Tag Archives: mom

Watching the Sailing…Gosford Sailing Club, NSW.

Yesterday afternoon, I was on duty as the sailing parent while Geoff was out on the water doing his sailing course, and our son was sailing his Flying 11 with the Juniors. It was an absolute scorcher of a day. So, after they launched off, I retreated upstairs and bought myself an iced coffee, slice of cake and started reading a fantastic book exploring life after trauma…Leigh Sales: Any Ordinary Day. More about that to come.

“We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch – we are going back from whence we came.”

John F. Kennedy

I am finding myself on a steep learning curve at the sailing club. Geoff is working next weekend, so I’ll be on my pat malone with the lad putting all the bits of his Flying 11 together, which is making assembling my old Ikea desk with instructions and an Allen Key look like a walk in the park. While I wasn’t a complete failure on the DIY front and doing anything practical, I’m become something of a space cadet after almost twenty years of marriage to a guru. Of course, he’s written nothing done, so passing on the baton is going to be depending on the lad and his trusty crew member and his Dad.

“On life’s vast ocean diversely we sail. Reasons the card, but passion the gale.”

Alexander Pope

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Sometimes, I wonder how I became the parent stuck on dry land. I’ve always loved sailing but my mobility’s an issue and at this stage, I’m waiting for Geoff to get through his sailing course so we can get out there in the Laser together. Ironically, after not being able to sail because I had no access to a boat, now I can’t seem to get the boat down to the waterfront which is less than a kilometre away. Ditto with the kayak. Sometimes, you have to wonder how having a Nike moment and just doing it can become so complicated.

“I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.”

Louisa May Alcott

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By the way, a year or so after getting his Flying 11, the change in our son is phenomenal. They’re not an easy boat to master what with their more complex rigging and they’re also a faster but more tip-able boat than the bathtub Opti he’d been using before. I think every rookie on the Flying 11’s has a few rough weeks of despair and digging deep as they spend more time in the water than upright, but then after a few months it slowly starts coming together. Then, before they know it, they’ve outgrown it and they’re onto the lasers and something new. That will be our son next season.

“To reach a port, we must sail – sail, not tie at anchor – sail, not drift.”

Franklin D. Roosevelt

Have you ever been sailing and have a few stories to share? I’ve love to hear from you!

Meanwhile, here’s a tribute to my Dad who loves his sailing:

Best wishes,

Rowena

 

 

 

Mum’s Watching Peppa Pig…!!!

Today, I was caught in the act.  Lost in my own little world watching Peppa Pig, I’d forgotten that my husband was working from home and my son was home sick and they might find this a little strange.  That while I am renowned for being a little quirky both on and off the world wide web, watching Peppa Pig was setting new bounds of personal madness even for me. After all, I’m in my 40s and there weren’t any kids around. Surely, I coudl find something more intellectually stimulating, humorous or at the very least grown up to watch? What was wrong with me? Had my brain blown a fuse…or even worse?

However, as Geoff moved closer, that triumphant look of smug ridicule disappeared once he realized that Peppa Pig was making no sense. Indeed, Peppa Pig and friends were speaking German.

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Peppa Pig in German

This is the first time I’ve watched Peppa Pig in German. You see, my blogging friend, Solveig Werner is teaching German and she recommended it in her Links for German Students. I’d never thought of brushing up my languages using you tube before. Obviously, you tube didn’t exist when I was at school and we were dependent on the very out-of-date German videos. On exceptionally rare occasions, I might run into a German tourist and might be able to have a go. Fortunately, my grandfather was fluent and had even taught German and took great pleasure writing to me in German. He was such a lovely man.

Well, you could ask me why I’m brushing up on  my German now. It’s not like I’m about to head over, and there are very few opportunities to speak German here. Well, let’s just say I was curious and wondering how much of it I could understand.

Rowena Backpacking

 

You see, after leaving university, I was backpacking through Europe for almost a year and much of that time, I was in Germany. Indeed, I lived in Heidelberg for around six months with a German family. So, my comprehension of German isn’t too bad, especially when we’re talking about “Bahnhof Deutsch” (Railway Station or tourist German) or cartoon German.

