Confessions of A Shopaholic

Regrets?  I've had a few...well quite a few.  Until recently many of them were hanging in my wardrobe, some still had tags.  Fashion faux pas have not been uncommon throughout my life but I have noticed a worrying increase recently.  My mother has confirmed that she too found it difficult to gauge what was the right attire for her AT THIS STAGE OF LIFE!

 

This was not a good thing to say to me and until now I have chosen to maintain a stony silence on the matter.  Recently I downloaded Gretchen Rubin's book, "The Happiness Project" onto my iPad after reading about it on a friend's blog.  I have only read Chapter One which is concerned, in part, with de-cluttering.  She describes how cleansing your life of the detritus accumulated over the years will lift your spirits.  This is not news to me as I have attended to my mental health by regularly cleaning out my wardrobe and, in secret, the wardrobes of other family members.  Please note, the spirits of other family members are not lifted to the same degree as they often spend hours fruitlessly searching for the unflattering, unfashionable, worn out items in their drawers.  I have been warned repeatedly on this matter. The euphoria I experience as a consequence of this de-cluttering is short lived however, as the space created seems to act as a vacuum sucking fresh stuff in to fill the void.

There is also a poignancy about discarding the items which are crammed into cupboards.  Baby clothes are obviously representative of a particular stage and passing them on is closing the door on that part of your life.  I have passed on my baby clothes long since but nostalgia strikes when I look at all the dress ups,the dolls' house and the pony club gear (and the ancient pony).  Cards and books are especially difficult to discard.

Living on a farm does not facilitate a stream lined, clutter free existence.  There are often empty houses, sheds and sea containers in which to store the things you no longer use, wear or need.  My sympathies lie with the unfortunate individuals who have to sort through my possessions when I AM NO MORE!
 

 

Without becoming morbid that is probably as good an  incentive as any to have a major throw out.  We have our own rubbish tip on the farm and it has occasionally alarmed me what future archaeologists will make of some of the discoveries when they excavate the site.

 

 

What will be the legacy you leave behind?

20 Years!!

Today is the twentieth anniversary of my marriage.  How vividly I remember entering the Church on my father's arm, sucking up my urge to cry ( I always cry at weddings) plastering a beaming smile on my face and walking up the aisle where my intended awaited.  He was scoring a whopping 10 on the handsome scale that day.  Twenty years is a pretty long stretch, where do the years go?  In that time we , like every married couple, have had to deal with the whole gamut of life events, from the very traumatic and confronting to the delightful. But mostly we have faced the mundane.  The daily round of repetitive, mind numbing, soul sapping drudgery of domesticity.

Thankfully my beloved is a lot of fun.  I do not always reveal my appreciation of this intrinsic quality but when faced with soul sapping drudgery it's good to choose a life partner with a sense of humour.

There is nothing I enjoy more than a well written romantic novel.  I am heavily into escapist entertainment.  The assured happy ending and the idea that there is a love of your life is very uplifting but it doesn't really translate to real life.  Frankly I am not the stuff that romantic heroines are made of.  Relationships appear to be all about timing, sharing common values and goals, loyalty and commitment and good luck.  The two impassioned lovers from the pages of novels only need each other but, in my opinion, you also need outside interests and good friends.

Recently I read a pretty mediocre book called "The J. M. Barrie Ladies Swimming Society" by Barbara J. Zitwer.  What drew me to this novel was that it centred around a group of elderly women whose friendship had sustained them for more than fifty years.  Their club had a manifesto which included the following key points:

• no member shall be criticized for alcoholic drinking in excess or not drinking at all
• above all, members shall listen to each other with compassion, help each other to see the sunshine in their darkest hour and to feel the new adventure in their hearts.  

I am having two tee shirts made.

Years ago when I sat down with my friends in high school imagining if we'd still be friends in ten or twenty years, our minds could not grasp a point in time beyond the Year 2000.  "How old will you be in the year 2000?" we would ask bug-eyed at the prospect of being so geriatric.

So this is all uncharted territory.  We are now well beyond the Year 2000 (and I still have my stockpile of survivalist essentials).  Still I can go forward into the future knowing that I have at my side a partner who understands and grounds me.  As one of my friends commented long ago, "Who else would have you?"  With these heartening words ringing in my ears I am ready to embrace the next twenty years.

