Life. Be in it!

"You're on borrowed time!"  So said my oldest friend, a medical professional who is oh so weary of hearing about my aches and pains, strange tingling sensations and suspicious freckles.  I was a little confronted when she said this.  There has been the sense that the future is limitless and full of opportunities, places to see, books to read, experiences to enjoy; one day when all the planets align.

When she spoke these sage words it was with the clinical knowledge that at around 50 things start to wear out,  break down, seize up and become problematic to the enjoyment of seeing places, reading books and enjoying experiences.  "One day" may never eventuate. This epiphany was compounded by the news that a person who I had had a mad crush on at university had died suddenly.  He once declined an invitation from me to a friend's wedding because he had to run in the City to Surf Marathon. I don't think he made it up but he was probably grateful for the scheduling clash.  Sadly his lifelong commitment to fitness did not assure him of longevity.

Of course this was the first experience where I was aware of a life curtailed prematurely.  It is devastating to the family left behind.  Life is precarious and precious.  People can lead a righteous life in terms of diet and exercise and still be struck down by illness.  Other people seem to kick on to a great age, swilling bucket loads of toxins and not one anti-oxidant will pass their lips. But no matter how many inspirational quotes I read on social media I still need to be reminded regularly to live in the moment and to make the most of each day.  I know it intellectually but daily frustrations beat it out of me time and time again.


Anyway, I think we all have those moments from our past that are forever emblazoned on our synapses ( or is it just me?) and not even a yawning chasm of years can diminish the intensity of the embarrassment you fell when the memory surface.  One of mine involves this person and it is sort of odd that I am now alone to bear knowledge of the details.  I won't disclose them but suffice it to say I tried to convey my deep regard with a blatancy normally the province of male peacocks and Doomsayers wearing sandwich boards.

My crush lasted a few years and was not reciprocated but he was super nice about it.  We went out once and it was unsuccessful largely due to the fact that I was rendered inarticulate by my anxiety.  The evening involved a documentary film on surfing which was followed by baklava and coffee. Being more of a beer and "The Princess Bride" sort of girl ( at the time, now I am a SSB and "The Princess Bride" sort of woman) it was not really my thing and it is difficult to be attractive while consuming pastry.  I kept flashing back to the EMBARRASSING MOMENT. Conversation was awkward, stilted and thankfully over by 10:30pm.  There was no second date and even I was grateful.


I have not followed his progress avidly but I know he recovered from this and went on to marry and have children.  No doubt he thought he would enjoy many more years with them.  I am sure he never gave me another thought and I am sorry that I have wasted several minutes of my life inwardly cringing at my past behaviour.  I think there may be truth in the following:

And finally, for those of you who like me, having a seemingly "endless parade of moments" you would rather had panned out differently, a word of comfort from Marilyn.

Running Off At the Mouth

I quite fancy my dentist, albeit in a purely aesthetic way.  Of course he is far younger than I am but I still have an appreciation. I am just looking. It is impossible to ignore him when I have spent so much time (and money) in his proximity. Once I have checked out the lamp, the roof, the tasteful seascape on the wall and the interior of the very daggy sunglasses he forces me to wear, there is nothing else to see. My consideration of him has been intense recently due to my urgent need for a root canal and the necessity for many appointments.  He has also treated my daughter in the past.  She agrees with my assessment but places him in the hot but older category due to his application of hair products.  A fondness for hair gel does not rule him out for me.  He is good looking, well mannered, intelligent, caring and smells as fresh as a Scandinavian fjord.

Sadly, even if I were keen to make my admiration known he would never be able to reciprocate.  You are so exposed reclining on the dentist's chair, caught in the high beam of the lamp's relentless glare while he studies your teeth, and face in general, while wearing special magnifying glasses.  At my last appointment he and the nurse were chatting about these expensive glasses and about how the tooth seems to be a smooth and polished surface until you put the glasses on and all the blemishes, crevices and rough patches are brought into focus.

