bear with me and make it this one.

When I decided to start a blog, I promised myself I would be brutally honest - regardless of how uncomfortable, painful or difficult it may be.  Warts 'n all.  Me, out there - part therapy, a little cathartic and very occasionally, thought provoking and serious.  I am most definitely no expert - on anything particularly, so I must rely on my experiences and observations to form my opinions.  I happily (well, maybe not always, I am a stubborn bitch) stand corrected when I'm wrong and do not claim to be educating anyone - however, if I can start a conversation about a topic which is important to me and that I feel passionately about, I'm delighted.  Time to pull up the big girl undies and get on with it. 

One of those topics is depression.  Sadly, I feel that it is still somewhat shameful and taboo to admit to.  There is a social stigma in stating "I suffer from depression" that does not exist for other potentially terminal medical conditions.  Yes, that is how I view it.  I am speaking only from my own personal experience and conclusions I have come to from that experience, I have no training on the topic, so apologies if I am off base.  This is not a pity party or personal cry for help - hopefully a cry for a little more understanding and compassion.  I purely want to bring the subject out in the open - to discourage the way of thinking that "Mental Illness" means you're a nutter (well, I am, but that's a whole other blog for another day).  To keep people thinking about something which can often be quite invisible and make sufferers feel invisible also.  I hope that depression is seen more as the chemical imbalance that exists rather than seeing it as a weakness or self inflicted sulk.  That in particular, men and young people feel more comfortable opening up about it, letting those in their lives know that they don't judge, but care about them and their well being.  It would seem that as we get older, women feel more open to discuss all kinds of issues with those closest to them, which is a truly wonderful thing.

I'm not talking about being a bit sad from time to time.  Feeling a little blue after watching an emotional movie, or having a bad day where things don't seem to be going right.  I'm banging on about deep, dark, morbid periods of life which can last anything from days, weeks, months or years.  I can't speak for others and don't claim to understand their personal battle. Just as we all have different attitudes, tastes and opinions, we all have different struggles to deal with.

For me, depression has been as much a part of my being as my brown eyes for more years than I'd like to count. It is an ugly beast, which I hesitate to refer to as the Black Dog, because I love dogs. It defies logic, takes apart the wiring that makes me who I am and how I feel, twists the wires in a random format and slaps them back together. It takes simple tasks which are a part of everyday life and makes them seem impossible and unbearable. It rips apart relationships, destroys dreams and aspirations. It takes the very fibre of my soul, dips it in shit and throws it on a bonfire.

I am a very fortunate person.  I know that.  I have a reasonably comfortable life, many people who care about me and who I care about.  Some who I love deeply and without whom my life would just not be the same.  I live in a wonderful country with many freedoms others lack, have not lived through atrocities as others have had to do.  What right do I have to ever be depressed?  I DON'T KNOW!  Ask my brain that.  One of my biggest frustrations with this cursed condition is that it defies logic and reason.  Outwardly, things in my life may be cruising along nicely - so why do I find it so difficult to leave the house?  To hold a conversation?  Why does it take every ounce of mental energy I have to get through the work day, then retreat into being a hermit after hours and not face anything or anybody?  Why are there times when I do nothing but sleep and when I'm not asleep I want to be asleep... then the next week I get no more than 3 hours a night?  I wish there was any kind of rhyme or reason to it that I could figure out, but there isn't.  I can even see how people with depression find themselves addicted to drugs, alcohol and sex.  Anything which gives instant, even fleeting pleasure is going to be a temptation.  A momentary high, a temporary escape.