Anyway, returning to the home front. Having given my husband a bit of entertainment, he let our son in on the action and you could just imagine how he reacted when he found out his own mother was watching Peppa Pig!!!!  There are embarrassing mums, but this was right off the Richter Scale.

Geoff returned and goads him on: “You have to get her outside for a walk before she goes completely insane.”

At this point, a discussion also started up about how they were going to lure me out of the house. I’m not sure whether it was my husband or son who first came up with the idea. However, our son threatened to remove the kettle to get some movement. Funny that. I wouldn’t have thought I was that dependent, until I saw the huge mountain of used tea bags ready to head out to the worm farm.

To be honest, they probably have a point. It’s actually 2.30pm and I’m still in my PJs on a school day. While even the most devoted fashionista would agree that everyone needs a pyjama day now and then, it could well be the case that my PJ days are flowing together and are amounting to a reality break.

I’m not sure. While today, I’m definitely guilty as charged, I was out and about yesterday and I’ve since got dressed and taken all three dogs for a very energetic run along the beach. I managed to clock up 1.5km. So,I haven’t been bone idle. I’ve also been researching conscription and the Vietnam War. Surely, kilometres of thought must count for something to somebody out there? If so, could you please leave your details in the comments. You’ll be my new best friend.

Meanwhile, Peppa Pig is calling…

xx Ro

 

 

 

Sydney University…Retracing My Footprints.

It’s time to pop the champagne and launch the fireworks. Yesterday, I finally made it back to Sydney University, my former stomping ground. I can’t remember when I was last there. However, it’s been at least 15 years. Indeed, I’ve never gone back with Geoff or the kids and shown them what really is a part of myself. I don’t know why, but it’s a glaring omission. After all, as an Arts student 1988-1991, Sydney Uni was my home and raison d’etre. I was active in student life and lived just off campus  for at least some of that time. Moreover, being such a sentimental sod who revels in returning to the road once traveled, it really makes no sense.

So, what changed?

Well, yesterday I attended Carer’s Day Out at the Redfern Community Centre and uni was only a short hop, step and a jump away. Moreover, on the way, I could even check out my first home away from home, a terrace house on Abercrombie Street.

So, now I’d like to invite you along on a photographic tour of Sydney Uni starting out at Redfern Station and finishing up at the footbridge crossing Parramatta Road.

Sydney Uni Map

Leaving Redfern Station, we turn left into Lawson Street and are immediately swept along in a steady stream of pedestrian traffic. It feels so good to be back here and soak up the ambiance again. A good friend of mine used to live in one of these terraces so it’s not a stranger. Yet, there is an unfamiliarity as well. My camera’s hanging round my neck and I’m on the prowl, hunting for prey. I spot a mural and break with the flow to photograph it and became an island in the stream.

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Next, I turn left onto Abercrombie Street. Before we reach my old terrace, we’re walking through a row of shops. Rewinding to 1988, I gave my first poetry reading at the Reasonably Good Cafe, which was somewhere along here. Of course, the original is etched permanently in my memory. However, we’re talking 30 years ago and there’s no brass plaque marking where it was for posterity’s sake. There are still a few cafes and my best guess is that it was a cafe now called Tripod. Unfortunately, it was closed yesterday so I couldn’t take a closer look.

Now, I’m crossing Abercrombie Street to take a closer look at the terrace house which used to be home. It used to be on the pedestrian crossing and we could sit up on the balcony and watch the crowds milling past and call out to our friends. In terms of being a part of things and really experiencing student life, this place had location! Location! Location! Location aside, our student hovel didn’t have a lot of creature comforts. There was the semi-outside loo, not having a running hot water and needing to heat a gas thingy to have a shower, and the backyard was an industrial wasteland. This was character building stuff and besides, slumming it gave you added cred.

