reaching out into the fog

I have spoken about the fog before. I do love the fog, and we are certainly gifted with many a foggy morn, in our part of the world.

When I look out my window and see the world through the gauzy veil, I don't know...it just feels like the world is wrapped in a cozy blanket; shrouded... protected.

We live near a river, in an old fishing village, and if you listen carefully on a foggy evening, you can hear the mournful sound of a fog horn in the distance. Instantly I feel transported to the river, where imagine I can see a fishing trawler with a cautious fishing crew at the helm. The boat creeps along the silent, still, dark waters, blindingly navigating the fog, journeying through narrow waterways searching for safety and rest, in the dock yards.

It has been foggy for the best part of a week; not just in through the mornings either. Sunday happened to be foggy the entire day.

In part, the fogginess mirrors my current physical state. I am on the better side of the flu now, and am recovering.

Today, I took my son back to pre-school for the first time since the dreaded lurgy hit us. I was still rather groggy, which only became apparent once some one spoke to me. I was off in my own little world, staring off into the hazy distance of thought, while waiting for the school doors to open. Then reaching out to me through the fog, I heard a voice, a second time. The person was standing right there, but I had failed to even realise that they were talking to me.

"Hey, has your family been sick too?"

I apologised for my lack of awareness..."Yes, yes. Sorry. We have all been sick. I am not really with it, quite yet". I shook my head at my own stupidity. I usually have the observation of a hawk, the fog can affect such things.

I guess I also like the fog, because I am forced to used senses other than sight, to get my bearings, which tends to bring other kinds of awareness to light. The fog tends to bring out the details of nearer objects, since we are not able to be distracted by the distant scenery.

Yesterday, for example, I looked out my bathroom window. The old cedar in the backyard bore a single dewy droplet on the end of each of its spindly twig-like branches. The sun was straining through the fog, an iridescent white disk staring like an eye in the sky. The sun was angled in such a way that the droplets appeared like hundreds of tiny white fairy lights were adorning the sad, winter-bare tree. It was so beautiful against the grey.

Yes, I do love fog, but I will be more than happy to welcome back the clear blue skies and warmth on my back, when winter gives way for spring - in its own time.

Dear Me Project

Misc Mum, has started an interesting little project that certainly provides food for thought The "Dear Me", Project.

Misc Mum writes:

Have you ever wished you could go back in time? That if you could, you'd warn yourself not to date that man, or wear that outfit or hairstyle? To look after yourself better? To be kinder to yourself or others? What did you learn from these experiences? What can others learn?
Or would you like to gush about your wedding day? A party? Your children? Spoil the surprise, naturally, but celebrate what's to come.
Well, here's your chance!

Check out the Dear Me Project link above, if you want the full run down.

I read about this project a few days ago and umm'ed and arr'ed about what I might say. Should I even mention anything? For truly, it is our experiences, good or bad, that ultimately shape us and give us wisdom.

As I started to write though, I thought, sometimes we are still that person re-living some historic trauma, only in the here and now, once years and sometimes decades have passed us by. These experiences just seem to cling to us like mucus to an infected lung.

In fact, such a letter is not all that ridiculous when you think about it. We do the time warp every single time we disallow ourselves to reach forward; take a good risk; put ourselves out there, because of some unfortunate event or set of circumstances, that happened eons ago.

Well, I need to let go of some stuff.

So if you are game, read the post below....

August 1988

Dear Me (August 1988)

I shake my head at what just took place; of all the shit things to do to a young person... I am truly sorry you were put through that today.

Who am I, you ask. Well, I am you, almost 19 years on. It is true. I have chosen this pivotal moment to stand up for us, for once in our lives, albeit 19 year later. I simply can not take this bull shit any longer. You are worth so much more than this misguided synopsis foretells.

I have wisdom that comes through experience, which I am willing to share. So listen very carefully.

The reason The Parents sent you to a vocational psychologist at age 14, was not because they “fear you will spend your future in a dole queue” – that is a load of bollocks. They have their own issues, and unfortunately you are being used to explore these issues for them.

The pressure for you to commit to any vocation, at this age, is ridiculous and overwhelming, I know. Whatever you do, do not rush into anything just to appease others; it is you who has to live with it, not them.

I know the psychologist’s report was not exactly glowing; in fact it reinforced much of what the teachers have been regurgitating your entire schooling career – basically, that you have the intelligence of a dung beetle. I know it hurts, and I know it is confusing, when deep down, you know this just isn’t so.

Even with the passage of time, I can not understand why you presented or were misrepresented that way. For you certainly DO pass year 11 and you DO pass year 12, although when the expectation is that you are intellectually incapable, there seemed little sense in doing anything other than the bare minimum, to pass.

