Tag Archives: dreams

I – Inspiration: Motivational Quotes A-Z Challenge.

Welcome to Day 10 of the Blogging A-Z April Challenge. As you may be aware, my theme this year is Motivational Quotes and these are geared towards people like myself who are working on their first book and getting it published one way or another. Obviously, it’s a long road from INSPIRATION to PUBLICATION!

Today, it was a toss up whether to choose inspiration or imagination. While there is much common ground, there is a distinction. In the end, I had Roald Dahl representing   Imagination:

“There is no life I know to compare with pure

imagination. Living there, you’ll be free if you truly

wish to be.”

Roald Dahl

 

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole

world around you because the greatest secrets are

always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who

don’t believe in magic will never find it.”

― Roald Dahl

However, when it came to INSPIRATION, there was Jonathon Livingstone Seagull:

“Instead of our drab slogging forth and back to the

fishing boats, there’s reason to live!

We can lift ourselves out of ignorance, we can find

ourselves as creatures of excellence and intelligence

and skill. We can learn to be free! we can learn to fly!”

― Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull

It was a done deal. Inspiration it is!

Personally, I don’t have any trouble finding inspiration or with being inspired. That after all is the initial spark which gets the fire going. It’s keeping that spark alight once I’m further down the track, where I struggle.

I am starting to understand that process better now. While they say slow and steady wins the race and that you need to pace yourself, I find that it’s more a case of making quick and easy progress at the start and a lot more effort is required as you progress through your project and that you could well have less return as well, especially if you’re talking about pure word count. Understanding that process is helping me overcome some of the doubts which sets in when the going gets tough.

Just another thought…. much of what I read about getting that book done and dusted talks about word limits. Stuff like write 1000 words a day. However, what you don’t hear, is that not all words are created equal. Perhaps, one day you might only write one word, but that word will change everything. Perhaps, not only just for yourself, but also for your readers.

I am currently writing a compilation of biographical short-fiction built around our combined gene pool of persons past. With this, I’m not as concerned about word length finding an angle. Something which will touch and inspire people. I want to put my finger on the pulse if that makes sense. So, instead of generating thousands and thousands of words, I’m immersing myself in research plucking the story out piece by piece like a restorer and yet hopefully infusing that spark which will bring these people back to life. This is a spark which all of our characters need in order to engage our readers, who are after all, our audience.

What inspires me most about these characters is when they overcome adversity in some way and that’s what I want to share. That we are not alone. Not the only ones who have ever been through trials and tribulations, been in the wrong place at the wrong time. These is something universal about being human and that is very much part of and the inspiration behind what I write. I want to help others, and I also want writing somehow help me put bread and butter on the table because none of us can survive on air. We need an income.

So, what inspires you and your writing? What do you do when your inspiration wanes? I’d love to hear from you!

Best wishes,

Rowena

D- Dreams, Doubt, Determination…Motivation A-Z Challenge

“Cherish your visions and your dreams as they

are the children of your soul, the blueprints of

your ultimate achievements.”

Napoleon Hill

Welcome back to my series of motivational quotes for writers and creatives for this year’s Blogging A-Z April Challenge. Today, I’ve decided to focus on three words which, at least in my mind, go hand in hand…Dreams, Doubt and Determination. Indeed, they’re all part of the production process which take us through to the finish…The End.

Dreams

How often has a writer or creative person been described as a dreamer? Moreover, while we might view being a dreamer in a positive light, the description is usually applied in the more derogatory sense…”You’re a dreamer'”. Or to quote one of my favourite Australian movies, The Castle: “Tell ’em he’s dreamin'”

“Writers write. Dreamers talk about it.”

Jerry B. Jenkins

Yet, in many ways, creatives need to be dreamers. Not only to come up with the initial creative spark which inspires a project, but also to set aside a massive chunk of time devoting yourself to something unknown, unseen… a vision. Something where there isn’t a pay packet at the end of each week, and you’re turning your back on the well-worn road  to a warm seat at a much-used desk and having what is otherwise referred to as a “real job”. In this sense, it takes us back to my first word in this series “adventure”. While “adventure” is usually portrayed as a more rugged and physically challenging  form of travel often involving daring physical feats like climbing Mt Everest, writing a book out of nothing, is also “a daring adventure”. It’s a massive risk, when there are so many other tried and tested paths. It is anything, but the easy road. Yet, somehow for some of of us, it becomes the only road.