Walking further along Abercrombie Street, I’m turning right and within a few metres, we’re now at the front or back of campus depending on your perspective. First up, we come across the engineering faculty and before long we reach the Carslaw Building (has always sounded too much like coleslaw or cold sore for my liking) which is the big union service building on this side of campus and where the science students and engineers etc used to hang out. I catch the lift up and walk over the footbridge over City Road and stop to take a photo looking towards my beloved Newtown, which will have to wait for another day.

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Noticeboard Pastiche.

That’s when I spotted a row of noticeboards. Naturally, I was interested in checking out the posters and issues which are important on campus now. However, I was also intrigued by the noticeboard itself. You see, the surface was made up of layer upon layer of paper fragments and a gazillion staples. This mashed composition wasn’t glamorous or informative in anyway. Yet, it intrigued me…this detritus of a million ideas. What were they about and who put them there? So many hands and minds who perhaps like myself have all drifted away.  I was once one of those people stapling up posters in a past life. A campaigner and a believer, this is our legacy.

I keep walking.

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The Main Quad, Sydney University.

What with all this peering through the lens, I can’t quite pinpoint the exact moment or draw an “X marks the spot” where I spotted the iconic Main Quadrangle (or “quad”) peering out above the trees. However, I was dazzled. Blown away. Not only by its architectural splendor, but also by the familiarity. It was like seeing a long lost friend after a break of thirty years. OMG! If it wasn’t a building or so big, I would’ve wrapped my arms around it for a hug.It meant so much to see it again.

As the university’s architectural crown, the Main Quad was always special. Yet, when you see it everyday, it becomes part of the scenery and taken for granted. Now, as much as I love it, it also looks like an alien spaceship which has crash landed in Sydney and would appear rather out of place if other similar buildings hadn’t been built around it. Designed by Edmund Blacket in the Victorian Gothic Revival style, it was based on the buildings at Oxford and Cambridge and is England transplanted to the Antipodes. Apparently, this style was already out of date when it was built and its always been anachronism.

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Fisher Library. 

However, before I head up to the Main Quad, I stop off outside Fisher Library. To be perfectly honest, not all of my memories of that place are good. That place was the scene of many rushed essays, voluminous photocopying and note taking and on a lighter note, there were also a few sightings of the male of the species. Indeed, out the front of Fisher Library used to be a popular meeting spot and I remember arranging to meet friends as well as a few “prospects” there.

By the way, Fisher Library is nowhere near as glamorous as virtually every other building on campus and looks more like an old demountable classroom that got too big for its boots. Right next to Fisher, there’s a soaring tower known as “Fisher Stack”. I can’t remember quite what was up there but it was considered dangerous for women to venture in there and rapes were more than urban myth. Or, at least that’s what I thought. I still haven’t forgotten that sense of all pervading terror when I had to find a book in there. It was so incredibly creepy and unlike the rest of campus where there’s always someone, Fisher Stack was deserted.

Finally, I was on my way to the Main Quad. This was the first time I’ve really focused on its architectural details. It’s also the first time I’ve actually photographed it as well zooming in on the omnipresent clock face and soaking up all the stone work around it with my eyes. In addition to the architecture, the Main Quad was also famous for its large jacaranda tree which always flowered during exam time and was a poignant reminder of stress and trouble. Tragically, the Jacaranda tree died a few years ago. Two trees were planted in its place. However, the Jacaranda is very spindly and can’t hope to catch up for a very long time to come. On a more positive note, I still remember being out in the Main Quad after my graduation. It was such a momentous occasion and by that stage, I’d had enough of study and felt long overdue for the real world.

Next stop, is Manning House. This was the union building where the Arts students hung out. Back in my day, there were three levels. Only level one was open in the mornings and I remember hanging out there for many hours and then heading upstairs to Manning Bar. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but the bar attracted a more bohemian set.  Level three was where the snooty private school types hung out wearing their Country Road clothing…the yuppies. As a former private school type myself, I did venture up there at times, but it wasn’t entirely my scene.

