Chatting with The Dink

Ok, sincere apologies for this but I can't seem to upload the actual video on YouTube but here is the link to my interview with Peter Dinklage (plus a minute with Mr Jackman).

Leisa Interviews: TW, Hugh Jackman & Peter Dinklage.

Serious fan girl moments in there folks.

Enjoy

It's all fun and games till someone loses an eye.

I don't ever want anyone to think I was all sweetness and nice growing up.

The mindfulness that is now mine in adulthood did not always exist and sometimes, despite parental guidance and encouragement, I too engaged in the teasing and ridicule of other children who were deemed different...or who may not have been as clean as me, or those my peers saw as weird, or strange or annoying...or...worthy of being picked on just because...

Why do children do that? How do they start doing that? Why do they follow a pack mentality? Why do they engage in such behaviour even though their parents  may model and encourage acceptance and love?

I don't know. I can cast my mind back and see it all happening but I cannot understand the mindset.

I remember a little girl called X who was part of a friendship circle we were in. All was well and fine until one day...we decided it wasn't. No rhyme, no reason. We decided to let her know that we hated her by writing her a note telling her she was as yucky and smelly and ugly as cow poo - complete with pictures. I remember contributing to that note by drawing the pictures with such glee! No thought to the potential consequences of such a note - just the pure enjoyment of writing such venom.

I believe the average age of the girls in our group was ten.

It was all fun and games until someone got hurt. I don't remember who delivered the terrible note...but I do remember that sweet little girls face crumple with grief and the way she sobbed and sobbed and showed the teacher.

I was mortified. Ashamed. Grief stricken. In my gleeful involvement I had not had the foresight to think of the consequences for this dear, sweet little girl; what it would feel like to be singled out and have your friendship group turn against you like that - with no warning! But I saw her face...and I knew...and I was ashamed.

The next morning we surrounded the girl of our own volition and told her how sorry we were. We asked forgiveness. I think there was an element of punishment avoidance behind our apology but I cannot forget how horrible I felt watching that little girl sob.

Obviously the teacher saw that there was a heartfelt resolution to the whole incident because she never got involved. I think she saw us all happily playing together and let us be.

Even though I never forgot that incident it didn't serve as enough of a lesson to stop me engaging in other forms of subtle bullying. In Year 9 at High School (why is Year 9 such a feral year?) my best friend and I made up nicknames for other students and teachers - those who were different, others with mental illnesses or disabilities or those we just didn't like and teachers with odd quirks. Blockhead, Spoon, Dude, Mr Jellylegs, Fräulein Lizardface. We never called them those names to their faces but I find myself wondering if they ever knew and sometimes I see their faces even now and wish I could turn back time and be less of a minion and more of an understanding individual. 

Still...time goes on and thankfully I left immature childhood behind. The faces of the past still flit through my mind sometimes and I remember them and send out good wishes to them in the hope that they are having a happy life. I remember and know what it's like to be the object of ridicule and a target of jokes and instead of becoming bitter, draw from those experiences to make changes for the better and reach out with understanding and compassion. I simply love people. I love our differences and diversity. I've discovered that there are so many levels to connect with others and so many ways in which we are the same. 

It saddens me to learn sometimes that even those of us with physical differences  may not learn from our own experiences; that there are those who will target others with different quirks or an appearance diversity or even another disability and subject them to ridicule and bullying. I cannot understand or comprehend that mindset. I can't understand how those of us who know what it's like to be the target and recipient of bullying and ridicule can then turn around and inflict that kind of behaviour on another human being, simply because they may be different.

Try as I might I cannot make sense of it.

Recently I learned that a brand new friend of mine was the target of some pretty hefty bullying by a group of people who all had dwarfism. This friend has a genetic condition affecting her appearance. She is such a dear person, strong, intelligent, kind and a wonderful self advocate in educating others about appearance diversity. I am so pleased to have become a friend.

But naturally, before she met me, my friend was somewhat "put off" by people with dwarfism - and after the treatment she received from the group she encountered I really don't blame her. I'm so glad that meeting me has been a positive experience for my friend. It confirms to me my resolve to be a positive example when I am out and about and in my dealings with others.

