Tag Archives: relaxation

Keep Breathing…Friday Fictioneers.

“All my life,” Melissa sighed to her therapist. “I’ve been peering through the keyhole too afraid to live.”

Phillippa was trying hard not to yawn. Dumping clients was hard. Never mentioned the “F” word.  It was all about “finding a better fit”.  Being a “therapy drop out” wasn’t good for their self-esteem.

“Anyway…”

Suddenly, Melissa became strangely animated, even possessed. “I finally attended a writer’s group this week and read one of my poems. Thought I was gunna die. Then, I heard you counting and this other voice saying: “Breathe, Melissa. Breathe. You can do it.”

“It was actually me.”

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s image was provided by © Shaktiki Sharma.

This week, I’ve spent a bit of time researching my grandmother who was a concert pianist and I’ve been thinking about that experience I had as a child of almost looking through the keyhole into her adult world. There was definitely a “them” and “us” policy and children should be not seen AND not heard. That suited us and we’d round up change for lollies from the adults and disappear with our stash.

Yet, there were those times I distinctly remember peering into this adult world and watching through that metaphorical keyhole. Nothing quite like being a spy!

By the way, I’d also encourage comments about when therapy doesn’t work and what that was like. Personally, I’m a lousy one for taking action but I’m currently working through that with my physio. Or, should I say, I’m “walking” it out.

Hope you’ve had a great week!

xx Rowena

 

 

Whatsitsname Beach, Tasmania

After leaving Port Arthur, I spotted this stunning beach out the window and Geoff obediently stopped. If you haven’t worked it out by now, we’ve been having so many photo stops on this holiday, that I’m lucky there hasn’t been a photography ban…or worse.

Personally, this beach seems so untouched, a kind of seaside wilderness. The sort of place you could runaway to, even in the middle of Summer, and bask in solitude…Tranquility Bay.

xx Rowena

Paradise…Driving from Hobart to Port Arthur.

If you’re planning to drive straight from Hobart to Port Arthur like a bat out of hell, think  again. Adjust your watch to “Holiday Time” and prepare yourself for a very stop-start journey. Perhaps, even more stop than start. Otherwise, you might as well just get out your pencil and ruler and play join the dots.

“The creative process is not like a situation where you get struck by a single lightning bolt. You have ongoing discoveries, and there’s ongoing creative revelations. Yes, it’s really helpful to be marching toward a specific destination, but, along the way, you must allow yourself room for your ideas to blossom, take root, and grow.”

Carlton Cuse

At the same time, Port Arthur is a destination you don’t want to miss. More than an education, it’s an experience. You do need to get there.
So what did we find along the way?

Dunalley Bay

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Dunalley Bay, Tasmania.

I’m a sucker for a great beach and another photo opportunity. What can I say? I’m an absolute addict but at least my photography addiction isn’t hurting anybody (just don’t ask the rest of my family!) We really loved the streaky ripple effects in the sand here. Of course, it also helps when the weather cooperates so nicely.
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Father & Son at Dunalley Bay.

The Tessellated Pavement State Reserve

The Tessellated Pavement State Reserve is located on the Tasman Peninsula near Eaglehawk Neck.
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However, before we get too bogged down in geological explanations, let’s just pause for a moment and fully absorb the stunning view before we tackle the stairs. I assure you that you don’t need to be a photography addict to go absolutely crazy here and wish for something with far more grunt than your phone camera.
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Now, getting back to the tessellated pavement…

Unless you’ve been here before or you’re a fully-fledged geologist, you could well be asking…

“What on earth is a tessellated pavement and why should I stop here, especially when time is short?”

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Well, here’s a brief geology lesson…

A tessellated pavement has nothing to do with concrete footpaths. Rather, it’s an inter-tidal rock platform. Tessellated pavements are a common coastal landform. However, on the Tasman Peninsula an unusual set of geological circumstances have resulted in something truly amazing.

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The kids also enjoyed exploring the rock crevices for anemones, little black crabs    and more.  