After leaving Manning, I headed for The Graffiti Tunnel which connects Manning to the Holme Building. This tunnel is the only place on campus where you’re allowed to use spray paint. It’s pure grunge and almost feels like a living, breathing organism. Back when I was running for election to edit the uni newspaper, Honi Soit, a friend and I painted the tunnel. Our team was the Antonyms and the ant was our mascot.  Indeed, one of our team members built a six foot ant which we mounted on top of a car, which we drove around campus. We also made up all these posters featuring ant words and had our own t-shirts. However, chalking was probably the main form of advertising. Our rivals, Newshounds, had very,  very bright fluoro orange paint which you could’ve spotted from the moon. Consequently, our pink chalk, became more intense and so did the rivalry. All that rivalry climaxed in the Graffiti Tunnel. We’d started painting brown paint and black ants at the Holme end, converting it into an ant tunnel. Meanwhile, the Newshounds had started out at the other end at at around 5.00am we crossed paths. I can’t remember what was said. However, let’s just say it was heated. By the way, you’ve probably already guessed that Newshounds won. Word had got out that much of our team were Christians and members of  EU (Evangelical Union). The other half was quite bohemian, but we were sunk. I’d been friends with many of the Newshounds prior to that campaign and sadly our friendships never recovered.

Naturally, I was looking forward to returning to Graffiti Tunnel and seeing what the students of 2018 are saying. What’s their take on life, the universe and everything? To be perfectly honest, I still don’t know. There was certainly a lot of colour. However, what I did notice was that there are quite a few doors in the tunnel, which I hadn’t noticed before. While I can’t speak for what’s behind all of them, but at least a couple led into lecture or tutorial rooms.

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Inside the Holme Building

Next stop, was across the road to the Holme Building. This was where most of the mature age students hung out back in my day, although I went there sometimes as well. Not sure why. However, I also remember having my Year 11 school formal in the Holme Building and it was also where the Arts Ball was held each year. That was a ripper. So much fun. Seizing the opportunity, I had to sneak into the dining area which was set up for a function, and photograph the scene of such exuberance. Why did I have to grow up? Why did I have to become responsible?

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Perhaps, that’s one of the greatest mysteries of life.

Meanwhile, I feel like I’ve chopped the university into such little bits and pieces here and I don’t know whether you can truly appreciate it as a whole. This effort feels incredibly inadequate, but for those of you who haven’t been here and are unlikely to ever make it to Sydney, it hopefully conveys something of an impression.

Best wishes,

Rowena

 

The Mum in the Weirdo Hat…Friday Fictioneers.

Charlotte was mortified. After spending months painstakingly working her way into the cool group, she spotted her mother halfway down the street. As if that wasn’t already bad enough, she was wearing her exceptionally eccentric: “Ceremonial hat for eating Bouillabaisse“, based on its namesake by English artist, Eileen Agar. A cork bowl decorated with beach ephemera, it was hardly suitable for the Melbourne Cup. With her two worlds on an imminent collision course, Charlotte wanted to die. Why couldn’t her mum just blend in and wear a black fascinator like everyone else’s mum? Why did she have to be “creative”?

100 words.

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wishoff-Fields. PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook.

As a mother of two teenagers, I’m psyching myself up for the big rejection when they deny my existence in front of their friends one day. I can be quite loud, friendly and overly extroverted.However, so far so good.

By the way, I came across Eileen Agar while I was putting together Letters to Dead Artists for the 2018 Blogging A-Z April challenge and thought that hat would embarrass even the most resilient teen.  You can read more about her Here./

Best wishes,

Rowena

Eileen Agar wearing Ceremonial Hat for Eating Bouillabaisse

Eileen Agar wearing her: Ceremonial hat for eating Bouillabaisse

 

Weekend Coffee Share- 23rd September, 2018.

Welcome to Another Weekend Coffee Share!

How was your week?

Every week when I sit down to catch up with you over coffee or whatever your preferred beverage might me, I have to switch on my thinking cap and try to reconnect with the week that was. What on earth happened? Do I really do all of that in one week? Or, more distressing…where did that week go? I’ve done nothing at all.