I often wonder about bullies and wonder if karma does actually catch up with them eventually. None of us know what's in store for us. Life can change in the blink of an eye. Life can be cruising along nicely and then suddenly one may find themselves the victim of a car accident that results in a permanent physical or brain injury; a beloved family member may give birth to a child with an unexpected disability thus opening up a whole new world and range of experiences to that family; brain chemistry may suddenly change causing epilepsy or the experiences that life tends to throw at someone may see them descend into depression where everything is overwhelming and they can't seem to be the person they once were.

What happens to bullies when they find themselves in the very situations that they used to victimise others for? Do they remember? Do they feel regret and remorse? I know I do and vow to make amends if ever the situation presents to be able to do so. 

I wish we could all go through life thinking "There but for the grace of God go I." It's something that my mother used to say and something that never left me. Teasing someone may give a fleeting feeling of superiority and mirth for you and your friends...but remember that it is all fun and games until someone loses an eye...and one day you might find yourself in that persons very same spot. Tread lightly on the earth and extend goodness and kindness to others. It's not that hard. Open your heart. I know that as I have I've found myself surrounded by the most beautiful people who have enriched my life in ways I never expected. 

Try it. 

Burning the candles

Figuratively burning the candle at both ends lately. 

My eldest daughter will be pleased by my use of the word figuratively as opposed to the word literally. Our family has many a conversation about society's overuse of the word literally. 

After the excitement of the past week, changes occurring in each of our lives and four weeks worth of intensive training I seem to have reached a point where I'm dragging my feet. It's no secret I'm exhausted. I have no stores of energy now to complete all of the daily tasks that are now piling up.

I can't remember the last time I got into a made bed. The amount of dust and animal hair about the house could almost make up one small human and one extra animal. Everyone's tired of quickly slapped together meals, toasties or take-away. The search for underwear in the rapidly growing washed-dried-but-not-folded laundry pile is getting annoying, and we could possibly start growing potatoes or some other root vegetable on our dirty floors soon.

It's not pretty. 

I'm trying not to make it matter but it does. By the time I get home at night from my work in the city I'm too tired and grumpy to do anything except eat something and veg out in front of Masterchef, dreaming that someone, anyone would come into my house, wave their magic wand and everything would be clean, uncluttered, put away and I could sit down and eat one of those incredible looking dishes they submit to the Masterchef judges. I'm so jealous. I want Gary, George and Matt's jobs! How cool would that be?

As I interviewed Peter Dinklage and Hugh Jackman on Friday I thought, "I love doing this! I wish I could be paid to do more of this! What do we have to do to make this happen?" Wouldn't it be wonderful working a job where most of the time spent doing it are hours you're enjoying yourself? My niece who loves drawing, cartooning and creating characters, went to the Dreamworks exhibition at ACMI recently and was so inspired by the Dreamworks artists who get to spend their working days dreaming and creating and doing what they love. Not only do they get to do what they love, but they are paid for it. They earn a living from it. I hope my niece is inspired enough to pursue her passion. I hope she gets to live her dream.

What is my dream? What are the things that I'm passionate about and will drive me towards creating a career doing something I love? Sometimes I feel the answer is close but it is elusive. I feel it in the thrill of having a microphone in my hand and a camera beside me. I feel it as I explore my creative side during a movement workshop where I get to explore dance and movement and emotion. I feel it when I write and the words flow onto the page, no longer trapped inside my soul. I feel it when I run in the morning, when it's just me, the road and the air.

There has to be more to life than just survival; living week to week, payday to payday.

I'll find it someday. 

The one in which she meets Tyrion Lannister

When Tyrion Lannister first stepped onto the screen in the HBO series Game of Thrones I wanted to be written in as an Arya-type character who would eventually bump the lecherous little bastard off. The first episode aired and by the end credits I didn't like him. I hadn't read the books so wasn't at all familiar with the story and how crucial Tyrion was to the plot; nor did I realise how intelligent, kind and sensitive Tyrion was. I judged him too harshly after first seeing him in a brothel in a bed full of buxom wenches, swilling down wine like there was no tomorrow.

Image source

Perhaps I was just not used to seeing a character with dwarfism portrayed in such a way. I have to admit that in spite of my desire to see short statured actors given meaty, in your face, real roles that called upon their talent as opposed to them simply fitting a height (or lack of) requirement, to actually see it happen...I kind of wasn't prepared for how confronted I was...and given the fact that Game of Thrones isn't shy about the depiction of sex scenes I began to wonder if we were going to even see a person of short stature in one.