Should you take this letter to heart and actually put in some effort on the school front, please chose the subjects you would enjoy, rather than those you think you SHOULD do. It sure would make the time pass in a less excruciating fashion. You might even enjoy it a little.

But you know something – for all the pain, and anxiety the school experience has given you, the grades you achieve in year 12 will have absolutely no bearing on your future.

To this day, I still carry around a lot of anger about those years, so please do us both a favour and let it go. Aside from a handful of “lifer” friends -you know who they are- this school thing sucks, and in the future, the treatment you received through your school years should be given as little reflective thought as possible - because this is not who you really are.

Having said that, work is a very enticing option and your confidence will begin to grow when you find employment, but for the time being, stay in school. You will connect with someone very special in your Year 12. I won’t say who. He attends the school there with you, but amazingly, your paths have just never crossed before.

By the way, you may be interested to know that Mr Psychologist over there, wouldn’t know his arse from his elbow regarding the university thing. When the time is right, and I stress, when the time is right, you WILL go to university, and you will shine GIRL!

You believe you have to work harder than everyone else to pass, but you more than pass. You even write a thesis that you will be proud of, for many years to come. The topic? I can’t tell you that. You need to discover your passion for learning, and you will, but only when you have the freedom to do so.

I know you are not really your self right now. A certain bloke has turned your head in a big way, but seriously- he is a first-class prick. He doesn’t respect you, and the mixed feelings he is sending out are doing nothing for your confidence. Enough is enough. Please don’t waste another minute on this guy – you should have put an end to this cycle of misery at the start of the school year. Seriously, this experience with him is destroying your soul, and you know it.

What other wonderful assumptions did the good Mr Psychologist have to say?
Oh yes….Apparently you will be unable to look after yourself, so you need to live close by The Parents.

Yeah, good one Dr. Chuckles.

Rest assured, you never allowed yourself to even entertain such a possibility. You will be more than fine on your own two feet. You even have the opportunity to travel, with your beloved – it’ll be fun. In fact, it’ll blow your mind.

And one more thing before I go. In many years to come, you will meet a woman and you will become great friends with her. She will eventually have a baby, and all you will want to do is head for the hills screaming. I understand, motherhood goes against the embedded career pressure thing, but please don’t shun her. Be a good friend and help her. You will actually learn much from her, and these skills will settle your own fears and anxieties when it becomes your time – and that day will come, or has it come already hmmmm I don’t know…you’ll just have to wait and see.

You are blessed beyond your wildest dreams. You are a good person, and you are most definitely worthy. Don’t ever let anyone tell you any different.

Hugs and love
Me (January 2007)

Dear Me Project

Happy Australia Day

Well, if we were in Australia, Australia Day would be over and done with by now, but here, it is still January 26th! Yay. Not that I feel in a very celebratory mood.

That niggly feeling in my throat, mentioned in the previous post, turned into an all out flu.

My husband took the day off, Wednesday, to look after me and our two sick kids. I figured I couldn't feel any worse than I did Wednesday. WRONG! I was a complete rite-off yesterday. I had to call my husband home from work, I was in such a bad way (oh the humiliation).

Once he was home I lay in a vegetative state till I got up this morning. I think I slept for a total of 15 hours yesterday; in between hacking my lungs up and alternate bouts of freezing and sweating with a fever - oh what fun.

I do feel slightly better today- perhaps 50%. I will try to get into the doctors office today.

Next year I am definitely getting us all the flu shot. I kind of regret not doing it this year. hmmmm.

Well, with that little drama aside. I thought I would post a little tribute to Australia Day with a funny video by Aussie comedian Adam Hills.

For years, perhaps decades, Australians have complained about the dreary music that accompanies the words to our National Anthem - Advance Australia Fair. Well Adam Hills has come up with this suggestion, which is sure to get a few laughs, if nothing else - Advance Australia Fair, to the rocking tune of Jimmy Barnes' (of Cold Chisel fame) Working Class Man. I can just imagine John Howard rockin' down to this one.

Happy Australia Day.

Australian National Anthem - (Working class Anthem)

The importance of sensible shoes

I went off to my Nordic Walking group last night.

I started getting a niggly feeling in the back of my throat - it could have been the beginning of the dreaded lurgy that Mister had, but I chose not to allow that fact to provide me with a much too convenient excuse, and pike out.

It had snowed the week prior and so I was bundled in a million layers and wore snow boots for the occasion. Stupidly, I wore the same rig-out this time.

Last week I went in the beginners group, a group made up of mostly retired people, a fact that didn't worry me in the least.

