Category Archives: stuff

sistah

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A friend recently mentioned how anxious she sometimes gets when she has to meet up with a whole bunch of women. Anxious about whether she’ll fit in, whether she’ll be suitably dressed, whether she’ll be accepted, whether she’ll be liked.  And not because she is insecure about who she is, but because she is an individual, she is different because she is open, she is honest, she is a strong woman, who respects others choices but won’t make them her own. I so get my friend. What I don’t get often, is other women.  Sadly, sometimes I just don’t trust women.  I love my women friends, but I do have to say I don’t often love some women.  Women are very often other women’s worst enemies.  And I know it often stems from insecurities, a need to be better, be prettier, be wittier, be more popular. Often a fear that they won’t be accepted. That they aren’t good enough. And that by putting others down, they’ll feel better about themselves. Well they are good enough. We all are. But I truly do no longer have time, empathy yes, but time no, for those women who subtly (or not) via a look or a nasty comment disguised as not, or a smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes,  let their insecurity mask their human-ness.  If there is such a word. My wish is that we can all live and let live, celebrate our differences and our strength and meet each other with warmth in our eyes. And our hearts. We are sisters, after all.

hope

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Mmmmm, this is quite a touchy subject.  There have been a few moments lately when I have felt my hackles rise but true to the new me have breathed. Before responding.  Also to be honest, the response might be seen in a very defensive light, and that is not intended.  I am referring to the ignorant, misrepresented, without knowledge or understanding, generalised comments always levelled at South Africans who have apparently fled to Australia. I am over it. You don’t know me, or us. I do not need to explain myself to you or anyone else. But, my biggest failing in life is a need for fair representation for all, fair treatment for all. Failing because I always feel the need to speak up, I simply cannot let it be. So, don’t judge and don’t misrepresent and don’t hide behind your own fear. The fear that makes you ignorant and judgemental of others. The fear that makes  you need to justify your own actions and denigrate others. The fear that makes you need to feel better than others. Because you are not. Nobody is. You may still be there but does that mean you are contributing to positive change. To a better future for all. No matter the colour of your skin. What difference are you making? We took up an opportunity. To make a difference. To our children lives and to the lives of those we left behind. And to those who suffer at the hands of prejudice. Yes, we sponsor families, we support and contribute what we can to Africa financially, we care. But the important bit, is the bit we are doing for our world. For a hopeful future. By bringing up children who are tolerant, who see equality in all, who are kind, who are charitable, who share, who believe in taking responsibility for their own actions, who believe in love, who do not judge, who do not believe anyone should be celebrated or punished for others misdeeds but that we should all look to the future and be the change we so desperately crave. For humanity. And that we would do no matter where we are. How about you?

maniac

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B had me in stitches this morning with stories as only he can tell them about how bullet proof as he puts it South Africans are. Well, actually what was hilarious is how un bullet proof he has become being here. There is a sadness about how desensitised we become to poverty, crime, corruption and mayhem when we live with it every day. But today it was a funny story.  B was on a technical recce in Parow in Cape Town, when approaching the team on the street was a gentlemen weaving, shouting and wielding a box cutter. If they supported the ANC, he would cut them he threatened maniacally.  B found himself backing away quite rapidly, I mean he said, the guy was manic, and dangerous, he could have lashed out at any one of them. The rest of them just stood there and shooed him off. B was in hysterics as he recounted the look of incredulity on all their faces when looking at him, saying, where you going?? As if he was the odd one for backing off, not them for not. I mean imagine if someone came weaving up to one of us here in Noosa with a dangerous object, threatening to cut anyone who supported the Labour Party or LNP or whomever … Actually, it’s an impossible stretch.