We haven't...yet.

Anyway the more I've watched GoT the more I've come to like Tyrion Lannister. and love the way Peter Dinklage has brought him to life. It's no secret now how much I admire Dinklage and have enjoyed following his career since he made his presence known in The Station Agent. 

You cannot imagine my excitement when I received an invition to the Melbourne Premiere Screening of X-Men - Days of Future Past by Hoyts Cinemas as a representative of my workplace. In the film, Dinklage plays Boliver Trask, creator of the robotic Sentinels designed to exterminate the mutant population. The role was not written for an actor of short stature however Peter Dinklage was cast, adding an interesting nuance to the role.

What made the premiere event even more exciting was that Peter Dinklage, Hugh Jackman and Fan Bing Bing were going to be in attendance!  Would I finally get a chance to meet the star?

In a serendipitous turn of events I suddenly found myself issued with three media passes and a position on the red carpet at the premiere with the possibility of interviewing two of the hottest stars in Hollywood. To say I was overwhelmed was an understatement.

What was I going to say?

What was I going to ask?

And what an EARTH was I going to wear?

So, accompanied by my son Tim and my colleague Akash who is a whizz with a camera and everything technical, I found myself in the centre of the red carpet press pit, surrounded by a gaggle of reporters and hundreds of screaming fans.

After we'd arrived and set ourselves up our biggest concern was the fact that the barriers used to corral the reporters and photographers was almost as tall as me. How was a short statured interviewer going to be able to interview an actor who was also short statured over a barrier that was almost as tall as them both? Publicity and Security staff were most helpful and brought in an equipment case for Tim and I to stand on. This meant that we towered over even the tallest guests, however I didn't feel comfortable about trying to interview Peter Dinklage from such a lofty vantage point. I wanted to be able to speak with him eye to eye, so I took matters into my own hands, got down and stood at the entrance to the corral in the hope of being seen.

Before I knew it, there they were - Hugh Jackman followed by Peter Dinklage and Fan Bingbing. All of them slowly made their way around the red carpet and eventually came to me. Let me just say that Hugh Jackman is incredibly tall! 

Yes, he's talking to me but I'm not even in the shot!

As I write this I have not yet seen Akash's film footage and I was incredibly star struck so can't quite remember what I asked him, but I do know that Hugh Jackman was a very warm, friendly man who was more than happy to pose for a blurry selfie with me.

There I am! Oh my gosh! I'm touching his shoulder!

For a few scary moments I thought that Peter Dinklage was going to pass me by but then he stopped and turned and was only too happy to have a chat. I talked to him about the powerful lines he delivers as both X-Men's Boliver Trask and Game of Thrones Tyrion Lannister and whether he drew on his experiences as a person of short stature to deliver them with such emotion and passion. He answered that when he first really started acting there were roles where he felt he was internally working through some things but not so much in his current work. I alluded to the idea that he had become a bit of an ambassador for people of short stature wanting to break into the film industry but he was reluctant to see himself as such and it is not something he actively tries to be, regardless that other people may view him in this manner. I found him to be quite humble about his success and nonetheless grateful for the honour it has afforded him.

Serious interview face.

In the last few moments we had Tim and I joked with him, saying that Tim has been asked many times in the street if he is "that guy from Game of Thrones". Peter looked at Tim and said, "Gee man! Sorry about that!" To which Tim replied, "That's ok! It's not your fault!" We laughed together and then Peter shook our hands whilst I thanked him for speaking with us.

We made him laugh!

The interview was possibly only two or three minutes long and given that there were so many people who wanted to speak with him we were grateful for those brief moments. We watched as he slowly made his way around, speaking with other reporters and posing for selfies with the many excited fans who were there to see him.

I am still in disbelief that I was able to speak with him and found him to be a generous person to interview who well deserves the respect and admiration he receives.

My Mothering Journey

Motherhood is the best thing to ever happen to me. You know where there's that thing deep down inside of you that's instinctual and you know you were born to do it? That was motherhood for me.

My foray into motherhood didn't start out in the best possible way. At the age of nineteen years and 4.5 months I discovered I was pregnant. 

Oh! So it does work! *blinks*

One thing you have to understand, back in 1986 we were still on the tail end of single mothers being stigmatised...and coming from a conservative Christian home the news wasn't met with a great deal of joy, excitement and enthusiasm. Not by a long shot. On both sides of the family really...