Self-Doubt

This leads me to the flip side of dreaming, self-doubt. While that initial creative spark can be rather intoxicating, the process of converting that into a finished product is  challenging involving a lot of hard work, dedication and often crippling self-doubt.

Having experienced crippling self-doubt myself, I wasn’t surprised to find an abundance of quotes covering on the subject. Although he lived centuries ago, William Shakespeare could have been writing about me:

“Our doubts are traitors,

and make us lose the good we oft might win,

by fearing to attempt.”

― William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

However, it’s not just the up and coming who are plagued by doubt. In Modernism’s Patriarch (Time Magazine, June 10, 1996)] Australian Art Historian, Robert Hughes wrote:

“The greater the artist, the greater the doubt.

Perfect confidence is granted to the less

talented as a consolation prize.”

Even the great Tennessee Williams wrote:

“I don’t believe anyone ever suspects how

completely unsure I am of my work and myself

and what tortures of self-doubting the doubt of

others has always given me.”

This self-doubt can escalate and literally gain a stranglehold either in terms of creatives taking their own lives. Indeed, this incredibly heart-breaking loss of life is something our creative communities need to address. Too many have taken their own lives to keep hiding their epitaphs under the carpet. While nothing compared to the loss of life, too many truly brilliant ideas and valiant efforts have also been dashed against the rocks due to self-doubt.

“If you hear a voice within you say you cannot

paint, then by all means paint and that voice

will be silenced.”

― Vincent van Gogh

Determination

This brings me to determination, which often starts out with something incredibly basic…simply taking action.

“We all have dreams. But in order to make

dreams come into reality, it takes an awful lot

of determination, dedication, self-discipline,

and effort.”

– Jesse Owens

“Inaction breeds doubt and fear. Action breeds

confidence and courage. If you want to

conquer fear, do not sit home and think about

it. Go out and get busy.”

– Dale Carnegie

On a personal note, the photos featured in this post were taken at Palm Beach back in 2014 while I was having chemo treatment for my auto-immune disease, dermatomyositis. At this point in time, my future was looking rather grim, but I was also very determined to beat it. My kids were ten and eight at the time, and as much as getting a book published has long been my burning, almost all-consuming desire, the prospect of leaving my kids behind was excruciatingly painful. That was five years ago and the treatment worked and I’ve been in remission ever since, with ongoing ups and downs.
So when you see me standing on top of that rock, it personifies determination and overcoming all sorts of doubt. I also needed quite a lot of help climbing up and getting down. Yet, that’s okay. You don’t need to get there alone.
Best wishes,
Rowena

Dancing to the Stars

“Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!”

William Butler Yeats

A few weeks ago, I booked myself into an adult ballet class. The classes are being held at the dance studio my daughter attends. While taking up ballet again as an adult sounds crazy, it actually felt like a natural progression…the next step. After all, I’ve been driving my daughter to dancing for 6 years, and after years of being the spectator and observer, why can’t I have a turn? Why can’t Mummy get out of her taxi and spread HER wings?

Ameliabest

Our Dancing Queen

Dance in body, as well as mind, because I’ve been putting myself in other people’s dance shoes for years and even dance in my dreams. I borrow the best too…like a cuckoo moving into another bird’s nest. That way, I can almost reach the stars with my pointed toes, without even leaving my seat.

Amelia ballerina

Beach Ballerina

Yet, my time has come. After waiting in the wings all these years, I had to step out of Mum’s Taxi. Grab the bull by the horns and carpe diem seize the day. Shift gears from 1st position into 4th and even attempt a pirouette!

Watching was no longer enough.

As many of you can no doubt appreciate, taking action can be a huge thing for a writer. I suspect it could well be in our wiring, but we’re used to being the observer. Sometimes that’s because we’re in a support role, but I also know fear and a crippling sense of failure hold me back. So instead of doing, I write about it instead. Sound familiar? It’s great fuel for my writing, but you can end up living a second-hand life. Keeping your wings folded, never learning to fly even though you could.