 This revelation caused me to squirm uncomfortably and suddenly I was cast back a good 30 years to my university days and my reading of Jonathon Swift's Gulliver's Travels.  For those of you whose knowledge of Gulliver extends only to the Land of Lilliput, Gulliver also travels to the Land of Brobdingnag which is inhabited by giants.  My recollection is vague and clouded by this mists of time but, in short Gulliver viewed  them as grotesque with their larger than life humanity and their enormous pores.

Keeping to the Gulliver theme I am with Glum (from the cartoon not the novel) on the chance of my high regard ever being returned. "It's Doomed....We'll never make it".  If the scrutiny of my magnified pores, wrinkles and blemishes hadn't dashed any chance I had  my tendency to drool would have.  The rubber sheet thing that is stretched across your face and somehow in your mouth, suffocating and causing the gag reflex to go on high alert caused me to produce an geyser-like stream of dribble which ran all down the side of my face to the back of my neck.  A fistful of tissues was produced to mop up but my humiliation was complete. It was an involuntary response which the lovely man did say was an occupational hazard but when I could finally speak intelligibly I said, "I think I could dribble for Australia."  He replied, "Yes I think you could too."

Road Rage

I have clocked up many miles driving back and forth to the city (4 and a half hours away) where our daughters attended high school.  Even before that when they were at the local primary school it seemed I was forever on the road going to pick them up, or off to a meeting, or taking them to weekend sport.  When my older daughter had to describe the occupations of her parents she said, "Dad is a farmer and Mum is a Driver!"

Of course in the hours I have spent behind the wheel I have muttered a few obscenities at the occasional deluded motorist who performs an erratic/ill judged/dangerous manoeuvre in front of me.  I have even tooted twice!  Once in a crowded car park so that the driver wouldn't reverse into me (I was in their blind spot) and once when the other driver pulled out onto the highway causing me to brake hard.

I did feel bad about that because when I passed the car the other driver was some one's great grandma I think.  Still, it was a bad mistake which could have caused an accident.  In general I think I am a reasonably capable driver but I am in no way a perfect driver.  I have had my fair share of dings and scrapes.  I have reversed into a pole, a retaining wall and the car of a visitor to my home.  I have learned that you can achieve a great result to a dented bumper with a hair dryer and a can of touch up paint.  I too have been beeped!  For this reason I have mastered the art of the apologetic wave.  I use this when I have misjudged or got in the wrong lane or performed a minor driving faux pas.  On a couple of occasions I have done something so heinous that an apologetic wave wouldn't have sufficed and I would not have been surprised if the police had been informed and fronted me afterwards.  Luckily no damage was caused, except the deep shame I always feel when driving though Cuballing. I think they have altered that intersection because of me.  I shall say no more.

I do try to be a considerate driver.  I let people in if the traffic is heavy I try to be patient if they haven't noticed the light change.  In short I try to drive by The Golden Rule! I think it's important to acknowledge that you are just as likely  to make an honest mistake as much as other drivers and to rein in the tendency to be intolerant and discourteous.  By honest mistake, I don't mean driving through a stop sign I hasten to add.

Yesterday my daughter had to attend an appointment at a major hospital.  Being unfamiliar with the car park she mistakenly drove into the entry to a boom gated car park for staff only.  Realising her error and needing to reverse out, she got out of her vehicle to politely ask the woman behind her if she would reverse out so she could do the same.  My daughter could not have been more apologetic or polite but this woman was unnecessarily belligerent and ungracious.  She grudgingly backed out a little bit, but not fully, which caused my poor girl to have to drive over the curb thereby scraping the undercarriage of her car.   She was left upset and flustered by this encounter and by this woman's rudeness.

Obviously this woman may have a nice side/many problems/a prickle in her bum but I think she is in all likelihood just a bag of snot!  Hoping what they say about Karma is true.

Beauty and the Eye of the Beholder

“She held herself very straight, like Audrey Hepburn, whom all women idolize and men never think about.”