My poor mother. I decided to break the news to her whilst she was serving up a roast chicken dinner for ten people. I kind of let her guess what I needed to tell her. She almost forgot to make the gravy...and years later she said she barely tasted that chicken. Poor Mum. She had the harder job. Telling my Dad...

Although everything with the pregnancy was smooth and uncomplicated, I wish I could say that I was the epitome of serenity and calm...but I wasn't. Looking back on it now, even though I felt grown up I wasn't and I was most definitely still a kid having a kid. I was pretty much led around by the medics, succumbed to their wishes and tests and investigations. I had no idea of my rights, no thought to saying no and really felt out of control in the whole process.

Like I said, a kid having a kid.

When I woke from the general anaesthetic after my c-section I couldn't comprehend the searing pain I was in. I'd never felt pain like it before. It was all I could think about until the pethidine kicked in. Then my thoughts were to the baby. My baby. Somewhere in that huge hospital there was a baby girl who was mine and I needed to see her, touch her, hold her. I wouldn't rest until I'd held her and so, a couple of hours after having major abdominal surgery, I stood up and got into a wheelchair and they took me down a couple of floors to meet my baby girl.

I wish I could say that on seeing her I felt this wonderful, indescribable rush of maternal love. I wish I could say that I held her, the tears flowed and I pronounced her "The Most Beautiful Baby On Earth." I wish I could say that. Truth is, the best way to describe the feeling was detached curiosity. They handed me this dear little girl and told me she was mine...but she didn't feel like mine. I had been expecting to feel like a mother...and I didn't. 

Looking back on that day now I see how far we have come in understanding the importance of mother/baby skin-to-skin contact and how vital it is for bonding. When I saw my baby she was cleaned up and tightly swaddled in a bundle of blankets. I remember holding my daughter and systematically unwrapping her so I could see her body and check out her arms and legs, fingers and toes. It was all instinctual - as though I needed to do it.

The feeling of love did come, a couple of days later I just loved her...and yearned for her so much. She was still two floors away from me. She still didn't feel like mine. She belonged to the hospital...and I couldn't shake this feeling of almost having to ask permission to do anything with her. 

This feeling persisted for eight long months - until my partner and I were married and living together as our own little family unit. Until then we were all living together in a house of 10+ people and I kind of felt as though I was my daughters carer and she belonged to everyone in the house. The feeling frightened me because I loved her so completely but was terrified that because of the sheer number of people surrounding her every day she didn't know that I was her mother. Everyone loved Sarah...and the feelings that were so prevalent from people during my pregnancy simply melted away by the sheer wonder of her.

It was only after we got married and were finally doing everything properly did I feel as though I had the right to be her proper mother....and I started taking to it like a duck to water. No I wasn't as organised as my own mother, but I started finding my own groove. Sarah and I played and went on walks and read books and grew up together I suppose. Some days, in that dear little house at the back of a group of units, it felt as though it was just she and I existing in the world.

I did so many things "wrong". Looking back on it all now I simply cringe at some of my ways, things I did or didn't do...but it was in those things that I came to understand that we mothers are simply trying to do our very best with the internal resources we have. We don't have it all together, and our poor firstborn children are the ones we experiment with. I was the experiment for my parents...and I do know, deep in my heart, that they did the very best they could through the sheer force of love.

Mothering the second, third and fourth time around was so much easier. Telling people I was pregnant was joyous news to share. I'd grown up. No longer a kid having a kid...even though I was still only 23, 24 and 29 respectively...I was able to take more control, have a voice, state my wishes regarding the pregnancies and births. Bonding with the babies was easier as they were brought in and laid in my arms as soon as possible, still clothed but unswaddled. Georgia, my last baby, was actually awake and alert when I met her and we spent those first minutes gazing into each other's eyes. It was as though she needed to know me as much as I wanted to know her. I wish I'd been able to have that with the others too. It still remains the most magical experience of my life. 

Mothering has been the most wonderful, awe-inspiring, terrifying, heartbreaking experiences of my life. Being a mother means that you're watching your heart beat outside your body every single day. Being a mother is a constant lesson in letting go, being brave when you're the most terrified you've ever been. Being a mother means that you get to be a child again and view the world through their eyes; being in a constant state of wonder at the world. 

