From where I stand.

This morning I caught a particular scent in the house. Chloe said that it had been in the house yesterday too. It was the unmistakable scent of my grandmother who passed away in 2009. When I caught that scent in the air it was so comforting. I'd like to think that Nanna has just popped in for a bit; checking up on us. I know it's not something she would have believed in when she was alive but I'm of the belief that there are many things that aren't certain and none of us can presume to know the ins and outs of what happens after we die.

It's a comforting thought anyway, the thought of Nanna popping in once in a while....

Thoughts of Nanna for me inevitably lead to thoughts about faith and religion and it's role in my life. The religion I grew up in and the faith I now have are at constant odds with each other in my heart and mind. I find myself often contemplating and musing upon aspects of the "truth" I grew up in and the faith I experience on a day to day basis. Nanna played a very big part in my "religious history" which is why memories and thoughts of her are usually linked in with contemplations of faith.

Caught up in the heady fervour of the Christian Revival Crusade in the 60's and 70's I think my Nanna may have taken on my diagnosis of achondroplasia as a bit of a challenge and subsequently, a mission. I do have a vague recollection of Nanna telling me that when she was talking to someone about the healing ministry of Jesus, that person challenged her with the fact that I was born with dwarfism. How was she to explain that? Could Jesus heal me?

Not to be deterred, my Nanna took that on as a challenge and prayed fervently for me to be healed. As I grew older I remember being taken to the front at various churches, asking the pastors to pray for my healing. I was even taken to a Billy Graham Crusade in the city once, to no avail. This did not deter my grandmother. There was always a reason as to why my miraculous growth spurt wasn't forthcoming - "If we really believed we would have bought "normal" clothes to bring her home in."

Bless you Nan!

These thoughts flit through my mind from time to time when I catch my reflection unexpectedly and notice my body shape. It seems to be happening more frequently these days as my body becomes leaner from all my training and I notice more of my bone structure and the different lumps and bumps that Nan would notice and sometimes poke. It's not a negative or hurtful thing, just a thought that flits across my consciousness that demands to be acknowledged. I'm in no way resentful that Jesus/God didn't heal me; in fact Jesus, God and me have a pretty respectful relationship these days. But when I had children and actually needed some of that healing power for them for some pretty intense situations, I lost the plot. I wasn't asking for miraculous growth. I wasn't asking for something insignificant that they could live without. I was asking for my babies not to have to have major corrective surgeries....and yet heaven remained silent...and I had to faithfully hand each of my children over to surgeons. The number of times I railed against God, shook my fist at the heavens and told God I hated him....

It's a wonder lightning didn't strike me dead.

Somewhere along the line though I think I came to the understanding that perhaps my view of God and His ways were maybe more than a little left of centre...which weren't entirely my doing. Slowly, gradually, gently I started to let everything go and allowed myself the freedom to discover a faith that was entirely between God and me, independent of any corporate worship centre. As I did this I discovered a newfound acceptance of myself, my condition and everything that I'd ever experienced. I found peace.

Over the years I have witnessed some pretty out there stuff, all done and said in the name of God. During the 1980's I became terrified of having to go to church. I'd start feeling anxious on Saturday night, knowing that on the morrow we would be going to church...and there would be there for TWO HOURS...and there was no way of knowing what would happen. Sometimes the preaching would make me think that there was evil out there all around me and if I wasn't careful it would take me and possess me and I'd end up being one of the scary, scary people up the front being prayed for while I shook and screamed as the evil tried to hang on to my soul. Evil was in the rock music I listened to, the wind chimes I would hear, the rainbow flags I would see waving sometimes, the movies in cinemas....and in the hand of the boy I loved.

Evil and wrong and bad and sinful is what I was when I had sex before marriage and ended up pregnant. Shame followed me everywhere because I was told that all these things were not God's plan for me and for it all to be right and blessed and good it had to be done this way and because it wasn't done this way there were a number of hoops to jump through to make it all good and right and proper.

What made me hang on to that religion? I can't tell you. Sometimes I liken it to an abusive relationship where the one that is abused stays in the relationship because to leave would be even more terrifying. Better the safety of the familiar and predictable than the uncertainty of the unknown. The religion I grew up in seemed to make a life of faith so much more complicated than it was ever meant to be. So many rules, so many expectations, such pressure to perform and be dedicated, particularly to the local church family. Be there every Sunday and at Growth group midweek, be involved in a ministry of some sort and attend all the meetings involved with that and tithe 10% of your income.....plus offerings. I gained employment at the Christian School affiliated with a particular place of worship and it was there where everything came tumbling down for me as I came face to face with the dysfunction of so many who were held in such high regard as examples of the Christian faith. To this day I remain affected....as do others I love.

So I left.

It took a while...and I did go back from time to time to try things out again....but eventually I stopped going to any place of worship where there was a formal gathering of people in the name of God or Jesus. I can even remember thinking on that last Sunday morning, "I can't do this anymore," and I quietly rose from my seat and left.