Jeffrey Eugenides, The Virgin Suicides It is so strange to me that Jeffery Eugenides would write this.  The beautiful, elegant Audrey is so engaging I think. Does this mean I can now breathe out?  I've been trying to hold my stomach in since 1982.  Women are obviously not on the same page as men when it comes to what is admirable in a woman physically.  The more statuesque proportions of stereotypical pin up girls are not what Audrey is best known for so perhaps that is why men, allegedly, never think about her. Luckily, for most of us with some sort of hang up about our appearance, it's not all about the superficial (in real life anyway, fantasy life is another thing). Men are probably a lot less critical of women than women are of themselves.  Back to Audrey, I love this image and quote which is attributed to her.      But even more, I like this one from Catherine Deneuve. In my daydreams though, it's all about Sean Connery as Bond, James Bond.

Self-medicating With a Dose of Escapist Literature.

When I was a teenager I discovered the wonderful world of Georgette Heyer.  A world inhabited by elegant Corinthians who exchanged witty dialogue with girls wearing, more often than not, sprig muslin dresses.   My favourite book of hers is These Old Shades. A brief synopsis is that an English Duke in Paris rescues a young boy and takes him on as a page. Leon, however, is actually Leonie, and she is fiercely devoted to her rescuer. The Duke has recognised her as the child of a nasty fellow of his acquaintance and ultimately exposes her as such, thereby revealing the dastardly baby swap which had been made all those years before to ensure that the nasty man had a male heir. It's good stuff and it's cheaper than therapy.

My original copy looked like this but I have since had to replace it.  I love an imaginary man in pantaloons don't you?  

 This brings me to what is a sad admission.  Georgette herself spoke disparagingly of folk like me.  Behold the following, taken from The Private World of Georgette Heyer by Jane Aiken Hodge:

"Unfortunately, hardly any letters survive from before the 1940s, when she herself was in her forties and had been a best-seller for years. By this time she was taking a sadly deprecatory line about

her own work. Speaking of Friday’s Child in 1943 she says: "Spread the glad tidings that it will not disappoint Miss Heyer’s many admirers. Judging from the letters I’ve received from obviously feeble-minded persons who do so wish I would write another These Old Shades, it ought to sell like hot cakes. I think myself I ought to be shot for writing such nonsense, but it’s questionably good escapist literature and I think I should rather like it if I were sitting in an air-raid shelter, or recovering from flu. Its period detail is good; my husband says it’s witty—-and without going to these lengths, I will say that it is very good fun.”

Georgette Heyer pictured above looking down her nose at me, her most ardent admirer.

I am one of the sadly feeble-minded, but I persevere.  In my time I have immersed myself in this book and many others of a similar sort to seek refuge from the sometimes dire and often unromantic reality of the everyday.  It seems that Miss Heyer developed this self deprecating attitude as a response to the critics and commentators who did not appreciate the craftsmanship of her writing and her literary aspirations instead touting her as a proliferator of swashbuckle.

There is no doubt that she was a great writer  and in Jane Aiken Hodge's book about her it states:

"As well as the letters, Georgette Heyer left the unfinished typescript of about half of what she had planned as a serious mediaevel book, since published as My Lord John; a remarkable research library of some thousand volumes (now unfortunately dispersed); and a small but highly significant collection of papers, to which her son has kindly given me access. There was no attic full of carefully hoarded manuscripts and first drafts. A flat-dweller since 1939, she found the proliferating copies of her published books problem enough without indulging in the sentiment of keeping old papers, however fascinating they might have proved to prosperity. She saved a few reviews, and one fan letter. It was from a woman who had kept herself and her cell-mates sane through twelve years in a Romanian political prison by telling the story of Friday’s Child over and over again.” 

Romantic fiction can keep you sane!

If you are thinking of opting for this sort of panacea for the soul.  Have a look at this link which gives some good suggestions for where to start your romantic novel regime.


http://bookriot.com/2013/11/11/cat-ladies-sex-kittens-romance-rest-us-interview-sarah-maclean/

Fortune Favours The Brave!