I have become my own kind of mother. Initially you look to your own mother for guidance and you start mothering from the store of experiences you had with your own...but as the years pass I've become aware that I've learned mothering in my own way. I've taken from my own mother the lessons of dedication, diligence, strength and an inexhaustible work ethic but nurtured things that are uniquely me - silliness, a sense of the ridiculous, adventure. I've developed a style of mothering from those things I wished I had - a longing to be able to talk about anything and everything. My children and I talk about everything. Nothing is taboo. Sometimes I am astounded by the subjects we explore...but it feels right to be doing so...and it's in those things that I learn about how wonderful these four souls are that have graced us with their presence. 

Being a mother has opened my eyes and enabled me to see my own mother in a new light. She was and is perfect for me - a woman who, out of her imperfection and brokenness, gave the very best she had to me and my six siblings. She learned right along with us, worked every single day of her mothering life tirelessly and selflessly. I am in constant awe of her strength and diligence...and her love for all of us and the love she still has for our father may not be shouted from the rooftops but is just as loud and just as strong in her quiet, meek way. I love her with the whole of my being.

House tied

It's raining today. I heard it as I woke at around six this morning and my immediate thought was, "No run today." I feel guilty about that. I'll probably go a bit later. I have a "Fast five" scheduled. I did some interval training yesterday - 1k jog, 1k run x 3. It's when I do the fast stuff that I realise how much work I still have to do on my fitness. Gaining control of my breathing is something that's way up there on my goals list. The feeling of not being able to control it is scary. I don't know what that's about. When K has sprints scheduled I get really nervous. I hate it (Now that she's read this she'll schedule more! Ha!)

So anyway, yes it's raining so I'm going to stay indoors and do ALL THE THINGS! I cracked it with the disgusting state of one of the bathrooms yesterday and did something most uncharacteristic of me and attacked it with.....Domestos. 

Yes, I am ashamed. But gosh those shower tiles are white now! They're WHITE! Who knew? 

Now I have plans to clean the house within an inch of its life. It's still falling down - the house. The Office of Housing appointed maintenance man came over the other morning when I was out. He apparently came in, checked the plaster he'd put in the cracks, said, "Yeah, they're opening up again," and left. 

That, dear reader, is the extent of the care we in public housing receive.

Yesterday was another day of Doing All The Things. There is no such thing as a day off. I am busier on my days off than I am in my paid job...but isn't that the case for a working mother everywhere? Yesterday involved driving my son to work, a dentist appointment for my daughter and me, going to Centrelink and getting the ball rolling for my school leaver, going to the bank and getting my daughters account set up properly, going to Telstra and setting up my daughters iPhone she received for her birthday, doing some purchases for my son, dropping my daughter off for theatre rehearsals, picking up my son from work and then coming home and cleaning the $#!+ out of the bathroom.

Honestly, I love being busy. I feel alive, full of purpose. It doesn't exhaust me. It wakes me up, makes me feel invigorated.  I like getting into my car, doing all the things, ticking off all the boxes and not coming home again till they're all done. I work well with momentum. If I sit down I'll stop.

Speaking of which...I do need to get up off this couch and start. I might end up doing a run later on. After lunch maybe.

What's on your To Do List today?

Silence fading

The silence fades,

no longer the need to fill with noise.

 I turn to gentle tunes of those singing poetry;

thoughts to melody

wishes

longings

dreams.

In my silence I am reflective and pensive 

Wondering where to journey from here, doubting choices made

and unmade.

Embers burn from a long forgotten dream 

Or a dream that is yet taking form.

Wondering if to tread this well worn path 

even now rocky;

Or to venture to the one not known

but lonely.

Flickering doubt causes hesitation and I long for another with whom to share;

to unburden my heart of  insecurity and loss.

I turn to the melody 

and long for the sea, 

which soothes with it's tides and majesty,

like the steady beat of heart and breath and purpose.

It calls in a whisper from far off and my heart turns towards the call.

To find solace

Strength

Deliverance.

Resistance

This is the first time in a very long time I've only had one place to write on the interwebz. Up until...a couple of months ago this was my secondary place; my public space. The other place was a more personal online diary, only viewable to a select number of people. It was the space where to some extent I could let it all hang out and do more process writing, venting, pretty much whatever I guess.

