Weekend Coffee Share – 12th November, 2023.

Welcome to Another Weekend Coffee Share!

How are you this week? Hope you’ve had a great week and perhaps you’d like to join me watching Masterchef’s Dessert Masters. I find watching Masterchef hard enough to watch, but watching Dessert Masters is almost crippling and I feel like smashing my TV open with a baseball ball to eat all those desserts, although as we know, it doesn’t work like that. What I would do to be on the set there. Not only that, but a taste tester. Wow! Wouldn’t that be great?!! Meanwhile, we had leftovers for dinner tonight and lately I’ve been focusing more on trying to get the house in order instead of doing my Swedish Chef (The Muppets) impersonation in the kitchen and absolutely trashing the place.

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Last week, was massive for us. On Wednesday, Miss had her high school graduation in the morning and the formal that night. That’s a massive day in itself, but there’s always a complication which decides to throw a spanner in the works, and in this instance Optus, our telecommunications company, went down for eight hours and of course we had no idea when it was going to come back up and there were certain aspects of her formal arrangements which were in limbo with her friends and the prototype for her hair was also online and couldn’t be accessed which threw quite a spanner in the works. All of this just went to show that even when you have all of your ducks lined up and you thought you’d prepared for every continency, something weird will come along from left field and clobber you (or at least have a good go at it!!) Anyway, it all came good in the end and we met up for photos at the local waterfront with the students, parents and friends and it was a lovely social occasion and I caught up with some of the mums I haven’t seen in years (again thanks to covid). Parents weren’t invited to the formal and so we headed home, but it was a fabulous very special day and we love our miss very, very much.

Meanwhile, our son is still in LA and the countdown is now on for him to board his flight. It all seems a bit weird and difficult juggling time zones. I think he’s a day plus five hours behind Sydney. It’s now midnight here and 5.02am over there and his flight leaves at 10.20 pm and he returns home on Tuesday via Fiji. He’s been to Disneyland and Universal Studios and bike riding at Santa Monica Pier and Venice Beach. I don’t know what else he’s been up to aside from attending the Church conference and he’s also attended their youth group and was giving a talk there on Friday night. Wish I could hear it. Wish I could’ve gone on an aeroplane too. I’m not really fussy about where to. Anywhere will do!

Meanwhile, I’ve been keeping the home fires burning. I have spent the last three months trying to seriously cut back the amount of stuff we have in our house. I knew it was a big job when I started but wasn’t prepared for just how bad it’s been and there’s been layer up on layer of stuff and things shoved into cupboards and things shoved in around them and maybe even through them. Don’t even get me started on books. Or, on how I keep buying more books when we already have a serious book plague through the house. However, bags of stuff have been leaving the house to go to the op shop and space is starting to open up and things are also being collated and becoming more organised. What a job!

Before I head off, I thought I’d ask you if you’ve read any good books lately? I finished Dr Tim Hawkes: “Ten Leadership Lessons You Must Teach Your Teenager”. This was a very sneaky book, because you think it’s going to help you revolutionise your teen, but the changes it recommends start with you so you get drawn well and truly into process and have to do your bit to be a good example. It makes sense, doesn’t it?! If you want your children to go a certain way or have certain traits or habits, it makes sense that it would have much more impact if you were already doing these things yourself and can be a good and encouraging role model. “Do as I say and not as I do” has never gone down well. The books is also incredibly practical and user-friendly. It contains many encouraging stories about leaders such as John F. Kennedy and Ernest Shackleton and there are fabulous inspirational quotes which he suggests you photograph and text them through to your children. What a great idea!! I could say a lot more about this book, but I’m getting tired.

So, on that note, I’ll say goodnight and bid you farewell.

This has been another contribution to the Weekend Coffee Share hosted by Natalie the Explorer. We’d love to join you.

Best wishes,

Rowena

The End Of An Era…No More School!

Last week, Little Miss who isn’t so little anymore graduated from high school and had her Year 12 formal. Naturally, this generated a lot of food for thought in addition to the parental pride, signs of relief and seeing everyone in all their splendour. It also brings significant changes for me, which are mostly liberating and yet there’s that sense of belonging and being part of the community. Well, at least that’s been my experience. I was very involved at their primary school being on the P & C and the official school photographer as well as helping out with the class reading. High school doesn’t really encourage parent involvement either from the kids or the school. You’re expected to stay at arm’s length, although they welcome involvement in the P & C which wasn’t generally taken up.