However, all this positive thinking is only one side of the coin. The flip side is equally convincing.

Looking from a logical standpoint, me returning to ballet was ludicrous, ridiculous, stark raving mad. I have multiple disabilities and even struggle to walk along a footpath. I broke my foot last year walking on grass. So, how could I ever expect to dance? Added to all of that, I recently turned 47 so I’m no spring chicken.

Rowena

I had infusions of IVIG every 3 weeks for five years.

Bearing this in mind, I set the bar low and decided that even if I spend the classes sitting in a chair, if I can just hold my hands like a ballerina, I’ll be happy.

Yet, with so much stacked against me, I did have one ace up my sleeve. I’ve been watching ballet for 6 years and as a photographer, I don’t just watch, I absorb. I’ve been intrigued watching their bodies move in ways I could only ever dream about… setting their bodies free from all sorts of limitations, inhibitions and actually leaving the ground. Now, that my body struggles to move, I really know what that means. I appreciate being able to move, in the same way you savour that first day of Spring after a long bitter Winter. It’s pure joy and I take nothing for granted.

“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.”
Friedrich Nietzsche

After years of sitting on the sidelines, I recently noticed that I was enthusiastically tapping my foot in my chair and that the other parents weren’t necessarily tapping…only the dancers. Slowly but surely and through shedding years of being told I’m “unco” and believing dancers were wafer thin and very young, I felt there was a repressed dancer hiding inside. A dancer longing to come out of her cocoon in a safe, nurturing environment. That I was meant to dance.

Ha! Not that long ago, I even joked with the Principal that instead of being a DANCER, I am DANGER.

So, you get my drift.

So, what with all of that stacked against my dancing career, I didn’t tell my parents what I was up to and I joked about it with a few close friends in the same way you might announce that you thought you could fly to the moon.

rowena piano

Playing Moonlight Sonata after chemo.

Meanwhile, as I waited for the classes to begin, the doubts set in. Rather than feeling like a risk-taking explorer, I felt like I’d well and truly crossed over to the other side of crazy this time. You probably know the line:”But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell” from Matchbox 20’s hit “Unwell”, but you might not be so familiar with these lines, which sum up my apprehensions so well:

I’m talking to myself in public
Dodging glances on the train
And I know, I know they’ve all been talking about me
I can hear them whisper
And it makes me think there must be something wrong with me
Out of all the hours thinking
Somehow I’ve lost my mind.

Matchbox 20

Yet, this is the same person who plays the violin and skis, even if I don’t walk that well.

Rowena skiing downhill Fri

Skiing down the mountain at Perisher in August 2013.

Perhaps, walking is too pedestrian for me and I’m actually meant to fly:

“He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.”

Friedrich Nietzsche

So, tonight I finally headed off for my adult ballet debut…barefoot in concealing attire. I was thrilled my friend also signed up and we were embarking on this madness together. There were a couple of blokes in the group too. So, we were quite a motley crew. That was a truly special thing, because as our teacher pointed out, you don’t have to be a particular build, shape, gender or age to enjoy ballet. Ballet is for everyone.

“Every savage can dance.”

Jane Austen

So, how did I go?

Well, I could remember the basic positions… just like you never forget your times tables. However, as I stood in 1st position for possibly the first time since I was 11 years old, it didn’t feel like it used to. My legs have changed and it all felt odd, unfamiliar with no muscle memory whatsoever. On the bright side, while the movements felt strange, I can now understand the French ballet terms better than I used to…not that speaking the language necessarily translates into being able to keep up with the steps. Or, perhaps it does because I did keep up most of the time. Holding onto the barre, I pointed my foot, moved my arms, and dared to dream that the clumsy ducking could become a swan.

So far so good.

Yet, just when I thought it was time to go home, Miss Bronwyn mentions “pirouette” This is a term which eludes my French, but I know it means trouble. It all starts off with needing to focus on a spot on the wall and then turning your head and your body while moving your foot up near your knee, like a stork. I did try turning but at this stage I’m just focusing on the feet and keeping my balance.