However, last week was more special than most because both my kids were in the school musical, Alice in Wonderland Jnr. Our daughter was on stage as one of the three Cheshire Cats who were the narrators in the musical and our son who has been on stage in Scout gang shows for the last three years, was actually backstage doing the lighting. However, although our daughter spent most of the show on stage and I was clearly besotted, I loved the show as a whole. Indeed, I thought it was an excellent choice for a school production as it allowed so many kids to shine. While Alice clearly played the lead, there were three Alices as well as the Queen of Hearts, White Rabbit and the Mad Hatter. A surprise character, at least for me, was the caterpillar, which I’ve never really taken much notice of in the book. The caterpillar was one cool dude. I was so impressed with the production, that I decided to go to the second performance and I’m so glad I did. I absorbed so much more the second time and I also managed to get a seat on the other side of the theatre right under my daughter’s nose.

The downside to enjoying the musical so much, was that it ended and I clearly know that I’ve fallen off the mountain top into a sense of “panging after the fjords” to quote Monty Python in a rather bizarre and twisted way. While well aware that the cast can get a sense of “grief” when the show is over, I haven’t really heard much about the audience or the parent of a performer going through this. However, I did. Yet, I make no apologies. It was such a great production and so upbeat, funny and entertaining. Moreover, I’ve known much of the cast and the audience for many, many years. Indeed, I’ve known middle Alice since she was one. Being a school of local production has that intimacy over something professional and it really was fantastic.

Amelia Ballet audition Sept 21 2018

Our daughter at her ballet audition.

However, there was no time to rest on our laurels. The musical was on Wednesday and Thursday nights and then on Friday afternoon, our daughter had an audition to appear in a local production of Madame Butterfly with the Melbourne Ballet Company. Normally, this would’ve been something we would’ve been well and truly prepared for and given such an audition it’s due. However, being the day after the bigger than Ben Hur school musical, we just couldn’t get into gear properly. No chance of getting organized the night before and I picked her up early from school and found myself driving like a maniac to the dance wear shop with quite a shopping list. Indeed, we were so short of time, that we rang ahead with our list and I was so grateful. They had the lot and had it waiting on the counter. We weren’t the only ones doing the manic pre-audition dash either. It was just crazy and I was under phenomenal pressure. We got there with about ten minutes to spare. Unfortunately, she wasn’t selected. Last year, nine people auditioned. This year there must’ve been 80 and I think about twenty kids were chosen. She was quite philosophical about it afterwards. “It was good experience”. With all that stress, I couldn’t bite my tongue. I had to disagree. Then, I remembered that it was my job to be the motivational coach, even when I wasn’t feeling motivated. That was when I remembered a pearl of wisdom I’d picked up during the week while watching an interview with former Australian 60 Minutes reporter, Ray Martin on Ahn’s Brush With Fame. Ray Martin had taken his son along when he’d interviewed Australia’s last ANZAC Alec Campbell. Ray hadn’t been able to draw much out of him, however he’s son had struck up quite a conversation. When Ray asked his son what he’d said, he’d said: “to have a go”. Have a go…it sounds too simple and yet that’s what lets me down time and time again. I’m so needing to be perfect and to get it right the first time and not make a mistake, that I don’t even try. I don’t have a go. I think I need to write that up and stick it on my desk where it stares me right between the eyes. Get on with it! Just have a go!

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Ahn Do pictured with Professor Fiona Wood burns specialist.