It is interesting what constitutes news these days.  As I flicked through the weekend paper I came across the headline Daughter Left To Go It Alone which described how a young Perth girl had been taught to catch the train to school at age nine without the dubious advantages of a mobile phone or parental supervision. Now aged 16 the girl has developed a confidence and independence lacking in many of her peers due to the, "Be careful, be careful," approach to parenting practised by many today.  A well known commentator on childhood in Western Australia , Maggie Dent, describes how she encounters many anxious adolescents in her work and encourages parents to equip their children with opportunities to boost their confidence and their independence.  "You can actually do too much for your children,"she says.

This is something I have thought about a lot.  Both my children have Type One Diabetes and both have attended school in Perth as boarders. My younger daughter was diagnosed at age two and her sister at six.  As a result they have been under my scrutiny to a degree that irked them no end.  Both are capable, independent girls who have managed their own condition for some years, albeit with support from family, the wonderful Endocrinology Department at PMH and the school staff.  In addition to these people, the community and especially my closest friends, have enabled my daughters to develop the skills necessary to living an independent life.

Sleepovers were one of the first hurdles we negotiated.  In our community it was a tradition to have a Year Seven sleepover birthday party.  When my daughter's school friend's 12th birthday party was held in February we had made sure before the event that she could capably inject her own insulin.  However, my  mother-in-law had to go around to the birthday girl's house to draw up the injection.  In those days we were using syringes, not the Epi pens so convenient today.  It is not unusual for the sugary treats available at birthday parties to quickly disappear from the system with the energy used for all the games and the excitement birthday parties bring.  This meant that the mother of the birthday girl had to awaken my daughter several times during the night to check her blood sugar.  This is no small ask as birthday parties are often exhausting events requiring a huge effort. I am very grateful that she was prepared to take on this responsibility for a child not her own.  Over the years this sort of support has been generously given too many times to enumerate.

I think it is all about preparation and  "forewarned is forearmed'.  As in the newspaper article, the girl's mother accompanied her on the train journey the first time to show her what to do and where to go.  So did we lay the groundwork, in conjunction with the other people involved, to allow our girls top participate in activities that others mostly took for granted.  Both had their own ponies and went to Pony Club for example.  I vividly remember my daughter slumped and having a hypo on her pony after a trail ride went on for longer than expected during a Pony Club camp.  Luckily after some glucose all was well.  I can't rave highly enough about what an amazingly kind pony she had!

Beautiful Holly, now gone to live in a greener paddock with another little girl.

It has been a privileged childhood in many respects.  Country life and close-knit communities make it so much easier to feel comfortable that your children are safe and under  knowledgeable, watchful eyes.  The old adage "It takes a village to raise a child" has been so relevant in our situation.   One  Diabetes Clinic I attended with my daughter, then aged about 15 and who had been checking her own blood sugar for too many years to remember,  injecting insulin and even correcting doses as required for a few years, revealed that not everyone was so fortunate.

A boy aged about 17 was with his mother who I think may have been a single parent.  The boy had received a poor report on his control of blood sugars and the mum explained that he wasn't able to give himself the injections and had to wait for her to come home from work so that he had occasions where his sugar levels were too high for too long.  Such is the nature of  waiting rooms that you learn the details of other people's experiences.  I felt sorry for this boy and for his mum.  It has been an absolute blessing to have had so many people helping and supporting us over the years.

On my frequent journey's to the city I often stop to use the facilities at Wickepin (too much information?) Right next to the public loos is the Facey Homestead.  I loved "A Fortunate Life".  It is a great book and it is very humbling and confronting to think of the young Albert Facey who began his working life at around eight.  By fourteen he was an experienced farm labourer who had made his own way in the world for many years.  The world has certainly changed a lot since he was young but I am not sure it is really that much more difficult to negotiate.

The Facey Homestead at Wickepin pictured below.  People had so little in the way of creature comforts in those days.  My stash of pioneering spirit would have been depleted in short order.