Don’t you just love that magical smile and all those feathers…our swan.

Of course, my relationship to the school was different to what it might’ve been due to my health. Had I been well, I could well have gone back to work full or part-time and not been so involved with my kids or their schooling.

Miss with Mum and Dad after graduation.

In addition to considering my transition from school mum into territory unknown, I have also been quietly acknowledging how grateful I am still here to see her graduate and attend her formal. I didn’t expect to be here, especially when I had a serious deterioration in my lung fibrosis about 10 years ago and again this year. I have kept fairly quiet about this as she doesn’t like me to talk about all of that. We play pretend. Ignore the elephant in the room, even when I’m coughing almost beyond my last breath. I’m fine!

Anyway, I thought I’d share a few photos of Miss and her big day. Such a proud Mum, not just because she looked so beautifully stunning, but because she’s persevered through all sorts of hurdles and hung in there. Her schooling was significantly impacted by the lengthy covid lockdowns we had and she and many of her peers had distinct gaps. She also has some serious health issues and missed a lot of school. This combo naturally had a huge impact and things didn’t go to plan, but she’ll be studying ballet full time next year.

Goodbye to the school gate forever. Or?

Anyway, take care and best wishes,

Rowena

Discombobulated…Friday Fictioneers

Frazzled and sleep-deprived, Dr Johnston, Principal of exclusive Harbourside Boys’ College, was rudely awakened by the Police. Just back from suspension, the usual suspects had harnessed the powers of AI to send flying cameras into the girls’ boarding house. “Ingenious,” he reflected privately, but it was his job to harness these spirited stallions, and he’d failed.

The cops noted Dr Johnston was uncharacteristically discombobulated. A specialist in Medieval literature, he muttered something about leaving modernity behind. He resigned in the morning.

Those boys had no idea, that by outsmarting the system, they’d actually shot more than themselves in the foot.

….

100 words Photo copyright – Liz Young

This is the first time, I’ve actually written connecting stories and so this week the saga of our school principal, Dr Johnston, and his merry band of mischievous young men continues.

Here’s last week’s story: A Headmaster’s Lament.

I’ve never really thought of teenage antics through the eyes of the principal before, but there’s am interesting dynamic there and Dr Johnston can respect their ingenuity at the same time he’s needing to maintain law and order.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.

Best wishes,

Rowena

A Headmaster’s Lament – Friday Fictioneers – 12th October, 2023.

At 2.00 AM, the police called Dr Stanley Johnston, Headmaster of Sydney’s exclusive boys boarding college. Two boarders had absconded in rowing skulls down the Lane Cove River. Apprehended at Cockatoo Island with some girls on camp from an equally exclusive school for girls, no one was on their best behavior.

Dr Johnston dutifully got into his suit to face the music.

“Not like it used to be,” he reflected. “The boys were clearly guilty and duly punished. Now, parents might sue for inadequate supervision.”

Meanwhile, he considered his greatest achievement that he and his mates had never been caught.  

….

100 Words PHOTO PROMPT © Rowena Curtin (Me)

This has been a contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields at Addicted to Purple.

This photo was taken at Sydney’s Cockatoo Island, which is fascinating and well worth checking out.

Best wishes,

Rowena

Just A Little Girl…Friday Fictioneers – 15th March, 2023. –

“Mummy!’ Mirium beamed spotting her mother in the throng outside the kindergarten classroom. “Look! My tooth fell out.”

“How exciting, Sweetheart. Tooth fairy’s coming tonight.”

They only had a short walk home. It was meant to be safe, but their cover was blown and suddenly the wind had changed. Mum had spotted her ex and his thugs too late.

“Run, Mirry! Run!” Her mother shrieked.

Mirium didn’t see her mother’s terror stricken face, or her captors as they threw her into a waiting van. She just kept running, knowing she was on her own.

Such big shoulders for a little girl.

…

100 Words PHOTO PROMPT © Rowena Curtin (Me)

I often wonder where these photo prompts were taken and try to bring that into the story somehow. That said, I am often stumped. However, this week I have an advantage because I took the photo. It was taken in Rose Bay, on Sydney Harbour and there were a few alleyways of shops to explore and I think Rochelle would like it there as I spotted a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel and there’s an significant Jewish community there. Unfortunately, I was too late in the day for the bagel but I hope to head back soon. I am yet to post about my trip to Rose Bay. I lived there in a flat with my parents for the first couple of years of my life. If you feel like a virtual trip, click here: Rose Bay

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields at Addicted to Purple.