By the way, speaking of Ahn’s Brush With Fame, I’ve actually been doing a bit of binge watching this week. This show seems to be into its third series and I only watched it for the first time a week ago on what’s referred to as “Catch Up” on our TV.My daughter thought it was disgusting that an almost 50 year old woman could go binge watching and she thought this was something reserved for the teen. However, I had great delight in bursting her little bubble. Binge watching is suitable for all ages. However, at least in my case, the choice of subject matter was entirely different. I’m going to write something more detailed about the show once I’ve caught up. However, just to put you in the picture, Ahn Do is a lawyer, comedian and author of numerous books including: The Happiest Refugee. He is also an incredible artist and interviewer and that’s what Ahn’s Brush With Fame is all about. He invites a smattering of people he finds interesting onto the show which is set in his art studio. His subject takes a set in a really striking canary yellow arm chair and they just begin chatting while Ahn starts working away on the canvas with lashings of paint mostly applying the paint using cake decorating spatulas or knives. To be perfectly honest, I find it hard to believe anyone could create any kind of realistic portrait using these things but he does. He also tends to use the brush more for female subjects and he frequently uses his fingers. On the surface of it, it’s all anarchy but he’s one of those truly clever people who appear chaotic when there’s actually a surprisingly amount of order beneath the surface. He also sends the subject out for at least 15 minutes at the end of each session so goodness knows what he does then when we’re not watching, although I wouldn’t be surprised if it involved a magic wand. His portraits are incredible and each of the sitters I’ve seen have commented on how he’s not only captured a physical likeness, but he’s also brought out something of their inner being. He’s a very clever, and incredibly intuitive man from what I’ve seen. I think he’s also very curious and fascinated by what makes people tick and what’s to know what we’re here. Indeed, that’s what he asks at least most, if not all, of his subjects. You can watch the episodes online so just because you don’t live in Australia, it doesn’t mean you need to miss out. You can click Here.

In terms of my posts this week, there was a post inspired by Ahn Do’s interview with burns specialist Professor Fiona Wood. I participated in Friday Fictioneers again with a comic piece referring to cupid’s frustrations with us humans. Lastly, I participated in Thursday Doors and posted about Penguin Gaol, Tasmania. Indeed, the gaol was so small it did seem better suited to penguins than humans.

Lastly, I’ve just started reading Tree: A Life Story, by David Suzuki and Wayne Grady, which extends that celebration in a “biography” to the tree. “A story that spans a millennium and includes a cast of millions but focuses on a single tree, a Douglas fir, Tree describes in poetic detail the organism’s modest origins that begin with a dramatic burst of millions of microscopic grains of pollen. The authors recount the amazing characteristics of the species, how they reproduce and how they receive from and offer nourishment to generations of other plants and animals. The tree’s pivotal role in making life possible for the creatures around it;including human beings;is lovingly explored.”- Goodreads

We now have one last week of term before the school holidays begin. One term left before the end of the school year. Where has this year gone? No doubt, you are just as baffled.

Anyway, I’d better get cracking. I’ve actually had a very quiet day and a big rest to catch up today. However, it time to carpe diem with whatever’s left. This has been another Weekend Coffee Share, hosted by Eclectic Alli.

Best wishes,

Rowena

Weekend Coffee Share… 13th August, 2018.

Welcome to Another Weekend Coffee Share!

As much as I’d love to have you over for coffee tonight, you might want to reconsider. It’s so cold that my fingers are numb. Of course, it would help if I accepted that it was still Winter, and that turning on the heater or putting on a jumper would be a good move. It’s evening and currently 11°C or 52°F.

Rosie tennis balls laptop

Rosie with her tennis ball collection on my laptop.

Before I proceed, let me just introduce you to Rosie, our black and white Border Collie x Kelpie, who is staring straight at me with dogged persistence. She has a serious fixation with chasing balls, sticks or anything which could possibly launch through the air with her in hot pursuit. Rosie’s been parked in front of my chair for hours patiently depositing fragments of stick on my keyboard depositing fragments of sticks and tennis ball on my keyboard, and wondering why I haven’t seen them. Indeed, the pile is growing and she’s just upped her campaign and brought me a forbidden wooden peg. You should see the focus on those eyes and the highly strung tension in every cell of her body. She can maintain this pose for hours…and hours. I’m ignoring her more than usual tonight. Wonder if she thinks I’m broken? Or, perhaps she’s concluded I require more training… She certainly hasn’t given up trying to motivate this comatose human. She is the personification (or should that be dogification?) of persistence.

Rowena Haircut

Sporting my new haircut at the local waterfront. 

My big news this week, is that I’ve finally had my haircut. While I acknowledge that for much of the population having a haircut is a non-event, for me it’s more of significant and I’m out there ringing the brass bell.  Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It’s been around two years since my last haircut, and that rushed ponytail or makeshift bun have been heaven-sent. I know it sounds terrible now I’ve actually reflected on my crime and the horrors -of “letting myself go”. It’s just that it takes a lot of effort, not to mention money to maintain the facade, and my prime focus is more on what goes on underneath something money can’t buy.