I got to talking with many in the group and it was quite an enjoyable first experience. The walking poles were next to useless though, since we were keeping pace with the snail, but I had a good time.

Nevertheless, the instructor suggested I give the faster group a go. "Sure" I said, and happily made the move over to the darker side.

Once we were off and err...walking, the walking poles began to realise their potential; we were motoring down the side walks, burning rubber BABY!

Actually after a short while I began to grow rather uncomfortable swaddled in my tonne of clothing. Boiling heat was radiating from every inch of my being, sweat pouring down my face and my feet. Oh God...my feet. I think I could probably strike a match on them. Burn Baby Burn, that was for sure. I could definitely feel a blister developing on the sole of my foot. Snow boots substituting runners - what was I thinking? YYYYOUCH!

I persevered. Gritted my teeth, puffed, panted and groaned my way through the lactic acid build up. I winced and whined as I dragged my sorry butt up English Bluff and down again. We passed a pizza shop on the way back, a fragrant mix of garlic, herbs and hot fresh bread wafting, teasing, luring me by the nostrils, MMMMMmmm....FOCUS!

By the time we made it back to The Run Inn I was speechless and tomato red. I staggered gingerly back to the car and slumped into the drivers seat.

One of the marathon runners wandered passed with a cheery relaxed look on her face. She smiled knowingly at me, she thought I was a runner too. I could tell. I composed myself for those few moments of telepathic communication we shared..."get a grip girl...it was a damn WALK", I scolded myself, after she was out of view. God I am unfit!

By the time I reached my front door, my entire body felt like lead. My feet burned, calves screamed in shock and for some reason my kidneys felt like the little silver ball inside a pinball machine must feel, after a few frantic games.

Once home I retreated up to the shower and thought about the experience.

Last week was relaxed and social - boy to I need social. This week was more serious. It was all about fitness - boy do I need fitness. I have a decision to make. Social V fitness; fun V hard work hmmmm decisions decisions....It is a no brainer really.

I once saw a quote, which has always stuck in my mind. I do try to live by it. It read:
The easy road leads to the hard road.
The hard road leads to the easy road.
Given the choice - take the hard road.

Fine then... I will persevere with the exercise road, and who knows...it might even lead to something social as well, one day.

So with that, I hang up my blister-making-snow boots come walking shoes and drag out the old, neglected in the back of the cupboard, covered in spider webs, runners....no regrets.

when NOT to encourage sharing

I have two kids, one is 4 years and the other, nearly 3.

My four year old goes to pre-school.

I help out one of the working pre-school Mums, by allowing her to drop her child into my house on Wednesday mornings. I take care of him for the hour or so before school; take him to school with my son, and drop him to his baby sitters after school.

I know it is not much. This particular mother has had a really hard time since going back to work - some unbelievably bad strokes of luck; major car trouble, unprecedented school closures, snow storms, major wind storms, anyone of her three kids sick at any one time, out of town family deaths, you name it. So I am more than happy to help her out and ease a tiny bit of her load.

The week before Christmas my kids were sick.

There had been a nasty virus going around, and of course, schools seem to breed such things in plague-like proportions. Unfortunately for my youngest, her illness turned to pneumonia, but she is ok now.

Last week was the first week after the holiday break that I had taken in the previously mentioned boy, for the pre-school run. The week prior her eldest son's school bus broke down AND there was snow, which caused further head aches for the boy's Mother- anyway the little boy didn't go last week.

My son and this particular boy get of very well, in fact this little boy is quite a sweetie, but he turned up to our place last week with a gut churning, lumpy, bumpy and chunky cough. If anyone was going to cough up a lung (and more) it was going to be this kid!

It was perhaps 15 minutes after the drop off, that the boy made his first attempt at stifling the unstoppable cough. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

The mother hadn't said a word about it, but considering the difficulties she has been experiencing in actually getting to work on time, or at all, I can understand why she might have chosen not to have mentioned it.

I did voice my concern, since his cough sounded so painful and utterly dreadful.
"Are you ok?!!!" I asked.
"Yep", he assured me.
"Were you sick over the holidays ?" I furthered.
"Nope", he informed me innocently.
"Well that cough sounds just awful!" It was quite obvious he HAD been sick.

Yesterday my son awoke and wasn't really himself. He kept telling me he was tired. He was also unusually quiet all day. He kept crying over meaningless things, lost his normally insatiable appetite, then finally, last night, he informed me that his head hurt when he jumped up and down. He was coming down with something...

I gave him some Tylenol and suggested he sleep for as long as he wanted. This morning he woke at 8am with a fever, runny nose and an awful cough, one that echoed that of his little friend.

Time to stock up on the Kleenex - AGAIN. Sigh....