The flat-lying siltstone was cracked by stresses in the Earth’s crust, possibly between 160 million years ago and 60 million years ago. The resulting cracks (joints) are seen as three main sets, one aligned to the north-northeast, a second to the east-northeast and the third to the north-northwest. This jointing, exaggerated by processes of erosion, has created the ‘tiled’ appearance.
When seawater covers the rock platform, fragments of rock are carried away. Near the seaward edge of the platform, sand is the main cause of the erosion.
When combined with wave action the erosional process causes ‘loaf’ or ‘pan’ formations.1.”
Anyway, that’s enough geology. You can read more about it here. I’m more interested in getting down those stairs and getting seeing what I can see through the lens.

The Tasman Blowhole

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The Tasman Blow Hole.

In case you hadn’t worked it out by now, I have quite a thing for photographing intriguing rock formations. Add surging water and kaboom!!  You have photographic magic. Time to fiddle with the settings on my camera to experiment a bit…fast, slow. Thank goodness for digital photography where you can experiment to your heart’s content without going broke. Our honeymoon in New Zealand had some hefty financial after shocks processing 50 rolls of film. Ouch! That could’ve paid for a backyard wedding.

Doo Town

Located 79 km southeast of Hobart, Doo Town is a holiday village in Pirate’s Bay where the house names contain “doo”. This “phenomenon” began in 1935 a Hobart architect, Eric Round, placed the name plate Doo I 99 on his weekend shack. A neighbor, Charles Gibson, responded with a plate reading Doo Me then Bill Eldrige with Doo Us. Eric Round later renamed his shack Xanadoo.[1][2]
I first visited Doo Town on my first trip to Tassie in 1995. I’ve never forgotten the bus driver introducing us to Doo Town.  Being a procrastinator, I’ve never forgotten “Gunnerdoo”. Indeed, it would be a very apt name for our current home, which is a renovating dreamer’s homage to an endless list of unfinished projects. Indeed, it has way too many applications to mention!

Tasmanian Devil Unzoo

We didn’t have time to make it here but I wanted to give it a mention. You can read more about it here.
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Although I advocated taking your time and stopping rather than driving straight to Port Arthur, you will need plenty of energy to cover the vast distances at Port Arthur. So, you’ll need to pace yourself to ensure you  don’t come to a grinding halt. We very nearly did.
xx Rowena
Sources

Exploring A Ferny Paradise…

When we walk slowly, the world can fully appear. Not only are the creatures not frightened away by our haste or aggression, but the fine detail of fern and flower, or devastation and disruption, becomes visible. Many of us hurry along because we do not want to see what is really going on in and around us. We are afraid to let our senses touch the body of suffering or the body of beauty

Joan Halifax

As you might be aware, our family is currently roaming around Tasmania, where my husband was not only born and bred but has family ties going back as far as 1828. Indeed, all branches of his family go back to early settlement and it’s probably just as well that he married a “mainlander”.

I don’t know what your approach is to exploring a new place. However, to really get a feel for the place, I always like to get out on foot and explore as well as asking the locals about secret nooks and crannies.

This is how I found out about Ferndene.

While we were onboard the Spirit of Tasmania (the ferry running between Mebourne on the Australian mainland and Devonport, Tasmania), I asked Tasmanian staff onboard for their recommendations.

This is what saw us driving up and down Ironcliffe Road, Penguin searching for a spot where it’s only a 20 second walk from the car, to see giant tree ferns.

The only trouble was that it took us a lot longer than 30 seconds to actually locate Ferndene, which I guess can be quite a problem with these sights off the beaten track…a complication of the “road less travelled”.

While the tourist office told us this park was called Ferndene, we had some trouble finding it and had to make further inquiries and return the next day.

These tree ferns, by the way, are so big the Tasmanians call them “man ferns”. Indeed, they are the size of a man.