Not anymore. This is it. Just Life at My Level. I've got another blog linked to my Blogger profile entitled Being Leisa but that remains empty. It all seems too complicated to write content for both; and I'm not even sure what Being Leisa was supposed to be all about anyway.

Tonight I miss the diary space. I miss that space of just letting go and not really worrying about content; not thinking about whether or not my words are thought provoking, or funny, or encouraging. I miss that space where it feels like me and a bunch if my friends just hanging out and chewing the fat together. I miss that space where I can just lay my thoughts and ideas and emotions on the table and have a couple of trusted people answer back and help me see a way through the tangle. 

But I stopped doing that for reasons that are my own and made Life at My Level my only space. I know I hold the reins tightly with this space. Mainly because I know a lot of my audience personally. They don't comment on here...but they tell me they're reading.

I've been asked once or twice why I feel the need to expose myself here. Funny, I think I'm pretty subdued here. Honestly, I'm constantly amazed at how much some bloggers put online. Amazed in a good way really. I admire their candour. I wish I had the freedom to be so sometimes. 

I read something today that expressed succinctly the reason I blog:

I believe this wholeheartedly. I've experienced healing through some of my writings...and felt connected to people who, even though they are not experiencing the same things as me, still process the same emotions - especially those of being unsure and insecure with their own selves. It's brought me a measure of comfort.

There are still many more stories I wish I could tell. So many thoughts and emotions are running scattered throughout me tonight and I wish I could just write them all out, just so "they no longer threaten the life they belong to". (Breathe - Anna Nalik) For now they'll just stay buried. I'll have to try and silence them with sleep.

It's cold tonight. 

What would I do?

Memory - Image credit

The delightful Kate, from Kate Says Stuff posted this thought provoking question today.

If you had no memory of yesterday, and no understanding that tomorrow might exist, what would you do today?

I think about this a lot.

Both of my maternal grandparents had Alzheimers disease and Multi-infarct Dementia . My great grandmother had Alzheimers as well. I cannot remember my great grandmother very much, but I watched my grandparents deteriorate over the years. My Pa passed away when I was seventeen. He had been unwell for ten years prior to his death so I didn't have much comprehension of what was going on and as children we weren't really told much. Looking back on it all now it would have been really helpful to have been given some kind of explanation...(yet ANOTHER story for yet ANOTHER time.)....both for our understanding and for Pa's benefit. It's only been as an adult that I've gained some understanding of what Pa was going through at the time and what kind of "old people's home" he was actually in.

*shakes head*

Word to the wise...tell children the truth, even when it might be difficult. It helps.

Nanna passed away in 2009, not long after she was formally diagnosed with Alzheimers. Watching her decline was harder, even though I knew what was happening. I think the hardest thing was watching this strong, formidable woman become a mere shadow of who she was. Alzheimers is horrible. It takes away your loved ones years before they actually leave.

So....when at the age of 45 a couple of years ago a random MRI of my brain showed that there were areas of atrophy I immediately thought of Nan and Pa and saw myself heading down the same path.

"We usually don't see this kind of thing happen until the age of 65," my doctor told me. It wasn't very encouraging or comforting. I already knew that I have diverticular disease which was diagnosed in my early 30's - again something you don't normally see in anyone under the age of 45, so to get the news of my brain shrinking at the age of 45 was.....kind of scary. Guts I can handle....brains going haywire are a little more tricky.

So....when Kate posed the question this morning my thoughts immediately went to Nan and Pa and my own brain atrophy diagnosis. Near the end my grandparents had no memory of five minutes ago let alone yesterday. I don't know if they had any thoughts of tomorrow as their capacity for speech left them. They were in the perpetual now. Like, right now. Second by second.

I wonder what that was like for them?

Was it scary or were they just content to be?

Leading up to being in the perpetual now, when she was still chatty and talkative, Nanna would repeat the same stories over and over. The last one I remember her being stuck on was remembering something my children did one day when she was looking after them. (before she became unwell) Every time I'd visit she would recount that story over and over....every five or so minutes.

I didn't mind. It brought her joy to recount it...and perhaps she felt she was contributing to the conversation more by doing so. I could see in her face that the story warmed her heart...and at that stage in proceedings I was happy just to see her happy.

I don't know what's ahead for me. No one can tell me what this atrophy is all about, why it's there, whether it has something to do with my achondroplasia and the larger ventricles that accompanies it or if it's related to depression and stress. No one can tell me if it's the early stages of the same path my grandparents trod.