"Love the world and yourself in it, move through it as though it offers no resistance, as though the world is your natural element."Audrey Niffenegger

This quote taken from 'The Time Traveller's Wife" encapsulates my hope for my children.  The likelihood that they will meet no resistance is infinitesimal but if having dealt with setbacks once equips you to to deal with them in the future I know they will be able to manage ok.  What is our job as parents?  I think one of the major ones is to prepare them to live without us.

Toddler Taming

In the lead up to my daughter's 21st birthday my mood has been contemplative and nostalgia has had me in its grip.  I have dug out all the old photos and whiled away the hours looking back at the gorgeous baby and toddler she was.  I have congratulated myself on what a stylish mother I was, dressing my adorable child in carefully put together ensembles with matching accessories, hair carefully clipped and toggled.  This phase was but a fleeting one alas, and it is not too far into the albums that the battle between mother and daughter is revealed.  The shirts on backwards, the unflattering but so well worn shorts which appear to have been worn 5 days out of 7, the cheeky (defiant) glint in her eye as she poses for the camera.

My daughter has advised me that it is probably not a good idea for me to publicly humiliate her by making a speech at the celebration we have planned in honour of her birthday. It's true that I am easily moved to tears in emotional situations such as any discussion involving my children.  I think I have had to surreptitiously wipe away the tears in every Parent/Teacher interview I've ever been to, even the 5 minute ones!  This being the case I thought I would reflect on some of the more memorable moments from her childhood here (and publicly humiliate her on the internet!).

One such moment was when at age three she decided to swallow one of her father's projectiles which I saw on the benchtop moments before she gulped it down.  We were moving into our newly renovated house at the time and all sorts of stray items were being found in strange places in the upheaval. I remember thinking I should put it away because my daughter was well known at a younger age for eating all sorts of inappropriate substances.  In fact at one point I started to fear that I would be reported as I had had to ring the Poisons Information Hotline so many times.  The assumption that she had moved beyond this stage was false and when I turned around moments later the projectile was gone and could not be located and although my daughter would not dignify me with a conclusive yes or no she had that look in her eye which confirmed that yet again I would be making the call and spending the night in the hospital.

FYI the projectile itself would have been able to move pretty freely through the digestive tract but the danger was that it would corrode and cause damage so its progress had to be monitored via x-rays until it emerged.  This involved popsticks people!!

At the time I was 38 weeks pregnant and I do confess that I was pretty unimpressed but off we went to a large regional hospital some 4 hours away where we were both admitted.  Although grateful my daughter was the picture of health I almost wished a transient stomach virus on her as where it was challenging to wrangle her at the best of times trying to keep her amused and confined to a bed in a quiet ward proved almost impossible.  I felt all eyes were on me also.  "There goes the woman whose daughter swallowed a bullet!", the whispering, the shame.

The hospital staff had to perform all the routine tests such as taking temperature and listening to her heartbeat.  These people could not have been more pleasant but for some reason my daughter had taken them in dislike and she would not cooperate despite their well practised ploys and encouragement.  I find it ironic that she now has a stethoscope of her own! Eventually the thing emerged and with great joy but feeling pretty worn out I staggered into the lift and there stood the attending physician.  As the lift doors closed he looked at me with pity in his eyes and said helpfully, "Have you read Toddler taming" by Dr Christopher Green?"  I had read it.  My copy was well worn and dog-eared.  "She's very intelligent", he said and got out.

It is of some comfort to me now that the qualities which made her a force to be reckoned with as a child will stand her in good stead as an adult.  She is determined, knows her own mind, resilient and not easily swayed from her purpose. She has strength of character and is opinionated but all this is combined with kindness, compassion and loyalty.  We couldn't be more proud at how she has turned out.

The new cover of Toddler Taming shown above reminded me of the time I had to get the plumber out because the toilet would not flush.  It all worked fine when he removed the mallee root and the Sesame Street teething ring she had wedged up behind the S bend.

All Dressed Up And Nowhere To Go.