So, I not only survived my first ballet class, I came home feeling exhilarated, fluttering with excitement and feeling frustrated that I have to wait a week for my next class. I am hooked. Not only with the joy of dance, but also experiencing the thrill of conquering so many boundaries and limitations. I even reacquainted myself with my inner hero. Great to know she’s back.

Now, I’ve got to get on with my homework. We need to practice our heel rises so we can be ready to jump.

Jump?

What the? The Castle’s Darryl Kerrigan had it right:“Tell her she’s dreaming”.

Yet, now I’ve stepped out, there is no turning back.

I will be dancing my way to the stars!

Have you ever tried something out of your league and found a missing piece of yourself? How did it feel?

xx Rowena

 

 

 

 

Writing prompt #32: Summertime

Another day, another writing challenge beckons. This one comes from Uli at Confessions of A Broccoli Addict: https://wordpress.com/read/blog/id/28417405/

Writing Prompt: Write a story or poem that includes the following words:

  • summer,
  • ice cream,
  • bicycle,
  • dog,
  • waffle iron.

So pop on your favorite version of “Summertime” (mine’s by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong) or another summer song, and get writing. Post your story/poem or link in the comments by June 22 to be included in the round up.

I’ll add my response in the comments and include it in the round up as well.

Riding my bicycle in my bikini,

liquid ice cream dreams

melt away.

Devoured

by the flapping tongue

of a thirsty dog

they disappear.

Evaporate.

It’s like they’ve never even been.

Oblivious to my ice cream woes,

the boy with the waffle iron

Find s love

In another’s arms.

Sometimes,

summer can be so cruel.

XX Rowena

PS It was tough trying to fit waffle iron into a poem!

The Unspoken Language of Love.

On Sunday, when we celebrated our son’s 11th Birthday, it was about so much more than cake, presents and even the much anticipated party. It was a golden opportunity to show our son how much we love and cherish him and for him to sparkle like a diamond in the candlelight. There’s nothing like your birthday!

If you read my last post, you’ll understand that celebrations have become quite a production and I wouldn’t be surprised if it soon finds its way to Broadway or London’s West End.

I’ve already dealt with the cake.

Now, we’re onto the presents…or THE present, in particular. You see, I gave Mister a second-hand Australian Army uniform, which I chanced upon at a local opportunity or thrift shop.

Choosing gifts is something I take pretty seriously. I really do try to slip inside someone else’s skin, walk around in their shoes, see the world through their eyes and their soul to find that “Wow thing”. That thing which makes their heart sing. Not only because they love it but also because they know I understand. I get them. This gift, therefore, somehow reflects that very special, often concealed inner self or perhaps the seeds of that very precious dream, which are just waiting to germinate, flourish and grow yet are still so tender, tentative and so very embryonic.

To put it simply, gift giving is a great way to show empathy, which is such an important component of love. It is the life-giving force which enables us to grow and reach for the stars.

After all, don’t we all know it when someone gives us something which misses the mark entirely or when our significant other gives us something so impersonal that it could’ve come from a stranger? These gifts affect us in a different way, so often stabbing a knife through the heart. Quite bluntly, they clearly don’t understand you at all!!

A happy birthday boy!

A happy birthday boy!

Although I don’t always find that perfect present which fulfills all these hopes and expectations, I did find the perfect gift for Mister and I couldn’t wait to see his response. As I mentioned, I bought Mister an Australian Army uniform I chanced upon at the op shop. Mister wants to join the army when he grows up and although I’m not keen, I pushed my own feelings aside and supported my son. Of course, the uniform is  way too big but dreams are like that at the start. We have to grow into them.

Having children is my greatest achievement. It was my saviour. It switched my focus from the outside to the inside. My children are gifts, they remind me of what’s important.

Elle Macpherson

More than just being an army uniform, this was a very special birthday present from me to him. It said I can put my values and desires aside to respect and nurture his dreams and encourage him to grow up and be himself, rather than trying to shape and mold him into who or what I think he should be and, in effect, turn him into a bonsai…a pruned and shrunk down version of who he was meant to be.