Best wishes,

Rowena

Weekend Coffee Share – 5th March, 2023.

Welcome to Another Weekend Coffee Share!

Right now, I feel like I could poor a bucket of ice right over my head. Apparently, it’s 22°C and by rights I shouldn’t be complaining because the mercury is going to hit 36 °C later today. However, I’ll blame Zac the dog who is sleeping on my lap for blazing like a furnace and if it weren’t for him, I’d also elevate myself out of the chair and nab the remote control for the air-conditioning and turn it back on. Forget being stoic and developing resilience and grit. I want comfort!

On the train last night. Sorry you can’t see my magic red heels. They’re in my bag.

The highlight of the last week was catching up with some school friends for dinner at the Butcher’s Block in Wahroonga, Sydney. Coincidentally, it turns out we were meeting up with our friend Natalie who moved to Toronto, Canada and I’ve always found it kind of nice that I get a window into my friend’s world in Toronto through our intrepid host, Natalie the Explorer. There were ten of us for dinner and a number couldn’t make it, which I think you really notice with school friends because we used to hang out in pairs, within groups and while some of these allegiances changed over the years, there were those friends who made it all the way through and almost became an institution. I went to an all-girls school and while that didn’t preclude a romantic attachment, I haven’t heard of any but we certainly had no boys to couple up with although there was the school gardener who was rather young, handsome, blond and considered hot property at least on the bus. Fortunately, none of my close school friends have passed away but a number keep to themselves and I haven’t seen some truly close friends for over 10-20 + years. Indeed, putting that into words really paints an awful picture and I feel almost honourbound to get fired up and do something about it. Not all of these friends are real social and of course “we’re all busy”, but I think sometimes we need to exit stage left and leave all of that behind…the lists, the mess, the family obligations and say I am going to see you. I am going to make room for that coffee with a friend, a dinner, a weekend away. I’m not going to let the people who matter most to me get drowned out by weeds. Of course, it’s a bit harder when they don’t make the time. Don’t feel the need or desire to have coffee with you or even to return an email or text. You are in the past dead and buried. Well, as they say, “that’s their loss”. What I will say, is that I truly appreciate our school reunions and the opportunity to make new friends or strengthen various friendships which sort of hovered beneath the radar back at school. While in a sense these school friendships are in the past, there’s something really special about them. Well, that’s what I think anyway. You’re thrown into a lift together and under each other’s noses, arm pits the works with these often very strange creatures called teachers and rules and regulations, especially in our case, which often didn’t make sense. I started at the school in Year 6 back in 1981 so we’re not talking about the era of the horse and cart here, but we had to wear leather satchels to school and we also had to use cartridge ink pens. While the satchel sounds bad, inflicting ink pens on kids when biros are freely available was sadistic. How could they? We weren’t allowed to walk on the grass. Couldn’t go into a shop in school uniform or talk to boys either (which probably should’ve gone at the top of my list of prohibitions!!) Thank goodness, we’d been spared wearing gloves, but we did have to wear hats, which I’m sure had nothing to do with sun protection, especially the Winter Tam-o-shanter which made for fabulous frisbees at the train station and it was nothing for them to take flight and go on all sorts of unplanned adventures on their own. Clearly, you had to be there to appreciate the place in all it’s glory, which is probably much the same for every school although for different reasons and why school friends become a kind of survival network. If you can get through school together, you can conquer the world.

So let me propose a toast to absent friends and an open invitation for them all to come home.

Watson’s Bay, Sydney Harbour.

Meanwhile, I’m still writing up my posts from my houseminding stint in Sydney and still going on massive research detours. You might recall that I visited Watson’s Bay on Sydney Harbour and started reading Christina Stead’s novel: “Seven Poor Men of Sydney” which was set there back in the 1920s. Indeed, she lived there from 1911-1928. Well, I’m very passionate about biography and family history and so I started pouring through the old newspapers putting all that background together and was fascinated by her father, David Stead, who was a noted naturalist who was an expert in Australian fish and actively campaigned for the preservation of Australia’s native plants and animals at least as early as the 1920[‘s. He’s speaking out about koalas being killed for their furs, women wearing the feathers of exotic birds in their hats and I guess the thing that really struck me was there were tigers roaming through Singapore only 100 years ago. Indeed, his writings provide a terrifying reflection of a world we’re coming close to destroying. Yet, he was blowing the whistle over 100 years ago. Much not only to think about there, but to act on as well!