Perhaps the most terrifying part of depression is when it leads to a person taking their own life.  Let me first state, I feel that when this happens, the cause of death is depression, not suicide.  That person's life has been taken by the illness, no more, no less.  This is the hardest subject to approach and one which I am the most afraid of getting across in the wrong way, but I feel so strongly that it needs to be discussed openly and honestly.  My life has been directly and deeply affected by the loss of both family and friends in this way.  I have seen and felt firsthand the shock, horror, devastation, guilt and grief that loved ones suffer through.  I have also seen and heard the deceased referred to as selfish and gutless.  I cannot stress enough how much this illness can take over your thought process.  My belief is that those who are pushed this far are absolutely not thinking that they will be causing pain to those they love.  They are suffering in a way which makes living and breathing in itsself, unbearable.  What cure is there when your pain is caused by simply living?  End living.  I know this is not true, that there are other avenues to help the pain... but while you are in the midst of depression, that logic does not exist.  It simply does not.  There is not a thought process (in my experience) which goes "I am going to hurt those I love immeasurably, but fuck it, I am more important".  That is just not how it works.  It may be a case of thinking absolutely everyone in this world will actually be better off without you (not in a self pitying angst way, but a 100% belief that this is the case).  That people may be a little upset at first, but that won't last long once they realise what a great life they have without the burden of you in it.  That if you are forced to continue to inhale and exhale every day, you will destroy everyone and everything around you, simply by existing.  I don't believe the intention is to be selfish - quite the opposite.  Again, I KNOW these beliefs are wrong.  I am just trying to explain how the thought process may work for some people. 

This illness takes things which you know are fact and removes them from your thought process completely.  Even something as trivial as having a bit of a bad day and normally you know you would be cheered up by a visit or a phone call with a dear friend turns into the impossible.  The fear, shame and feeling of hopelessness are overwhelming.  If simple, every day life is this difficult, what about when something truly terrible happens?  How can you begin to cope with an actual real struggle comes along?  I don't know.   I liken it to this - when you are underwater, holding your breath, your body tells you that you need to break the surface and get air into your lungs.  Your body just knows what you need, right?  With depression, it forgets.  Nothing as simple as a thought process actually works.  Sitting here right now as I am, I know - I am a moderately intelligent person - which things make me happy.  That motherfucking black dog takes those things I know, runs off, chews them up and shits them all over the back lawn.

I do know that I need to make a conscious effort to do more of the things that make me feel good and less of the things which don't.  That's about as far as I've made it so far, but I think that's pretty damned good. 

FYI - yes, I am currently medicated and it seems to be going well.  I have acknowledged and somewhat accepted my problems and make an effort - which is beyond difficult - to talk about it at times.  I don't walk around with a rainy cloud above my head, Addams Family style.  I don't even cry every day anymore.  I am thankful to be here.  I am immensely grateful for good friends (related or otherwise).  I want to grow old so that I can embarrass and annoy my children more than I already do.  I want to drive my husband up the wall for many years to come.  Sometimes it may be more difficult than others, but I will keep reminding myself that it's worth it.  I may not be able to change the whole world, but I can change mine and I'm quite ok with that.  For now.  Today, at least, I can say "Fuck YOU, black dog.  Back in your box".

xx


www.blackdoginstitute.org.au

www.beyondblue.org.au

www.kidshelp.com.au

www.lifeline.org.au

www.mindhealthconnect.org.au/need-help-now
 




 

As much as I love technology... you sucked the fun out of music.

As we all know, advances in modern technology have changed everyday life for all of us.  In some ways for the better, others not.

One thing which may be seen as a positive is the immediate availability of music, tv and information.  The music, for me, is fantastic... and not.  I actually think our kids are missing out on the anticipation of waiting to hear their favourite song or having to go out and buy it, then physically play the record or cassette over and over and over and over and over again while your parents scream for you to "turnthatgodawfulrubbishoff. Isthatamanorawomananyway?"

Here in Australia, we would wait for Molly Meldrum on Countdown on Sunday nights to tell us which bands or songs to "Do yourself a favour" and listen to.  There would be the bliss of seeing local and international acts badly lip-synching to both new and our favourite tunes.  If you missed it, tough, you had to be the one kid at school on Monday morning who did.  You couldn't You-Tube it, download it or 'catch up tv' it as we do now.  Don't get me started on the excitement of the release of MTV and music videos that was still further down the track... (yes, MTV used to play music - crazy, I know!)