What I do know though is that I am OK now. Some of the memory lapses I have can easily be attributed to things like stress, being distracted, too many things on my plate.....and the dreaded "M" word.......

No, not THAT one..........*menopause* (shhhhhhh!)

I guess my diagnosis prompted me to concentrate more on NOW. Now is very important.....being mindful, intentional, deliberate. Sucking the very marrow out of each moment. It has prompted me to let go those things over which I have no control. It has encouraged me towards positivity, believing the best in and for others even when they may not reciprocate. My running has become my meditation; being thankful to be out and free in the fresh air and quiet of the morning, breathing in the goodness of being alive each day. When my Pa was alive one thing he didn't forget how to do was ride his bike. He often took his bike out for a ride every day (once or twice in his dressing gown) and rode the streets of the town he'd lived for so long. Did this bring him comfort? Did it fill him with a sense of purpose and calm? I wish I knew. My running does it for me....maybe his riding did the same for him.

If you had no memory of yesterday, and no understanding that tomorrow might exist, what would you do today?

I'd live. I'd live in the moment. Hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second.....so that if one day I actually don't have any memory of yesterday and no understanding of the existence of tomorrow I will have already taught myself to live in the beauty of today.

Where the rubber hits the road & I put my money where my mouth is.

Over the past number of years I have changed my whole philosophy on education, learning and schooling. A long while back when my kids were much younger I wanted to home school them but felt grossly inadequate to do so; thinking that I needed to have some sort of curriculum in place, complete with lesson plans and learning benchmarks they all had to reach. I did dabble in homeschooling for a while, using a distance education based curriculum that was provided through a Christian resource, however we only did that for six months and it was a very half-hearted venture...mainly because I was working part time and was the sole income earner for the family. By the time I got home I was too tired to check on what the kids had done for the day and on my days off schooling the kids was the last thing I felt like. After six months the kids went back to their private Christian school...but none of us were wholehearted about it.

And honestly, the education they received at that school was less than second rate, nor were they nurtured in the way we were promised....but that's a story for another day...

This year Georgia, my youngest, was in her final year of High School - it's known as the VCE here in Victoria - the Victorian Certificate of Education. I say she was in VCE because today she left school. I signed her out.

She just didn't want to be there. She couldn't see the point on her classes, didn't agree with the pressure the teachers put on her to churn out work and started not to be able to see a pathway in front of her. In spite of all this I was expecting her to stay, to attend classes, get her VCE before she left...and honestly, I was beginning to feel like a bully, making her do something she clearly did not want to be doing...and this was reflected by her results.

It all came to a head for her this week and it was clear to all concerned that something needed to change. 

So, we talked about what she was really interested in....and what she's really interested in is learning Auslan (Australian Sign Language) and writing, neither of which really relies upon the attainment of VCE. Both can be done through other avenues. 

Today we both went up to the school and had a meeting with her Year Level Co-ordinator, Student Welfare & Pathways Team. It was such a positive and fruitful discussion where Georgia was able to talk about her own future and take up the reins of her own life. Together we all helped her find her own pathways, all of which are filled with possibility. She will even be able to dabble in "taster" courses for both Auslan and Professional Writing before she decides which to pursue. She may even decide to do both! Or neither!

Point is, she's now empowered to steer her own course. And that feels good.

Does it matter that she won't have that official piece of paper that says she has reached a certain level of acceptable education? No, no...and again NO! I don't believe it's ever too late to start learning, or to finish something. One day she might go to TAFE and get her VCE...but the choice will be hers...not because her parents have expected her to get it. 

Of course we're nervous. It's a whole new world for her now. She's not bound by the familiar routine of classes and schedules...but that new world is also filled with endless possibilities. 

So I guess this is where she starts her unschooling. I guess this is where we all start our unschooling...when we leave formal learning and start learning about what you really need to do life. School never taught me how to lodge a tax return, how to vote, how to do a household budget, how to cook, knit, sew, crochet, tend a vegetable garden, set up an Excel spreadsheet, format a document, apply for a job, manage people...and yet these are skills I've needed. I taught myself...and I got by through trial and error. Not only did I get by, but I'm doing alright....and I don't think I've ever really had to use the Pythagorean Theorem I was taught in school.

And I'm sure Georgia's going to do alright too.