Meanwhile, the while all of that’s been going on, there’s my health which has been refusing to lie down in the background and is still trying to push me out of the way on centre stage crying: “Look at me!” Or, more pertinently “Listen to me” be it a cough, choke or shortness of breath. I think the increased prednisone is helping and the coughing has really calmed down a lot. I was able to catch the train to dinner and got through the night without mishap so I’m feeling pretty chuffed. I even got to wear my red high heels, although I managed to slip them on when I arrived and hide the dreaded flats in my bag. That’s the beauty of being first to arrive and the bathroom was conveniently right behind my seat. Surely, even I couldn’t trip over and break my neck taking only a couple of steps (You bet I could but thank goodness it didn’t happen this time.) Mind you, I could also ask why I felt compelled to wear the flashy red shoes at all when they were hiding under the table almost all of the night (Of course, I had to point them out, didn’t I ?!!)

This week I have more medical appointments, but excitingly it’s our son, J.P.’s birthday on Wednesday. He’s turning 19. My goodness time is flying.

Well, I’d better head off to bed and hope by some miracle it’s cooler in there than it is out here with the dog. I know I’ll be complaining about the cold before too long, so I’ll try to be thankful instead.

On that note, what have you been up to? I’d love to hear from you and look forward to catching up on your news.

This has been another contribution to the Weekend Coffee Share hosted by Natalie the Explorer.

Best wishes,

Rowena

Weekend Coffee Share – 5th February, 2023.

Welcome to Another Weekend Coffee Share!

How are you and how was your week?

Before you answer, how about you pull up a chair and I’ll wait on you hand and foot delivering up your choice of tea, coffee or Bonox. We can also get stuck into a packet of scrumptious Tim Tams. I know I’m not always the greatest host, and I’ve repeatedly nattered away without even asking how you’re going. So please make the most of the new me while it lasts.

The big development here this week is that our daughter, the inimitable Miss, went back to school on Wednesday going into Year 12, which is her final year at school. The start of the new school year is always a jolt. Holiday’s over. Time to face the music and get back to the real world. Or, at the very least, ensure she has a clean uniform and doesn’t run late on the first day. I ticked both of those boxes and much to my delight, she also agreed to have her photo taken before we took off. Could I be so lucky?!!

First Day of School

Returning to school, also means a return to dance.

I have to admit, I’m really looking forward to her getting her driver’s licence so I can hang up my taxi driver’s hat and stay glued on the couch.

Our son, JP, is still in holiday mode and having a trial run on a sound engineering job next Saturday night. We will be driving him to and from which means we’ll be picking him up from Wyong an hour away at 1.00am. So we’re really excited about him getting his driver’s licence too.

Meanwhile, I’ve been working flat out posting photos and accompanying stories from my three week stint house minding at Cremorne Point on Sydney Harbour. it’s taking a lot long than expected as I really jampacked a lot into some days and I’m doing multiple posts for these days. I am starting to wonder if I’ll ever get to the end. If you’d like to check out these posts, you can just scroll backwards from here.

While there are no doubt sports enthusiasts among you, I ended up watching an international ballet competition called the Prix de Lausanne through the week. Although Miss has been doing ballet for years, I’d never heard of the Prix de Lausanne, but my friend’s son was competing and I found myself rather enjoying and intrigued by the live stream. I don’t pretend to understand much about ballet, but I try. What I found interesting about this competition, is they also have classes and these are livestreamed so it allows dancers and teachers all around the world to tap into and absorb this expert advice and apply it to themselves. I was also delighted that another Australian dancer, Emily Sprout was competing and she did extremely well and was awarded a prize. Congratulations Emily! You can see her classical solo here if you’re interested.

Well that’s about it. So, now it’s over to you.

How are you?

This has been another Weekend Coffee Share, which is hosted by Natalie the Explorer.

Best wishes,

Rowena

Weekend Coffee Share – 13th February, 2022.

Welcome to Another Weekend Coffee Share and wishing you all a very Happy Valentine’s Day whatever that might mean to you. Apparently, roses are very inflated this year so I think Geoff and I will be lucky to exchange a box of chocolates. or, more likely, there’ll just be one to share and unless we go dark, the kids will tuck into them as well. Not that we don’t wish them a Happy Valentine’s Day, of course. It’s just that there are somethings you like to keep to yourself, and top of my list is chocolate!