“Let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together, yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.”
Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

You see, in my youth I was pretty opposed to armies, war and battles. I even took part in protests against Australia’s involvement in the Gulf War and marched through the streets. I wouldn’t describe myself as a pacifist but I’d definitely be of the view: “Make love not war”.

Miss is dwarfed by the army pants.

Miss is dwarfed by the army pants.

I’m also a person who, at least I hope, has principles and have built up something called “character”. This means having values and standing up for what I believe in. Before the kids were born, for example, there were going to be no Barbies, no guns and definitely no signing up and joining the army. But as much as you bring up your children, they also modify you and seeing pure happiness and joy glowing on your child’s precious face does tinker with these values a bit. Or, at least, it does for me.

Hate to admit it but a persistent campaign of incessant nagging by your kids can also make an impact on all you held dear as well!

Mister was thrilled when he opened up his present. He was so happy with such an enormous smile that he was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat. I was happy too.  Both kids held  the uniform up against themselves and it looked ridiculously big, reminding me of a comedy sketch from Wallace & Gromit: The Wrong Trousers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pW6gj2n51sU

Watching the kids with the army pants reminded me of Wallace & Gromit in the Wrong Trousers.

Watching the kids with the army pants reminded me of Wallace & Gromit in the Wrong Trousers.

I’m sure Mister didn’t appreciate what giving him that army uniform represented. Of course, he doesn’t know just what a seismic shift it is for me to embrace his love of the army. While I love any form of history and honour our ex-service people and collect memorabilia and books from WWI and WWII, that’s very different from having your one and only beloved son go and sign up. That possibility, though still a long way off, does trouble me a bit because I was also his age once and that was when I decided to become a writer and I’ve never veered off course. Writing is like breathing and I even write in myself. Actually, truth be told, I’m often writing when I should be asleep!! I knew that’s who I was when I was 10 and it was set in stone.

However, as much as I have marched and protested going to war, I also felt it was important that I support my son in how he sees himself and in pursuing his dreams. Recognising who he is as a person and empowering him to walk in his own shoes instead of trying to impose me or my values on him like an iron on transfer. Just because someone is young, it doesn’t mean their dreams and values aren’t precious and worthy of recognition and respect, even if we would rather they pursued a different path. Our children need to know they can trust us with their dreams and aspirations. After all, they come from the very heart of the soul and are so very, very precious and need to be handled with kid gloves … certainly not ridiculed or rejected. That, would be like stomping on the precious wings of a beautiful butterfly which, having just emerged from its chrysalis and waited for its tender wings to dry, is about to take its first tenuous flight…and this is your child who is so much more worthy than that.

So I gave him the army uniform and made him happy.

So happy that he took the army uniform to school on Monday, particularly to show his teacher whose son is in the army. He was as proud of punch and he truly respects all that the uniform stands for and what it means to fight for your country. Well, as much as you can when you’re an 11 year old kid and war is on the other side of the world and it’s not in your own backyard.

So I managed to get it right.

Or did I?

After all, was it just coincidence that I strayed across that army uniform in the op shop or was it meant to be? Serendipity? God? Destiny fate?

This isn’t just an erroneous question. I am an op shop addict and I have never seen an army uniform for sale in an op shop before and yet there it was just a couple of weeks before Mister’s birthday. As much as I might have decided to stretch myself well beyond my comfort zone to encourage his dreams, I also suspect I was nudged.

Interesting!

Our mothers give us so many gifts. They give us the precious gift of life, of course, but they also leave treasured lessons that can guide us along our journeys even when they are no longer with us.

Maria Shriver

By the way, I should point out that while I was protesting, Geoff’s brother was actually in the Australian army and Mister has grown up with Uncle Terry’s slouch hat in the house. Geoff’s Great Uncle Ralph French died in France during WWI and we have been down to the Australian War Memorial as a family to honour him and we even participated in a special memorial service they hold each day and we laid down a wreath. Another Great Uncle served in Gallipolli and went on to serve in Beersheba in the Australian Light Horse. So it would seem that joining the Armed Forces are in my son’s blood.

xx Rowena

PS A week after Mister’s birthday while I’m sitting at Palm Beach, I stumbled across this song Forever Young by Rod Stewart, which I wanted to send as a post birthday present to my son: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vgiLWNgpXiQ

When The New Yorker Came To Sydney.