While waiting for the next compilation album to be released, you could sit by the radio for hours waiting to record your favourite song, then curse the DJ if he cut in too early at the end, ruining your chance of a perfect recording with only the distinct clunk of you hitting record at the beginning, then pause at the end of the song.  Not to mention when you'd overplayed your favourite tapes enough that they stretched and sounded distorted, or if the tape started coming out and you had to get a pen to wind the tape back around the cogs.

Bands, as much as they had to work a million times harder to be seen and heard by half the audience available now, could also use the lack of technology to their advantage.  How long did Kiss drag out the "Masked" years?  The mystery of not knowing what they really looked like, the rumours about freakish skin issues, who they REALLY were could never have taken off now the way they did back then.  What a marketing tool.  Fans scrambled not just to purchase their music, but comic books, dolls - absolutely anything Kiss.  How much of the buzz was actually about the music?  Very little really.

We didn't see endless videos of our favourite artists live.  If you wanted to see their live act, you had to wait and hope that they visited your city and you were lucky enough to get a ticket.  Knowing a set list in advance?   Unheard of!  Another advantage was that our parents most certainly didn't know the call back line in The Angels "Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again" and happily let us go to their shows.  The mystery and excitement was on an escalated scale to what it is now.  We didn't see candid snaps of Pat Benatar shopping for kale at the grower's market (thank God!)  Mick Jagger dropping his children off at kindy?  Rock stars wouldn't dream of it.  Freddie Mercury... ummm.. well, bad example, we probably wouldn't want the paps following dear Fred around really, would we?  Although.... that party with the midgets... never mind...

Did we really want to see our musical heroes in their everyday lives, shopping, drinking coffee, being normal, boring humans like us?  Hell no.  They lived an unattainable life that didn't involve such mundane activities.  Their status meant they only ever performed, partied or sat around on multi million dollar yachts eating caviar from naked bikini clad models or drinking thousand dollar bottles of plonk.  That was in our imaginations and made the whole adoration of these icons all the more exciting.

I, for one, miss it.

Shot through the heart?

 There is currently a video circulating the internet, featuring Australian 'celebrities' pleading for mercy for con...victed drug traffickers Myuran Sukumaran and Andrew Chan who are imminently facing the death penalty in Indonesia. There will also be a vigil in Sydney this evening, hosted by musicians and Human Rights advocates.

These men have been on death row since 2006. They were found to be the ringleaders of nine now infamous Australians attempting to smuggle $4 million of heroin into Australia from Bali. Since 2006, countless attempts have been made, through both lawyers and the Australian Government, to save and potentially free these men (among many others).

I don't begin to claim that I can understand what their families are going through, nor do I know firsthand how 'rehabilitated' they are - as they are claiming. If they hadn't been caught, how many people's lives would have been taken, or at the very least, destroyed by that heroin? They are two people. Two people who knew - as we all do on arrival in Indonesia - that the consequences of drug smuggling in that and many other countries, is potential death. Not by a nice little sleepy-bye-bye needle, but a firing squad or in some other South East Asian countries a noose. How many people and their families would have been affected had that heroin made it onto our streets? Yes, I know it's a drop in the ocean. That there is plenty more heroin making it's way to Australians, but these guys weren't jay-walking, or caught breaking some obscure law that nobody knew about.

For as long as I can remember, our media have flooded us with stories of Westerners facing death in international prisons, generally for drug smuggling or dealing. Even back in 1986, we were made more than aware of Barlow and Chambers being hanged in Malaysia. Yet again, our government is being called upon to interfere. To save these 'rehabilitated men'. Could our resources not be put to better use? If we are going to try to save Australians in international prisons, start with the journalists who are locked up in appalling conditions for 'providing false news'.