Mildly Unattractive Parent Syndrome

While I have at time suffered bouts of Mildly Unattractive Parent Syndrome it has never developed into full blown Ugly Parent Syndrome.  This is because I am a pacifist (coward) and the thought of actually abusing someone else verbally and inciting them to retaliate physically fills me with dread.  Also, my children would be mortified and they would never allow me to escalate my behaviour to a degree that it could be classified as Ugly Parent Syndrome.

My daughters were very clear about what I could and couldn't do as a spectator.  They both grudgingly allowed me to call out supportive and what I felt were VERY HELPFUL tips and suggestions as to how they and their team mates could improve their performance and snatch victory for their side.  If I sometimes got carried away or was drawing too much attention to myself, and by association, to them, then I was firmly told to zip it.

This mainly happened at netball, a game for which I feel I have a competent understanding of the rules and tactics.  Only my closest and most long standing associates will know this (because I am not one to blow my own trumpet) but I was an integral part of the 1980 Premiership A (Reserve) team from my home town.  The beautiful gold (plated) medallion I was awarded would no doubt be displayed in pride of place on my mantel even now if it had not been purged in The Great Garage Cleansing of 1983 (conducted by my Dad who was sick of storing my stuff).  I mention this high point in my sporting career to illustrate that I have the credentials to call out constructive criticism and messages of support to my children and their friends.  I also bought the oranges nearly every week, so that in itself gives me permission.

However, once I accompanied my younger daughter to a hockey carnival in a much larger town.  She and some of her friends played in an Association team with people from our district who we did not know.  All the parents had to help and I was named Team Manager.  This was very unsettling for me because I have never played hockey at all except for a horrible three week period in year 11.  There is too much running in hockey for me and I was scared of the stick and indeed the ball.  But I digress.

To combat my feelings of insecurity I acted on the adage If you dress for the part; you are the part.  Garbed in my number one track suit and dragging my newly purchased Ripcurl sports bag I felt completely able to call out hockey tips such as, "Stick Down!"' and other pearls of hockey wisdom which I have since forgotten. Those were exciting times and I wanted to share this experience with my child, to facilitate her development as a player and as a person.  I may have got carried away with the excitement of it all and if I did I was TOLD by my daughter that she didn't appreciate my exuberance, so I zipped it.

When my girls have played sport in the city I have been warned that I am not to speak at all.  So I stand there in supportive and reflective silence, mainly thinking about what the other mothers are wearing.  It's much more enjoyable really.

My eyes had never been opened to the reality of Ugly Parent syndrome until about a year ago.  I went to watch my nephew's game in an Auskick competition.   He is a very coordinated and focused on the ball kind of player.  His proud father is interested and, like me, calls out encouragement and support.  But not all parents are like this.  I became aware of another father who was consistently calling out loudly to his son in an irritated tone.  The boy was aged about five or six and was more interested in putting his hands through the elastic on the bib he was wearing than what was happening further up the ground.  The father, an intimidatingly sized man who looked like he had not played football or participated in any physical pursuit for some while became increasingly frustrated.  Finally, he stalked out onto the field and ripped the bib off the boy, flung it onto the ground and dragged the boy off by the arm.  The mother, shame faced, picked up her son's backpack and followed behind.  She was, in my opinion, unnaturally quiet. We were shocked and saddened by what we had witnessed.  My sister has told me that this sort of behaviour is not uncommon.  This is Auskick!

The problem seems widespread.  A recent newspaper article  (The West Australian June 24-25, p5) described the increase in abusive behaviour in football and the associated difficulties in retaining umpires.  A friend whose son attends a school in Perth mentioned that the Headmaster had sent a letter home to parents reminding them of The Code of Conduct at Sporting Fixtures.  This was in response to several incidents including ...

• students swearing at coaches and umpires
• swearing in general- boys, coaches and officials
• parents abusing each other, opposing teams, coaches and officials
• visiting parents abusing the school nurse.

His message included these words,"If we do not model acceptable behaviour then it is difficult to demand it in return."