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I was quite keen to chase after these tree ferns when I heard about them because and Geoff always associates them with “home”. He also tells me that Tasmanian tree ferns are a different species to those on the mainland, which aren’t quite the same (or is that a nothing like the original??)

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Anyway, we finally found Ferndene and opted to go on what was sign posted as a 30 minute walk, although that doesn’t take into account numerous photo stops or jaw dropping gasps staring up through the fronds into the sun drenched sky.

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The track which does have some ups and downs and requires some level of fitness, takes you through towering fern and eucalypt canopies, past a tea-tree stained creek and onto an abandoned iron mine.

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Along the way, we also encountered an unidentified species of local dragon, which could well be a more extroverted relative of the “Nessy’s” (the famed Loch Ness Monster). Friendly, its apparently featuring in an amateur film.

Anyway, I’m going to keep this trip short and sweet and please forgive the rush. We’re now in Hobart about a week down the track. It’s been very difficult to get any writing time and Internet connections have been very slow.

Take care & best wishes,

Rowena

 

Reverse Sunbaking.

While I’m not sure whether Reverse Sunbaking is going to take off, I’ve been converted.

Before you Northerners think I’ve gone bonkers, I live in the sunny, Southern Hemisphere and you’ll find me living near the beach, just North of Sydney.

Umina Beach post storm Thurs

Our beach after a storm..

Reverse Sunbaking involves basking in the air-conditioned indoors, rather than turning lobster out on the beach in the midday sun. While you could set yourself up on a towel on the floor, I’ve gone for my writing chair…a comfy recliner. There’s no sun, sand, ocean views or the sound of the waves but I can chillax. For some reason, frying myself to a crisp has lost its appeal…along with melanoma.

Not that I haven’t been outside. Indeed, this morning the family walked down to the shops, thinking we had Buckley’s chance of finding a car space. Of course, we spotted two empty spots in prime real estate once we got there. Isn’t that always the way?!! Yet, it’s also good to actually use our legs for their intended purpose. Sometimes, I think my legs feel their only mission in life is to sit in the car!

Unfortunately, Reverse Sunbaking and Couch Potatoing are  closely related with only minor variations in their DNA. So, if I start sprouting, I’ll have to start moving. After all, I definitely don’t want to be swallowed up by the couch, losing all sight of the outside world. Couches can do that, you know! (Sounds like the horror makings of a Roald Dahl novel).

By the way,”Buckley’s chance” is another one of those weird Australian idioms. It means “to have little or no chance of doing or achieving something”1. You can also say something like: “You’ve got Buckley’s”.

Good luck if you’re trying to work out who Buckley was and why they became the personification of negative thinking. Like so much slang, it’s hard to retrace its origins but these conundrums do keep  academics employed.

So, what are your views on Reverse Sunbaking? Do you think I’m launching the next trend? As one of my favourite shows: The Living Room asks: is it hot or not?

xx Rowena

Camellia Dreaming.

In a split second of eternity,

everything is changed,

transfigured.

A few bars of music,

rising from an unfamiliar place,

a touch of perfection in the flow of human dealings…

I lean my head slowly to one side,

reflect on the camellia on the moss on the temple,

reflect on a cup of tea,

while outside the wind is rustling foliage,

the forward rush of life is crystalized

in a brilliant jewel of a moment

that knows neither projects nor future,

human destiny is rescued from the pale succession of days,

glows with light at last and,

surpassing time,

warms my tranquil heart.

Muriel Barbery

The stunning pink camellia I’ve photographed in situ here, was lying on the mossy grass in my parent’s garden yesterday. It was about the size of a saucer and absolutely beautiful!

A taste of a Sydney Spring.

xx Rowena

Why I’m Not Sailing!

Today, when our sailing trip with my Dad was cancelled due to strong winds, I discovered that even when you have a yacht, going sailing isn’t guaranteed and smooth sailing isn’t as easy as I thought.

Apparently, one of the first things you need to learn about sailing, is that just because you have a yacht or access to one and you’ve made plans, that there’s no guarantee that you’ll get out on the water as planned.