Are we prepared to open up our justice system (failing as it seems to be at times) and our country to other governments to have an opinion if we lock up their citizens and subject them to our punishments? Should someone stone a woman to death on our territory for having sex outside of marriage when she has been raped, will we set that person free because our law doesn't correspond with theirs and their government or Embassy asked really nicely?

Personally, I've grown tired of Australians (and others, for that matter) who continue to travel to other countries, blatantly abuse their culture, their people and their laws, then cry to all and sundry who will listen when they need bailing out.

So bloody lucky.. but that doesn't stop me complaining..

I am fortunate enough to live in a beautiful country, I have family and friends around me, a roof over my head, ready access to fresh food and water and countless modern conveniences... so am I still allowed to complain and be irritated about things? Perhaps a part of this is that grumbling about the trivial things in my life actually reminds me of how very small my troubles are.

I love a good bitch. I really do. Vent, get it out, take a deep breath and move on. That's just how I deal with irritations and annoyances. I know I have it incredibly good. I honestly do. I feel for those who struggle, who are condemned to a difficult life, don't have basic necessities and freedoms, struggle with limitations and ill health. I like to think I contribute a reasonable amount, financially, to charities - although, even that is getting to be a struggle. Which ones are 'worth helping'? I feel I will be judged if I don't help out, yet also if I choose a charity which sucks 90% of it's money to administration and paid staff. I digress. That's what I do. Start on a subject and get distracted by a new tangent. Look! Squirrel! Anyway, as I was saying, I don't claim that any of my problems count on the worldwide scale.

I enjoy many things. Sleep is one of those things. Personal space is another. Anything that gets in the way of those two things will grind my gears. Neighbours thundering around at 6.30am on a weekend? Stop. Fellow commuters touching me, breathing near me, being loud or having an odor of any kind on public transport? Step away from the grumpy bitch.

I like good people - that is an intentionally broad statement. I like many people who are a direct part of my life and affect my every day living. I like people I don't know who do good things in the world. I am both thankful and in awe of those who have made a real difference in their lives, in so many ways... researchers making advances in medicine, folks who constantly help others regardless of the time and sacrifice to their own lives. Those who are trying to improve this world for current and future generations, in whatever way that is.

On the flip-side, I am constantly frustrated by fame whores being shoved in my face, celebrities who are famous for being famous. I understand that it is common in human nature to admire those with talents - musical, performance of any kid... sports people. It seems that these 'celebrities' have been taken to an entire new level of worship and too much emphasis is put on their opinions and actions... but in a small and strange way, they may have earned a little praise and admiration. Famous for being famous? Get back in your cave. There are so many people who continually go unrecognised and truly do incredible things day in, day out... yet the media continue to shove plastic airheads in our faces and analyse everything they have to say as if it matters.

Crime and a lack of consequences are the other thing I like to have a good rant about. I don't take my lack of knowledge of an entire story to be a valid reason for me not to have an opinion on how someone should be punished for a crime. Evidence? Leave that to the lawyers. Justice? Give me a crack. Once you outline the crime and guilt has been established, I'll take it from here. I have a list of what I feel are very just punishments depending on the crime and who it was committed against. These punishments range from sterilisation to death. From 'volunteering' to clean up our streets and towns to public flogging. I feel that I am firm but fair. Anal penetration with acid-dipped pineapples has it's place in my world of punishments. Could I play a part in reducing crime rates? I believe so. No crime too big or small.

Anyone else not get enough sleep last night? :D

Why do I even HAVE a blog? I'm not famous or anything...

It has occurred to me lately that I have a lot of opinions... and a rather limited vocabulary. Not that I don't know a lot of words - I do, but I don't use them. I have a few favourites which are on repeat, I often 'dumb down' what I want to say in order to not sound stuck up or wanky... or sometimes, I don't say 'fuck' as often as I'd like to avoid offence. I love to read. A lot. I get particular enjoyment from ingesting other people's words that I considered the fact that I should perhaps take some time to get out my own words. I don't particularly think that anyone would be interested in me or what I have to say, it's more of a much needed therapy and a bit of an exercise in getting to know myself a little better.