bugger that

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We had an interesting moment yesterday. Well, I thought it was. It interests me how subtly the girls are changing. Kate had a secondary music recital thing … we as parents were asked to bring something along for afternoon tea. Because I always was the woman in “I don’t know how she does it“, Alison Pearson’s book, not the movie, cos I loved the book and hated the movie, except I never pretended my shop bought cakes and cookies and things were homemade (I never had enough time and quite frankly didn’t give a damn). Anyway, so I thought I would make something for Kate to take (not sure whether to absolve my latent guilt or because I’m bored) … and I thought I would do those fab cheese puffs from Lynn’s mom that both my girls love. Kate was horrified. Why are we taking anything? We’ll be the only ones. And anyway why can’t you just buy a packet of biscuits? And if you (must) make something why does it have to be something South African with melted bovril (didn’t have marmite, Lynn) and butter drizzled over fabulously crisp cheese scones with a soft melted cheesy centre.  I mean, nobody here knows bovril. It will be weird. Ergo I will be weird. I will be noticed. I will stand out and god forbid that happens. So, I settled on shop bought donuts, which I did arrange on a lovely muted 70’s green serviette and serving platter. Thank god for the other mum who brought the dainty tray of cupcakes or else I would have been the only one and then could you imagine how mortified my daughter would have been. What is with that? Is it a secondary we’re so cool thing, or is it a “don’t stand out” australian thing or is it a combination?? And why does nobody bring anything in? Is it just a we couldn’t be bothered who really cares kind of thing? Well, stuff it, we will still bring in our offerings, no matter how depleted. Because that’s us. And damn my girls need to be proud to stand up. Even if they are the only ones. And anyway, my donuts were eaten within seconds.

pause

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I read a fabulous blog today that brought so much stuff flooding back, stuff in my need to plough ahead in my life I avoid thinking about. Not deny ever happened but simply avoid. I’m sure by now I’ve mentioned often my recently acknowledged life strategy to you, that of avoidance?? The blog, her current journey with cancer and emotions associated are so familiar to me. So real. Yet so far away. But today they were right here. I now acknowledge how much time I’ve lost. Or gained. I lived, I was there, I was so very there, but also somewhere else. There was so much I hadn’t signed up for or hadn’t realised I’d signed up for. So much that I lost and gained, that I had to redefine myself in inordinate ways. Redefine probably isn’t the right word, but rediscover. Actually probably not rediscover either, but discover. Discover me. But before I could even take a breath from my last treatment, we relocated to another country. To no-one and nothing. I had to start again without even knowing who I was anymore. I’m starting to understand why I adopted avoidance as a strategy. It was just less painful. It’s four years now to the day (we arrived in Australia on 16 May 2008) and I’m still faltering. Still discovering. But I’ve decided, I’m no longer avoiding. But I’m also not ploughing ahead. I’m just on pause. And actually, that’s ok.

fucking nice

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I agree it’s not ideal to say fuck on the tennis court, even if it is directed at yourself. But  especially not when the tennis court is at school. I know there is no need to swear and I could have said fooey as was suggested, but I didn’t. I do know it is a legacy left from a lifetime in advertising where swearing was everyday. And no, not to insult, or hurt but simply to explain, share, show strong emotion. Among adults. That is fucking awesome means so much more than that is awesome, or that is so awesome or that is very awesome. Or even that is bloody awesome. Everyone understands. I agree that some times it is just not ideal. But please whatever you do, don’t judge me by how I speak, but rather by who I am and how I behave. I am not frightened of words, but I am frightened of people who hide behind ‘nice’ words and judgements. I know awful people who never swear. I know fabulous compassionate kind people who swear. It is never meant to disrespect anyone, because for me it is just an adjective, a very descriptive word. But just a word. And yes, a habit. But, I could think of worse habits to have.