It has been an interesting and stressful week here, but I am starting to see some progress. The kitchen table is clear, and it won’t take much to clear the couch and I actually ironed my daughter’s school uniform for the first time since she started kindergarten I suspect. We bought a couple of extra shirts and even after washing them, they were still creased from the packaging. So, a rare event occurred. I pulled out the iron. I’m not a believer in ironing, and I’ think I’ve probably only ironed a Scout shirt once in the last two years thanks to covid, associated lockdowns and becoming an endangered species. However, ironing felt strangely therapeutic. There are so many problems were can’t ort out in life, but we can pull out the iron and make those creases go away. If only we could take an iron to ourselves and magically sort ourselves out like that. Wouldn’t it be nice?!! That said, as much as I say I long for perfection and get it all sorted, I am fundamentally an erratic creative person and chasing the rabbit is much more interesting than having the perfect house.

Speaking of chasing the rabbit, I did some serious rabbit chasing this week and found myself hooning around County Clare, Ireland via Google Earth. Along the way, I stumbled into the village of Carriagaholt, in West Clare which is located on the Moyarta River where it flows into the expansive Shannon Estuary. This was the very first Irish village I have ever seen, and I’m sure I was spoilt because it was absolutely breathtakingly magical. Days later, I’m still fixed on the gorgeous white house with hearts painted on a red door. Of course, it’s great to see a house dedicated to love and goodwill. However, what really touched me about this house was it’s authentic rustic charm. It wasn’t polished, commercial or fake but that love feels real and genuine. I feel I could knock on their door, and I would be heard. To be honest, I hope my friends and family know they can knock on my door literally and figuratively speaking, even if it’s a bit hard during covid. I want to be that approachable person, and not the one who slams the door in your face, although I know I don’t always get it right and it happens. Moreover, we can’t leave out door open to everyone. A friend to all, is friend to none. We all need our inner sanctum and to preserve and nurture that.

Anyway, I really loved pottering around Carrigaholt, and I stopped into a few pubs and loved hearing some traditional Irish music including a real Irish singalong. Oh golly. Have I been missing out! I also had a cooking lesson on how to cook mussels and I’m very tempted to head down to the local fish market and have a go myself.

Here’s the link to my tour of Carrigaholt: https://beyondtheflow.wordpress.com/2022/02/10/waking-up-in-carrigaholt-county-clare-ireland/

By the way, I should mention that my Great Great Grandfather, Edward Quealey/Quailey came from the Carrigaholt region and his family were farmers there. He emigrated to New Zealand where he married his wife, Margaret O’Neill, around 1880 and they arrived in Sydney a few years later and had seven children.

In addition to all things Irish, I managed to write a contribution to Friday Fictioneers this week, and I must admit I was fairly stoked to get that done. Here’s that link, with a title which is rather apt for Valentine’s Day, even if it isn’t about romantic love. https://beyondtheflow.wordpress.com/2022/02/11/anything-for-love-friday-fictioneers/

I also posted a short story written by Mary Synon, which I thought was quite interesting and a god read for those interested in short story writing like Gary. Here’s the link: https://beyondtheflow.wordpress.com/2022/02/14/none-so-blind-a-short-story-by-mary-synon/

Violin Concert 2015.

I’ve also got back to playing my violin again after almost a two year absence, as well as getting some time in on the keyboard. My violin must’ve been in a good mood, because it usually has rather acute separation anxiety and can’t bare to be neglected for more than a couple of days without throwing a stinker. However, I didn’t sound too bad. Barely a screech! Now, there’s something to be thankful for.

That wasn’t the only thing. My friend’s dog almost died this week and somehow received a miraculous reprieve. I will come back and write more about that later after I’ve performed my afternoon taxi duties.

I hope you and yours have had a great week and look forward to hearing what you’ve been up to.

Meanwhile, you might like to join us over at the Weekend Coffee Share, which is hosted by Natalie the Explorer https://natalietheexplorer.home.blog/

Best wishes,

Rowena

PS Here’s a shot of our local Lifegard on duty at the beach while his daughter’s doing her homework in the buggy. Our daughters are best friends.

Where To From Here?

“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” Lewis Carroll

I wonder if there is truly anyone whose life is exactly how it was back on New Year’s Eve 2019 we entered into 2020? I remember that night so well watching the Sydney fireworks on TV at a friend’s party. We had such high hopes for 2020. After all, it was meant to be the year of perfect vision – not the beginnings of a terrifying global pandemic which is still haunting us two years later.