Me. About me. I am a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a wife, a colleague. Each of those things is a part of what determines the way I live my life. What I do with my days, how I think, where I go and who I speak with when I get there. I like to laugh, to eat, to walk, to watch. I like to make others smile. I like nice smells and sounds. I love music. I don't just love music, I need music. I often wish I were a musician. I dream that I had a sense of tone and rhythm. To be able to sing, or play an instrument and make music of my very own. But I don't. Music is the soundtrack to all of my memories. Each memory I conjure out of the furthest banks of my mind has a backing track appropriate to the period of time that memory was created. My days are filled with an eclectic mix-tape which plays non-stop inside my head. I love to sing along with my favourite songs. Badly. I wish so much that I had a beautiful singing voice and at times in the car with the stereo up loud enough I pretend that I do. I would love so much for my children to be able to look back on me as a mother and remember me singing soothing lullabies or uplifting songs to them. Rather, I think they will look back with one eye squinting and an expression not unlike that you make when experiencing a particularly nasty smell and say "Mum loved to sing, but we always wished she wouldn't".

I'm from an immigrant family - does that still mean I'm an Aussie?

As Australia Day and it's controversy and opinions near... I think about my own heritage and upbringing as a child of an immigrant family.  A white, English speaking family, but an immigrant family just the same.  I am 'lucky' enough that the background I am from doesn't immediately identify me as a child of immigrant parents, I don't have different eyes or coloured skin and don't wear 'strange' clothing.

I consider myself an Aussie, through and through.  I was born here, I have the lazy accent and even say 'strewth' from time to time.  I don't cope well with being cold and don't consider a six hour drive to be particularly long to get somewhere for a weekend away. 

My parents and two older brothers arrived in Perth in August 1971.  I was raised and schooled alongside many other children of 'new Australian' families as well as families who's Australian heritage goes back for many generations.  Greek, Italian, Indian... the list is endless.  As kids, we didn't know the difference, we were all just kids.  Children are cruel and there was teasing.  You were teased and taunted if you were big, small, fat, thin, fast, slow... you get the picture....  I have distinct memories of students arriving to our primary school from non-English speaking countries (the one who stands out the clearest was Berit, who came from Denmark and became one of my closest friends through my school years).  These kids weren't ostracized - they were embraced.  We accepted the challenge to teach them to speak English and how to 'be Australian'.  How to avoid blistering sunburn or losing the skin off the soles of your feet in summer.  How much tomato sauce to put on your pie or sausage roll, the best seat in the car at a drive-in... the important things.

Many people from these different backgrounds changed our little city for the better.  Buildings, designs, gardens - and the food!  The culinary options that literally appeared before our eyes.  I can so clearly remember the first Chinese restaurant opening in our area and our visits there (they were only on very special occasions, we didn't just eat out for the sake of it back then).  Looking back, I guess Mum and Dad hung onto some of their British traditions and embraced some of the Aussie ones.

It saddens me to think of how dramatically attitudes towards immigration have changed over the years.  On both sides.  There are those who are seen to abuse the system.  Who bring hatred and violence with them.  Who see our beautiful country as a place to exploit and convert.  There are also those who add to our excitement and beauty just by being who they are.  Who have enriched our society with their knowledge, culture and traditions.  There are people who oppose immigration "but it's ok if they speak English and live like we do".  I can think of several examples of Australians who have cruel and violent hearts and have committed despicable acts.  The correlation between where you come from and your intent to do good or evil just doesn't seem consistent to me. 

I fear for where we are headed, with so much anger and hatred, but have to hold some optimism that there is enough tolerance, understanding and love to remain the Australia that I love and am proud to call home.

Happy Australia Day - but don't 'chuck another shrimp on the barbie'... nobody says that.  Ever!