l.o.v.e

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Those who know me will have heard me saying, often, depending on what decision I’m needing to justify, that love for children, I believe is spelt t.i.m.e. I’m being self deprecating but I do actually believe it. Even though I’m not always very good at showing it. Nonetheless, for me, the notion of quality time is just that, a notion. When we decide now I have some time for quality time with my kids might just not be the time when listening or sharing or being is happening or wanted or needed. Obviously we can’t all be with our children when they wish or when its needed, but we can all try and be present when we are there. And try fill our time less. Just hang a bit more. Be still a bit more. Share t.i.m.e, aka love a bit more. Actually what got me thinking about this was this am as B tried to FaceTime with us. He is 8hours behind so for him it was midnight so he was quiet and gentle and wanted to chat to his girls. But his time for quality time was not theirs. Kate’s response was I’m doing my hair. And Jem was at band. And one might think he could have called earlier but he tried that the day before, and did get Jem, but Kate simply couldn’t open her teenage eyes. So to B’s credit, he just hung around on FaceTime, being in the morningness of home. It reminded me of how to spell love, and how tough this must be for B. Being away I mean. Because the one thing he doesn’t have with his girls is time.

messy

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We were all in tears tonight. All three of us girls. Jem over her friends (girls can be such little bitches), Kate over a boy (boys can be so pathetic) and me just because I felt like it. It was either too long a long weekend, which is when I think we all do feel B not being home the most. Or it was all the oestrogen. Or the lack of in my case.  If we aren’t crying, we’re yelling, or we’re laughing. Sometimes even all at the same time. Menopause and puberty were simply not supposed to happen simultaneously. It can all just get a bit messy. But the messy emotional girly stuff isn’t always all that bad. Sometimes it’s just necessary. Sometimes it’s just what is needed.

swearword

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I have never professed to be a perfect mother. No-one really is, we all just try our best. This morning was one of those less perfect moments. For some reason I have not got my oomph back since our trip so am playing catch up all the time. We were running late for school, I had only got to bed well after midnight trying to fix a washing machine that had clothing soaking and locked in it, the pest control people were coming in at 8.30 to do their annual spray thingy, I was trying to tidy up at least a bit, whilst brushing my teeth and Jem was waiting for me to do her hair and I was throwing on my clothes, knowing I still had heaps to do when Kate started calling Mom, mom, mo-o-o-o-mmm, mo-o-om. Mom! Ohh, fuck off, I said. It was what I felt so I said it. Just quietly and matter of factly. Enough. Jem was in earshot, caught my eye, she looked horrified and I looked sheepish. We burst out laughing. I did explain that I didn’t really mean it, I just meant it a little bit.  Because sometimes, just sometimes, just for a little bit, I do hate the word mom.

a gift

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Arienne and I had a chat with an inspiring woman today. An unexpected gift, this chat. She is a fifty something stylish elegant Canadian woman who has lived in Australia since she was nineteen. She is a true example of a woman living her life by her ideals. Living fearlessly. She was driving home late last friday afternoon (she lives in Eumundi which is a bit away from town), when she spotted three young hitchhikers. She noticed them particularly because the only girl was carrying a suitcase. Who hitchhikes with a suitcase, she wondered. And the poor girl was struggling a bit. And there was a storm brewing. And they were carrying a sign for Airlie Beach. Which is over 800kms away. She passed them and then seeing the sky, she turned back. She asked if they knew how far away Airlie beach was. A dutch boy and a french boy and girl, they clearly didn’t. Nor that it was illegal to hitchhike in Australia. She thinks it was because she was once looked after as a young hitchhiker that made her offer. Offer to give them a lift. And a place to stay for the night because of the impending storm. The trio graciously declined and said they would attempt to get a bit further. She gave them her number to call her if they changed their mind. And off she went. They did. And what a perfectly wonderful evening she had. What lovely young graduates with much to share. And even more perfect when the young frenchman said he would like to contribute to dinner as he had some food with him.  She was not expecting Tasmanian Salmon.  In a backpack en route to Airlie Beach. How perfectly french. She giggled and laughed and remembered as she shared. What a gift to her that evening was. How many of us would have done that? How many of us would have even considered it? The compassion, empathy and concern for others so outweighed her concern for herself. How wonderful to live a life free of fear. How inspiring. What a wonderful gift she gave them. The gift of her, of her time, of her lack of judgement. The gift of kindness. What a wonderful gift she gave us today. By simply sharing.