Rowena Flying Hair

Trying to get a photo of my new haircut…the wind showed no respect and kept blowing it around. 

After my haircut,, I headed back down to Terrigal Beach for a Fisherman’s Basket and thought my hair hair was about to fly away…so much for respecting my new haircut. However, I was grateful to find a parking spot. It took quite a tour to find one. What? Did they know I was coming? Obviously not.

Last week, I mentioned that I was reading Raphaelle Giordano’s  French novel: Your Second Life Begins When You Realize You Only Have One. This inspirational book is a hard creature to categorize. While it claims to be a novel, for me it reads more like a memoir, which is perhaps the ultimate tick of approval for any novel. After all, they’re supposed to feel real, and lure the eager reader into their web.

However, most novels don’t include action steps and writing post-it notes to change your life. Fill the void surrounded by all the trappings of success, supposed happiness, dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.

I decided to take on these challenges myself. Why not?

The first task was to throw out ten items. Me being me, I started musing to myself about what these ten things should be. Of course, I could follow the letter of the law and throw out ten bobby pins and cross it off. However, obviously to experience the full benefit, I needed to embrace the full spirit of the law. Ideally, I would’ve moved on the piano, car bed or table I’ve been meaning to sell or give away, but that wasn’t going to happen quickly. So, I found a sort of middle ground and the deed was done. Too much analysis was only going to lead to paralysis, something I knew too well.

In the book, simply throwing out these ten items launches Camille into a cleaning and renovation frenzy where she even ends up painting their apartment. Such monumental change seemed too good to be true. However, I’m also finding a renewed desire to straighten things up around here. As usual, all roads are leading to my desk and the kitchen table, which always end up as a layer cake of family detritus. Indeed, I have no doubt that there are even fragments of stick buried on my very desk. Clearly, when it comes to sorting all of this out, I’m up against it.However, I’m not aiming for clinical perfection. It is our home. We’re a family. Love, connection and relationships are what it’s all about. Yet, these diametrically opposed worlds collide in every home and we each just try to make the best of it.

Have you read any good books lately? Has anyone read the Jane Hawk series by Dean Koontz? I heard a great review this week, and am tempted to have a go. I don’t usually like reading series and am more of a non-fiction reader, but might give it a go.

How has your week been? What have you been up to? I hope it been great.

This has been another contribution for the Weekend Coffee Share hosted by Eclectic Ali. You’re welcome to come and join us for a cuppa.

Best wishes,

Rowena

An Almighty Juggling Act…Concert Pianist & Mother, Eunice Gardiner.

If you’ve been following Beyond the Flow for any length of time at all, you’ll know that I’m totally obsessed and absorbed in research. Indeed, I wrap myself up in all these stories like a thick fleecy blanket feeling so snug and cosy.

Yet, there’s also that frustration. The compulsion to keep on searching even though you know what you’re looking for isn’t out there, and you’re needing to go offline.

That’s where I was tonight.  I’m actually in the throws of researching my grandfather’s second cousin, Asher Hart, who was a champion swimmer who was struck down by polio in his teens, but went on to become a surf champion and saved four lives on Black Sunday 1938 when a mini tsunami hit a crowded Bondi Beach in Sydney. Given my own struggles with disability and muscle wastage, he’s been such an inspiration to me in recent years, even though I only stumbled across him five years ago while I was recovering from chemo.

Anyway, it was getting late by now and I was winding down while my last cup of tea was cooling down, and entered my grandfather’s name into the search engine for these old newspapers. You can tag the articles so I can easily spot the ones I’ve read and the ones I’ve missed. New newspapers are being uploaded so it can be very productive to revisit what really might seem like the end of the road. Indeed, my motto is: Never Give Up, which could be a bit of a problem when research isn’t supposed to be the centre of my universe. Or, as is often the case, it can easily become my universe. I can become incredibly focused.