Indeed, that also leads to the next question about whether we have changed. Or, to be more precise how much have we changed both as individuals and communities in all sorts of ways since covid first appeared?

There’s been a lot of talk about how vaccines are changing our DNA. However, I haven’t heard anyone mention how we might be reprogramming our own brains through the various covid or lockdown projects many of us are undertaking, and how the very structure of our brains could well be altered as a result – again in good and bad ways.

My world has been affected more than many because I wasn’t in paid employment when Covid hit due my lingering health issues, but I was more or less at a point where I was considering looking for some part time work. Before lockdown, I’m been beavering away on my blog and had various attempts at writing books, and have been trying to find my thing. With our son booked to go on a six week history tour of Europe and visiting the battlefields of France where his Great Great Uncle paid the ultimate sacrifice just three months before the end of WWI, I started retracing his steps and putting together his story. I also picked up on my Great Great Uncle Jack Quealey who I knew very little about and I had so much trouble nutting his story out, that I had to reach him through the letters and diaries of other soldiers. Before I knew it, researching our family members had expanded into a massive, obsessive research project. I saw no problem in that. Only good. Covid was the enemy, and I was going to have something concrete to show for it. Indeed, as lockdown continued, and it was still unsafe for me to venture out, and lockdown started up again, this project had totally overgrown it’s boundaries and it had become all consuming. While my friends were out there exercising with equal zeal, I was researching, writing, transcribing letters for hours and hours, days, months. Indeed, I didn’t mean this to happen, but along the way, I stopped playing my violin, my keyboard and even writing my blog. I also kept putting off exercise. Well, exercise is hardly my best friend, and it is a bit like swallowing that vile teaspoon of cod liver oil, especially before I get out there and actually see the roses and our stunning local beaches and coast.

Well, if you know anything about neuroplasticity, you know that the wiring in our brains isn’t set in stone. It is fluid – ever-changing. So the more you do something, your brain responds by building bigger fibres…whether these are good, bad, or indifferent habits. It’s part of the reason why practice makes perfect. It’s also the same with emotions. If you keep getting angry, the angry cable in your brain will just keep getting bigger and bigger unless you start bringing your anger in line.

This is all very simplistic. I’m not trying to be a neuroscientist. I’m just trying to give you the general gist.

Anyway, just before Christmas the penny finally dropped. Sydney had just completed an incredible four month lockdown and with my auto-immune disease and acute lung complications, I had to stay low. Moreover, after our fearless Prime Minister and his cohort, our new NSW Premier, decided to “let it rip” to save the economy, I burrowed deeply underground hoping the storm would pass by overhead and leave us alone. However, that hasn’t happened and now to quote a friend “it’s EVERYWHERE!!” Omicron is like the common cold on steriods. I’ve also decided it’s the fulfillment of all my grandmother’s most vivid nightmares of germs…germs on the toilet seat, germs on the public phone. She would’ve been beside herself through this covid crisis and her handbag which always seemed to have a bag of lollies (for herself as much as for us), dainty hankies which were useless when she cried in Church, she’d now be armed with industrial strength Spray & Wipe. The sort of stuff that dissolves the surface of your benchtop, your toilet seat, as well as a layer of skin.

To be perfectly honest I’ve found it much easier to hide than deal with all of that.

However, after two years of hiding, and after two years of fighting for the needs of vulnerable people with disabilities and chronic health conditions to be acknowledged and safeguarded and two years of detailed, obsessive but incredibly fascinating and productive research, I am not who I was before. I know I am seriously out of kilter, and all sense of balance has gone.

The other aspect to all this hiding away is that my social life is all but dead. For the hardcore introvert, that could be a blessed relief. However, as a fairly extroverted extrovert it has fairly major ramifications. I don’t know what it is to go our for dinner with friends anymore, and I’m glad I managed to get out for dinner with Geoff a few times before omicron flared up. I’ve become a prisoner inside my own body let alone the house.

After spending so much of the last two years reading, writing and researching and very little time socialising, exercising, or even doing such basic things as catching the train and using cash, I know I’m nothing like who I was before. I don’t know if I can or choose to go back to sit on the same seat on the bus I was occupying before. Or, if I want to get off. Or, Indeed, in so many ways I know I already have.