My daughter asked me,"Why are you dressed up?  Aren't you just staying home today?"  I hadn't thought I had gone too over the top, I am just wearing jeans but I have accessorised and I am wearing make up AND I have blow dried my hair.  We live on a farm and often no other human being is sighted for the entire day. Still, I do this nearly every day even if it's just me and the dog.  It's just who I am and I am my mother's daughter.  She was the only patient in intensive care wearing lipstick after a near death brush with an aneurysm some years ago.

Recently I read some wise words: Get up.  Dress up.  Show up.  Never give up. Honestly, I think these simple steps can really help to keep an even keel in the turbulent waters of modern life.  It is apparently very important to maintain regular routines and sleep patterns when battling depression. Not that I am, but the tendency to rise late and lounge around in your unwashed trackie is sometimes difficult to control and exacerbates any feelings of gloom and apathy I occasionally experience. I really do I feel infinitely better about things if I am presentable.  On a couple of notable occasions I have been sprung in a by an unwary visitor and I am still suffering troubling flashbacks.

Although I have less reason to show up for things these days now my kids are living away and I no longer have to meet the bus, be involved in school organizations or take them to after school activities it is always uplifting to catch up with friends.

Everything*

You came one day and
as usual in such matters
significance filled everything—
your eyes, the things you
knew, the way you turned,
leaned, stood, or sat,
this way or that: when
you left, the area around here rose
a tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away.

—A. R. Ammons

  I read out this poem to a friend the other day because this is how she, and my other good friends make me feel after we have spoken.  I appreciate the different perspective and the whole "a problem shared is a problem halved" lessening of burdens that friendship and family can offer.  I think my friend was flattered and not too startled that I started spouting what may be a love poem at her!

As for the never give up part of it.  I am not sure I am a "Boy Stood on the Burning Deck" sort of person but I have got much to be thankful for.

The Measure of our Days

A friend bemoaned the passage of years to me last night.  I was surprised as this particular friend is not usually troubled by this sort of thing.  Mind you she is three years younger than I am, lucky thing.  The epiphany she had had came to her on a longish, solitary drive.  As is typical in this situation her thoughts turned to introspection, sands through the hour glass and so on.  She has recently become the proud owner of an upright Miele vacuum cleaner.  Instead of being cast into transports about this machine's unparalleled suction and swivel neck feature she was despondent.

The realisation that hit with a thwack like a stray marble up the hose pipe was that given that her old machine (Electrolux) had lasted 15 years this may indeed be her penultimate vacuum cleaner in this lifetime!!  For those of you frantically trying to do the maths 50 is not too far distant.  For her a bit more distant than for me but nonetheless these quality vacuum cleaners are likely to outlast us.  My husband thinks mine (Dyson) does not get enough use and will probably never wear out but I can certainly vouch for rigorous workout my friend gives her machine.  Her  home is dust and fluffball free at any given moment.

Cleaning is not my thing so I prefer to measure out my days in dogs. My last beloved pet lived for 15 years.  She was the most gorgeous puppy, a honey coloured Border Collie called Meg who  had the most beautiful nature.  She disliked being photographed and was frightened of thunder.  In her prime she had boundless energy but in her twilight years she preferred to laze on the verandah.  Toward the end of her life she was so arthritic she couldn't get on the verandah but ironically began to wander quite long distances. One day she wandered off and in her confused and exhausted state could not find her way home and we never saw her again.

 Beautiful Meg

Young Rosie

My current canine companion is approaching her 3rd birthday. She is a big-eared Beaglier who loves the sensation of running through tall grass and enjoys rolling in all manner of disgusting deposits.  Rosie is the only dog I have ever had who retrieves balls, sticks or whatever spit soaked object thrown for her. At this time of my life she is a sort of surrogate child but I try (not too hard) to not be pathetic about it. 

Assuming that she enjoys the same lifespan as her predecessor I can probably look forward to one dog after Rosie passes on to her Doggie Reward. I am incorporating a suitable mourning period into my calculations.  Mind you at the exponential rate that she sheds her white coat all through the house I will certainly be in the market for another decent vacuum cleaner as well despite what my husband thinks.