It is very sad to think that some parents think they are supporting their child by becoming involved to this degree and in this manner.  The expression on the face of the little boy who was dragged from the field by his father that day still bothers me.  I wonder what behaviour he will be modelling with his own children in the future.

Words To Live By

'In the end only kindness matters".  It's a line which resonated with me after hearing Rachael Leahcar sing Jewel's song, "Hands" during an episode of The Voice.  How I loved that show! However I am quite relieved it's over to be honest.  I cried through most of it and the extra tissue expenditure was beginning to eat into my budget.

Only the most hardened individuals could be unmoved by Rachael's determination and attitude coupled with Karise and her battle to overcome personal issues.  Even the singing teacher from Delta's team caused me to shed a tear or two as I empathised with her desire to have her shining moment before she slumps into the murky depths of motherhood.  I felt happier though when she changed her hairstyle.

My fellow man/woman is a constant source of inspiration and amazement.  Rachael and her positivity in the face of adversity has inspired in me a desire to resurrect my New Year's resolution from 1982-2005 which, in essence, was "To Be A Nicer Person".  Jewel's profound words of faith and adversity in the face of obstacles and despair rekindled something shrivelled and wizened within my spirit and I am once again plumped up with goodness and purpose.  (Post 2005 my resolutions involved reducing my alcohol intake).

Rachael's exhortation and encouragement to smile though beset by problems and setbacks has given me the boost I need to strive against my genetic predisposition to despondency, gloom and cynicism.  If I had a dollar for every time some comedic genius has said to me,"Smile, it can't be that bad",I would be shopping at Prada.  This one sided dialogue began when I was still in my pram.  Over the years these encounters have caused me to hone my F*** You expression to a laser-like cutting edge but when it first happened it took me by surprise. Because I was not sad or worried.  My default expression is morose.

Some people are blessed with naturally cheerful and upbeat personalities and the faces to match.  Others, like myself, have to work at it.  I try to look at the bright  side and to stop and smell the roses/coffee/freshly mowed grass but I find it much more natural to whinge and bitch and moan.

Rachael is correct though when she says that it makes others feel better if you smile (sometimes the natural downward trend of my features can make other people nervous). That in itself is reason to keep plugging away.  To this end I have downloaded the song onto my iPod and I hope the subliminal reinforcement will assist me in my quest.  For your edification here is a link to 'Hands" by Jewel.  It's a beautiful song and worth another listen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lk0bKfC8XSE

Book Club

Last night I ventured out into the freezing night to attend Book Club.  Since 1993 a group of women ranging in age from mid eighties to early twenties have assembled at the local hotel to discuss a novel each month.

Book club is the highlight of my social calendar.  Living in a rural community as a non sporting enthusiast limits social opportunities.  This isolation became especially noticeable once my children completed primary education and moved away to boarding school.

Over the years we have read some fabulous books.  We actually do talk about the books but the discussion usually veers on to other topics.  Book Club has acted as a network and support group and has been a really positive part of my life.

Before my marriage I worked as an English teacher and I have always loved reading and books.  One of the perks of being the Book Club coordinator is that I am largely responsible for the selection of books so only rarely do I find the books not to my taste!  

Last night we discussed State of Wonder by Ann Patchett.  We all enjoyed the compelling plot and discussed the impact of contact with Westerners on the primitive people of the Amazon, the unscrupulous motivations of multi-national drug companies and our unanimous distaste at the notion of being parents in our twilight years.

State of Wonder reminded me a little of Heart of Darkness, a novel I read many years ago (so many!).  Perhaps it was the jungle setting but also the idea that without the boundaries of civilisation our true natures are revealed("The horror!  The horror!")

In a sense book club is like this.  There in the enclosed dining room we shed our public faces and can reveal our true selves.  Luckily my  fellow book clubbers are more empathetic than your average jungle dweller and our hearts are not so dark.

What happens at Book club, stays at book club but suffice it to say that over the years nearly every book club member has been able to draw support, encouragement and perspective on some very challenging life events through referencing themselves to events and characters in the books under discussion and from sharing concerns with the other members.

The wine also helps!