Of course, I know I’m far from alone in all of this. That many of you who are in the same boat, and you’re also asking: “Where to from here?”

The honest answer for me, is that I just don’t know.

My daughter goes back to school next week, but of more immediate concern, it seems covid has snuck under the front door and I’m not feeling well. Our son went to youth camp and we pretty much expected him to bring it home. I did try to get him tested before he came back, but that fell through. I tried to usher him straight into his room, but he was full of stories and so full of life. Meanwhile, our daughter’s best friend was also positive and just about everyone we know aside from my mum and dad has it or has been exposed. Dad is waging his own war on covid and he he won’t catch it, and it won’t catch him. A true introvert, he’s determined.

“When I used to read fairy tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one!”  – Lewis Carroll

So, where to from here? In the immediate sense I’m off to make a cup of decaf tea before heading to bed. Anything more than that, will have to wait until tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I’d love to hear your thoughts about what lies ahead and I should just mention that the first quote from Lewis Carroll comes from a book I’ve just started reading: Tea & Honesty with Jules Sebastian – wife of international singer and musician Guy Sebastian and now an author in her own right.

Best wishes,

Rowena

Shorn Sheep…Post-Lockdown Relief!

Hoarding toilet paper was the stand out from Sydney’s first covid lockdown, and a desperate dash to the hairdresser seems to mark the end of our epic lockdown 2.0 on the 8th October, 2021. Somehow, my father managed to book a haircut right on the knocker, and goodness knows how far ahead he booked in, or if he even had a crystal ball to predict Freedom Day ahead of time. He is pretty organized and determined and I don’t see him as overly concerned about his appearance, although I would say he isn’t either, and certainly maintains a meticulous eye on his weight. However, I would’ve thought mum would’ve pipped him to the post and two weeks out of lockdown, she hadn’t been.

Today, my daughter and I finally made it to the hairdresser. I’m still largely in lockdown and self-isolating due to my health, so I was in no rush. However, Miss15 had wanted to go back to school and make an entrance with her new hair and would’ve preferred an appointment last week. I was putting it off, and I’m sure you can empathise with me about a teenage girls being able to out do the national debt. However, then I attended a seminar about teenagers coming out of lockdown online, and what could help my daughter settle back in at school better than sprucing up her crowning glory?!! Besides, I wasn’t going to pay for it all. She’s working at McDonalds now.

My daughter’s first haircut with Mum’s hairdresser.

It’s an interesting experience going to the hairdresser with my daughter, and getting our hair done by my close friend, Marie who runs the salon off the side of her home. So, his all made for a very intimate and personal environment with just the three of us and Marie’s teenage son dropping in and out. I hadn’t really thought about this too much, but it turns out getting Marie to do her hair has been a very wise move. My daughter, like so many brunettes, has that urge to go blond, and with her hair so dark, that will only take her hair down the road to ruin that too many brunettes have been down. Marie has evidently had this conversation before and Miss actually listens to her which is good, and throwing in a few horror stories of hair turning into straw and snapping like dry spaghetti certainly helped. So the hair has a golden sheen which will come out more out in the sun.

Getting your hair done is also very therapeutic and you can build a good rapport with your hairdresser. Indeed, getting their hair done as helped many along a difficult road, and a good hairdresser is a attentive listener and a good storyteller to boot. I’m glad daughter is bonding with my friend and they’re building a rapport. We’ve been friends since we went through Mother’s group together with our boys, and so she’s known Miss all her life.

I can’t remember going to the hairdresser with my own mother since I was a kid, and I’m sure she wasn’t there when I had my epic hair revolution with I was 15 myself. I’ll have to search for a photo and post it later. However, it was 1986 and I had one of those dreadful styles where it was permed on top and had an undercut at the back. i thought I was the epitome of style at the time. Then, my hair started turning orange instead of blond in the sun, and the lemon juice and peroxide weren’t having the desired effect. I remember stopping in at a hairdressing salon and asking them about going blond and they told me to forget it. It would destroy my hair. These are hard words for a teenage girl, especially back in the 80’s when there was never any doubt that blonds had more fun!

Anyway, getting back to today’s haircut, it’s amazing what an uplifting effect it’s had. I watched my daughter swing her hair around, and I could see it in her too. We were both on cloud nine, and I certainly felt like I’d shed a lot of dead wood and rather liberated.

How have you managed your hair during covid lockdowns? Any stories to tell? I’d love to hear from you.

Best wishes,

Rowena