Last week, I was absolutely stoked when I found a copy of the New Yorker when I took our daughter to her doctor’s appointment, instead of the usual trashy magazines. For a New Yorker, this would be hardly surprising but when you’re in Sydney, Australia, finding a copy of The New Yorker is a rare treat. It was time to celebrate!

Who hasn’t experienced the joy of being camped at the doctor’s waiting so long you’re putting down roots and all you have is a stack of trashy magazines for entertainment?  I’m sure the world over there are those familiar looking piles of trashy magazines, which should have been pulped long before publication. You know the sort of stuff I’m talking about where those flashy, glossy pages are smothered in the latest “Kardashian Krisis” and other celebrity crap. If you’re really lucky, there might also be some token National Geographics but don’t hold your breath!!

Knowing what to expect, I always BYO. Whenever I head down to Sydney for my specialist appointments, I usually take a choice of two books, a handful of pens and a writing pad to capture fleeting threads of inspiration. I must say that on some occasions, I’ve been bunkering down to write what seems like my entire life story, while I wait. It is nothing to wait for 1-2 hours for an appointment and indeed, there is a sign telling you to allow half a day. All this endless interminable waiting is all for a fleeting 15-30 minute appointment. While this might sound pretty dreadful, especially if you are seeing multiple specialists, it is what it is. I see my specialists for free so I’m not complaining. I just come prepared.

However, I can sure pick the newbies turning various shades of red and emitting shots of steam through their beetroot red ears while they openly complain that “being sick is a full time job”. Most of them could well be transferred to Emergency for immediate anger management. That said, being diagnosed with a serious disease is hard enough. Being forced to spend those precious, rapidly ticking away last minutes of your imminently evaporating life in the bland boredom of a doctor’s waiting room staring at white walls camouflaged by fancy prints, is enough to push even the most mild-mannered Clark Kent over the edge!! Trust me! I know!

I don't think hospital was on Dr Suess's list.

I don’t think hospital was on Dr Suess’s list.

Of course, nobody includes being stuck in a doctor’s waiting room on their bucket list when they have 24 hours to live! Not on your life!!!

However, all my expectations of waiting room literature were turned around last week when I took our daughter to her specialist appointment. Much to my delighted amazement, I found a copy of The New Yorker on the very top of the pile. Wow! I was thrilled. Indeed, “I had chills.  They’re multiplying and I’m losing control…” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J01QPxZFlw4

A cartoon from the New Yorker, which  I photographed on my phone.

A cartoon from the New Yorker, which I photographed on my phone.

The New Yorker is a rare breed in Australia so I was almost thankful that the doctor was late. I was glued to the pages and really had to peel myself away. Indeed, I was even taking photos of the funnies with my phone and seriously hoping the doctor didn’t catch me in the act. Of course, I was doing this in the name of serious journalism…snapping gourmet morsels to feed my blog!

The Statue of Liberty welcomes this adventurous Aussie Dreamer to the Big Apple.

The Statue of Liberty welcomes this adventurous Aussie Dreamer to the Big Apple.

For a few fantastic moments there, I felt myself being transported over the Pacific Ocean touching down for a refueling stopover in Hawaii to meet Max the Dog and indulge in a bit of Hula. Then, I was on a bit of a stop start journey through LA, New Orleans, Washington and finally touching down in New York in such a manner that I didn’t get my Wonder Woman cape caught on one of those spiky bits on the Statue of Liberty.

Just as well I didn't start singing and dancing in the waiting room! I have absolutely no shame!

Just as well I didn’t start singing and dancing in the waiting room! I have absolutely no shame!