So, here I am tinkering away with these old newspapers around midnight, when I strike gold. Indeed, tinkering right before bed can be quite a bad thing because that seems to be when I stumble across something I can’t put down. That I must explore immediately and there endeth a good night’s sleep.

Eunice with Bon in Backpack

Tonight, I stumbled across an article and photo of my grandmother, concert pianist Eunice Gardiner carrying my uncle in a back pack. I have never even seen this photo before, and I’m absolutely stoked. There she is not only photographed with him in the backpack, but she’s also talking about going shopping with the toddler on her back, the baby on the front while my grandfather was away with the army. Yet, not one to be conquered like us other mere mortals, she was also giving a Beethoven Concert at the   Sydney Conservatorium. Moreover, she discusses all of this as though everybody was doing it and there’s no talk at all about taking one small step for woman and an enormous leap for womenkind”. She was simply her own person. Mind you, that was also a bit of a luxury enabled by her mother, Mrs Ruby Gardiner, who steeped in and looked after the kids a long with household help. There was actually a migrant hostel at nearby with a source of willing labour. That’s not to belittle her extraordinary achievements, but I share this to console those of us battling to stay afloat in the real world. My two are just under two years apart, and I haven’t forgotten the difficulties of trying to get out the door with two little ones in tow. I also had backpacks, front packs but for getting to the shops, I had this extraordinary double pram contraption I’d picked up from the op shop with a toddler seat on the front. It was the size of a bus and really didn’t encourage going out. By the way, we also had a huge English Sheepdog who was tied to the pram on these walks. In hindsight, I don’t know how we survived. Rufus could well have bolted to the beach after a seagull despite the cumbersome attachments. He was that type of dog…a pure maniac.

Eunice 1948 USA

My Grandmother at the Australian Embassy in Washington, 1948. She had three children all back in Australia when this photo was taken, including my Dad. So hard to comprehend on so many, many levels.

Despite my grandmother having seven children, I never thought of her being loaded up to the hilt with kids like myself. While my youngest uncles are only ten and eleven years older than me, I still just think of her as MY GRANDMOTHER and given that I often went round and saw her on my own, that makes a lot of sense. Each of us has multiple roles and relationships to different people and we’re not as pigeon-holed as we often try to make out. Indeed, she was much more complex than her title: “Melba of the Piano” implied. She was a modern, Renaissance Woman.

I was so happy to find this article, that I decided to post it here where it’s easily accessible to the family and I can share it with you as well. It’s not like showing it on TV. My blog has more of an “intimate” audience.

I hope you enjoy reading it and might even feel a tad inspired, even if it is only to take yourself off for a walk.

Best wishes,

Rowena

I remember reading a story about your grandmother. I think it was about her trip to New York, if I’m not mistaken. She was quite the character, traveling alone to follow her passion.

Thanks for the comment, Rowena. Have a nice day. 🙂

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  1. Thank you, Varad. My grandmother has been this incredible mystery all my life and having all these old newspapers go online, has both illuminated and confused me. One of the things that really blew me away, was finding out there was a miniature grand piano on top of my grandparents’ wedding cake. My husband and I have both thought it was an acknowledgement that my grandfather was marrying her the piano and all that went with it. I’ve never seen a photo of the cake and would dearly love to and I only found out about it from the newspapers. It is very strange finding out such personal details about your own grandmother through old newspapers online. The other thing that I’ve come to realize is that her genes have been passed onto us. In the past, that was simply seen as whether or not we’d inherited her musical talent, and perhaps in the more specific context of the piano. Could we play? It’s taken me some time and a few more generations to join the mix, to see that we have inherited a smattering of things from her, including an absolutely dogged determination and focus, which was just as important to her success as her musical talent. A jack of all trades isn’t going to cut the mustard.
    You’ve inspired got a story there, Varad and I’m going to paste it to the end of my post. Your comment really got me thinking this morning as I’m back at my desk with a cup of tea, porridge and my go pills.
    Hope you have a lovely weekend!
    Best wishes,
    Rowena