Indeed, it turns out that having a yacht is only a very elementary part of going sailing. Unfortunately, sailing is at the mercy of that greatest of vagaries…the weather.  Of course, you don’t want to take unnecessary risks. However, when you’ve been counting down the days and you can already feel the wind in your hair, it’s only natural to feel upset. Want to fight back.  Ignore the weather report. After all, where there’s a will there’s a way.

It’s good my Dad knows when to call it quits. Moreover, quite aside from risking lives, taking the kids out in rough conditions is counterproductive. We need each and every sailing experience to be a good one when they’re starting out. So, I had to be sensible and find an alternative to lessen the disappointment.

Today, we’d arranged to go sailing with my Dad. I had a routine appointment with my lung specialist in Sydney and sailing fitted in well afterwards. So, I’m sure you’ll understand that while I’m coughing away having lung function tests, that I was picturing being out on the water enjoying some smooth sailing and my disappointment when it didn’t happen. As we were driving back from the hospital, the wind was whipping through the trees and although my knowledge of sailing is pretty basic, it was looking like we wouldn’t get out.

Yet, I’m a pretty determined person and live that old adage: “where there’s a will there’s a way”.

However, you also need to be responsible and know when it’s time to think laterally and find something else to do…especially when the weather bureau is reporting 30 knot winds and making special, additional reports.

Clearly, it wasn’t the day to go out.

Yet, Geoff has the week off work and the kids are on school holidays and I didn’t feel like simply going home. We decided to stop off at Brooklyn on the Hawkesbury River on the way home.

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In the meantime, Dad was taking a few photos of the garden  and I decided  to retrieve the camera from the boot and go hunting. We’re just edging into Spring in Sydney. Lush green leaves are budding on deciduous trees, flowers are blooming and inspiration was everywhere.

My parents have a very established garden, which was initially developed by an avid gardener with then exotic plants. There’s a jungle of azaleas front and back and numerous camellias including the ginormous reticulatas, which Dad planted and more dainty sasanquas. Their garden also has quite a range of Japanese maples and there’s a stunning Crab Apple flowering by the front door at the moment.

If you are also seriously into photography, you’ll know what I mean when I say that I was walking through the garden looking through the lens, trying to pluck things out of the under and overgrowth, which would take on a life of their own in 6 x 4.

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A Twisted Fork in the Road.

I spotted bare branches with a maze of dark sticks silhouetted against the azure sky. I saw that proverbial fork in the road as the branches split and branched out but then as you moved out toward the twiggy ends, there was such a maze of sticks. This reminded me of what it’s like to get lost and how your plans can get so badly scrambled, that you get lost in the maze..where am I? Do I even know who I am?

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When your path becomes a jumbled maze…

Fueled by the strong wings, clouds were sprinting across the sky, whisking me out of myself and into their arms. Senses overloaded, I lay down on the grass using my camera bag as a pillow, opening the eyes of my heart up to the sky. White, flossy cloud streaked across the intense blue sky like trails of cotton wool. The leaves were rustling and chattering in the wind and various birds flew by.

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Scrumptious Clouds!

Indeed, while I was lying there I heard a “Scratch! Scratch!” in the undergrowth and a brush turkey was wandering by.

Despite all these “distractions”, I could feel myself melting into the grass and the full weight of life’s burdens being lifted from my shoulders. I can’t remember the last time I lay down on the grass and looked at the sky and stopped. Completely stopped…my heart rate slowing right down to R for rest.

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So, although we didn’t get out on the water today, I was able to experience the same sense of deep relaxation on land.

This is an important skill for a sailor to learn. After all, just like you don’t catch a fish every time, you can’t always get a sail. So, instead of succumbing to the disappointment, you’re better off keeping an open mind and finding other ways to carpe diem seize the day.

That is, instead of dwelling on the yacht which got away.

Have you ever been sailing? Please let your stories flow!

xx Rowena