I’m in New York and I can even hear Frank Sinatra singing New York New York: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K-0nNWOKK2Q

Though still sitting in the waiting room, I’m a  real New Yorker or at least a New Yorker with an Australian accent. Well, make that a sedated New Yorker with an Australian accent. Being a rather slow walker who doesn’t wake up before midday without intravenous caffeine infusions, I’d look like a comatose zombie among the fast-paced New Yorkers.

But then the dream shatters…

The door swings open and all my fantasies of New York are put on hold. The doctor is ready and it’s now time to discuss why my daughter doesn’t eat.

Humph! No more New York…New York…New York!

I’ve touched down with a painful thump and it’s time for a brutal reality check!!

New York…LA,Honolulu,Sydney, Wahroonga….Can’t keep the doctor waiting!

The door closes.

Have you ever been to New York and have any stories to tell? I am learning the fine art of living vicariously.

xx Rowena

 

Poem: The Surfer’s Dog

A darkened silhouette camps

down on the beach

shadowed by the rising sun.

Perched on the sand

like an antipodean sphinx,

he’s almost been there

since The Dreaming.

It’s the surfer’s dog.

He’s salty and sandy

with a wet, scraggly coat.

There’s a streak of pink zink

on his nose.

More Scruffy than Fluffy,

he knows he’s not pretty

but he’s just fine.

At least, he’s not

a backyard dog!

Oh no!

A surfer’s dog is a breed

all of its own!

 

Hibernating on the beach

in the hot, Australian sun,

his breathing’s slowed down.

Almost slowed down to a stop.

He barely moves from his spot.

Waiting…still waiting for his master!

He might have been waiting

but a dog’s still a dog.

Even the surfer’s dog will be

your best friend for a feed.

He’s heard many sad songs.

Has given advice

and has just been

a good place to lean.

Yet, as much as he listens

and can be a great mate,

his heart only belongs

to his master.

Nobody knows quite how long

he’s been waiting.

The beach is somehow beyond time

and the sun simply rises and sets.

Time comes and goes with the tides.

But the surfer’s dog’s always been there

He’s now become part of the place.

A real champion,

he never complains.

You don’t even hear

a soft whimper.

He’s not afraid of

being left on his own.

He knows that his master

always comes home.

2.

Whenever I’ve gone to the beach,

the surfer’s dog has always been there.

Lying on the beach in the distance,

he’s almost a part of the sand.

Yet, as much as I felt like I knew him,

that I’d heard the song in his heart

we were really only just strangers.

I didn’t know what he thought.

But today for some reason unknown,

I sat down beside him and stopped.

Threw him a stick.

Gave him a pat.

We sat watching the waves roll by.

It was then that I finally heard it.

Heard the song playing in his heart.

A song with a beat of its own

and a dream which set him apart.

While other dogs just bark at the postman

or might chase the neighbourhood cat,

he wants to learn how to surf.

Ride the waves for himself.

Yet,

as much as the waves

might roar in his heart,

as much as he lives

for his dream,

the surfer’s dog

is stuck in his tracks.

Paralysed.

Stonkered, it seems.

He can dream all he likes

but a dog’s still a dog.

Dogs do not surf.

They only wait on the beach,

defending their turf.

Who’s he to challenge

the great status quo?

The way it’s always been?

He might have his dreams

but a dog’s still a dog.

No dog likes to be

laughed at, it seems.

Oh no! A dog has his pride.

He’s the surfer’s dog

and a surfer’s dog

never, ever cries!

Yet,

fear hasn’t stopped him

from dreaming.

He knows one day

that he’ll be brave.

That one day he’ll strut into the water

and will finally catch that big wave.

3.

The sun had almost reached midday

when his master finally returned.

He emerged from the surf strong and tall,

strutting down the beach with his board.

A tanned, Australian Adonis,

he sparkled like diamonds in the sun.

No need to whistle or call to his dog.

The dog was already gone.

Running, leaping, almost flying

wagging his tail non-stop,

the dog was right by his side.

I’ve never seen such love…

such devotion.

Yet,

I felt a little bit sad

as the dog’s surfing dreams

had all gone.

A dog’s dreams might be transient.

They ebb and flow with the tides.

But the surfer and his dog…

they will live forever.

Their love will never, ever die.

Rowena