23 June There is always something to be involved in here, whether a 20km walk for breast cancer, a theatre offering, a triathlon, a food festival, a jazz festival, a literary offering, a surfing festival, a debate, a degustation dinner. And then some. I am grateful for where we live, for all it offers, for the wonderful selfless people that the world depends upon, for friends who make getting up at 5am in the dark fun. And for a reason to have champers at 10am.
Today I met my latest inspiration. I am grateful I went along to Marieke Hardy’s talk as part of The Noosa Longweekend Festival. She is controversial, witty, insightful, sharp, honest, political, vulnerable. She is an author, an actress, a blogger, a contributor to frankie magazine and The Age, a scriptwriter and often seen on ABC. When asked what she believes she is best at she replied ‘at telling the truth’. Even though sometimes her family wish she wouldn’t. No prizes for guessing why I found her inspiring.
Seeing Kate wearing the jersey (or jumper) my ouma, her great granny, had crocheted for me when I was about her age was just wonderful. I loved that jersey and I’m so grateful Kate loves its now indie vintagey vibe. I’m especially grateful that the trendy sales assistant at Alterior Motif, one of Kates favourite stores, loved it too. My ouma would be thrilled.
I ran away today. Day one and I ran away. From my kids. Kate is feeling ill and emotional and just generally needy and annoying and moody too. Jem wants to know what’s for breakfast after she turned down an offer to join B and I for brekkie downstairs. And she’s moody too. And they’re both bloody messy. And just there. Shit and its day one of school holidays. And I just didn’t feel like dealing with them today. I love my kids so much but I think I love them even more when they are at school. And if you are this far with me you know a lot about me and my family and the love we share and my gratitude for them and the characters that they are. But have I ever admitted that I never wanted them? Well, never wanted kids. My plan was not to get married, never to have kids and focus only on me and my career. My plan. Me. In Control. Then I fell in love. And we loved being the two of us. But then we decided at some point that something was lacking, not with us but just lacking and at 31 the kiddy thing started. I offered 6 weeks of myself. Then I was back at work. Well, that never happened either. I did go back, but later and as a very different person, with a very different view on the world. The thing about kids is suddenly you realise you are no longer in control. Not that I ever was, but I loved the illusion of it. So, this morning, I left. Because I could. Just for a moment. And I do love my kids. And I am grateful for them. More than anything in the world. But then, you knew that.
I suspect it might be because I’m the giver of nightly fresh food but whatever the reason little Jayde seems to have developed a soft spot for me. She’s always up for a little cuddle, her favourite spot in the evening being on the couch behind my head, often snuggling under my hair. She seems to feel secure there. I’m grateful for the love of a sweet little creature. Whatever the reason.
I mentioned I’d read Fifty Shades of Grey. And Fifty Shades Darker. And Fifty Shades Freed. And was asked what I thought. I must admit I was intrigued. Especially after Helen gave me a copy of time magazine with a write up on it. I mean, it was in time magazine. I bought it at the airport. Erotic fiction is not exactly a good aeroplane read with a stranger in the seat next to you or your sweet little daughter asking what you reading mom? Quite explicit. But oh so tedious. And oh so badly written. And so repetitive, even her choice of words. Same adjectives used over and over and over and over again. The first sex scene was intriguing, the dominant submissive bondage thing, but then became so formulaic, so unexplored, so expected I actually flicked ahead. Tum ti tum. Mommy porn? So if you wonder why then I read all three, I can only blame my need to finish things, my obsessiveness, my need for linear completion, and my curiosity. I just wanted to know what happened at the end. Damn. But my advice to you, if you are hoping for good fiction, don’t bother. It’s a happy ending. Even if all you want is a good read, a good story line, well written sex scenes, don’t bother. If you want to be titilated, didn’t do that for me either. In my opinion the hoopla is just not worth it. In fact, I am a tad confused by it.
I washed today and ironed today and washed some more and ironed some more. I am grateful B is home with a bag full of washing. I am. Really I am. But I hate ironing. And no, I simply cannot find my meditative ironing bliss. But I am grateful for the little chuckle at my life. At change. At choice. I am grateful for my newfound humility and my silly pride at a job well done. But I still hate ironing. And I still don’t do windows.
I thought quite seriously about getting a tattoo at one point. To celebrate life. A flower chain on my wrist that I would add to every year since I finished treatment. I thought about it seriously for a minute. Naah. One, tattoos are not for me. And two, I was so determined not to be defined by this, not to be Lianne Cawood, cancer survivor. And that tattoo would help me do that. And I do so like to define myself in concrete ways. Which is not a good thing. And anyway, it’s there whether I like it or not. The cancer survivor thing. But it’s only a little part of me. You see, yesterday was not only our anniversary it was also the anniversary of my mastectomy. 5 year anniversary. And that’s the reason I am so glad I never got that tattoo, because that is all that would matter. Every day. But yesterday we mattered, not it. Now I love the sudden reminder, the wow can you believe it was 5 years ago feeling. That was then, this is now. I’m writing about it because it was a wow moment and I love that, and hopefully someone will get hope from our ability to smile now. And also because I realised I haven’t quite put this tattoo thing to bed yet.
I am grateful B remembered it was our anniversary today before I did. I suspect I would have been less than gracious had it been the other way around. I am also grateful for the fortuitous timing of his return. Despite me forgetting (momentarily(!)) the day we got married 18 years ago, I suspect I would have been less than gracious had he not been home to celebrate. I am especially grateful for the magnificent day we were blessed with today. It has been a very good day.
I am grateful for homecomings. The bliss of B and his girls being together again. For us being whole again. For things being just as they should be.
grace and dignity 