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And that's the thing...I wasn't giving up. I had just had enough of doing things the same old way, the way I had been led to believe was THE right way. To their credit, the place of worship I went to just let me go. There was no pursuit, no follow up as I was accustomed to. Just release...

I will always be grateful to them for that.

So....where do I stand?

Maybe this is my own statement of faith.

God exists. I cannot shake that belief. I believe in the Creator. How it all went down, I don't know....but I do believe that Spirit was in the centre of it all.

Jesus was a pretty cool example of how to do life as an awesome human being. I read accounts of his time here on Earth and He sounds like Someone I would enjoy hanging out with. No judgements of anyone, except pointing out to those who set themselves up as the righteous ones that THEY were the ones with the problems. The more I read about Jesus, the more I like Him.

Everything else is pretty much open to interpretation. If Jesus didn't specifically address it, then it's an unknown and who am I or anyone to make that call? Love everybody, help others and do your best to live peacefully. It's as simple as that. I see a lot of people of all kinds of faith....and sometimes with no faith.....doing that. I believe God gives that stuff the big thumbs up.

I never was wrong, bad, wicked, evil or sinful. I was just a young person trying to find her own way in the world. Achondroplasia just happened...and that was okay. My little body is beautiful and acceptable and RIGHT just the way it is.

I loved someone....and that was beautiful....and it was always beautiful and it deserved to be celebrated even though events didn't happen in the "acceptable" format. I don't expect celibacy before marriage of my young people. I believe in love and honesty and the celebration of love in whatever form that takes.

Life is good. I am filled with peace. I am filled with more peace and love and joy than I ever experienced going to the place where I was told I would find it.

Fingers in all the pies!

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An alternative title to this post could be..... "Like A Kid In A Toyshop"

Life seems to be offering up an amazing number of opportunities for me at the moment. Maybe this is because I'm now on the look out for new things and I'm closer than I've ever been to working out what it is I like doing.

On one hand there's the simple life, which is slow and....simple....filled with crafting and baking and cooking and all things homely.

My current crochet creation.

On the other side there are ALL THE THINGS! And ALL THE THINGS has everything to do with creativity, getting out there, getting our voices heard and our artistic expressions expressed.

It's in the field of ALL THE THINGS where life is tossing opportunity and possibility at me left, right and centre. So many things to do, so many opportunities to take and run with. The trouble is that each one of them has the potential to hurl me into a creative future that I have found myself longing for for such a long time; and each one of them is something very dear to my heart so I really do want to do them all.

I've always wanted to dance - I'm participating in dance workshops with Weave Movement Theatre and look to be a part of the ensemble putting on a production in the 2015 Melbourne Fringe.

I've been asked to be part of a show that Quippings will be putting on in the Spiegeltent.

I once tossed around the idea of having a radio show and becoming a DJ - I'll be starting an Introductory Radio Course with 3CR next week and joining the team at Small Talk .

It's all on.

As a result I can't shake that there's something for me just around the corner. I'm almost there. I can feel it. I can taste it. I can smell it.

Not kid proof, sorry!

We had the pitter patter of little feet in our house yesterday. My daughter's friend and her husband asked us to look after their two girls whilst they went out for the afternoon. We eagerly agreed.

Barbies, puzzles and pencils moved in and made themselves at home.

What a joy it was too! I've missed having little ones in the house. Don't get me wrong; I've relished every single moment of my children growing up and I simply love the amazing relationship we all have now they're adults...but there's just something about little children that awakens the sense of exploration and discovery in all of us.

Bubbles are a source of joy for everyone.

Little ones are full on. I forgot about that. Maybe they seem more full on than I remember because it feels so long ago. I found myself sayingm "I can't remember you guys ever..." several times over the course of yesterday.

Then again, there were things my lot weren't able to do at the ages of five and 18 months either. It is not unusual for short statured babies and children to be delayed with their gross motor skills so by the time they were physically up and running around my children were also old enough to understand that pulling a cup of milk off the kitchen bench and emptying it over the floor just for the fun of it wasn't something you should do. As a young mother I can't remember having to baby/toddler proof my house. Ever. People would always commend us on how well behaved our children were. And they were, but there was also another aspect to it. They learned the patience to wait until they could do things for themselves.  

Yesterday though, I realised how much more vigilant I would had to have been if we had've had an average-statured child - especially since my kitchen is scaled down to my specifications. I was in the kitchen boiling something on the stove when little M came into the kitchen to see what I was doing. I noticed how accessible everything was to her - especially the gas flames being at eye level. Naturally I directed her to another activity and she happily went off and played, but it was a real eye-opener to me as to how dangerous my scaled-down house could be to little ones who have amazing mobility but not the maturity to ascertain danger. 

Luckily we have other cool things little ones can safely play with - like light switches you can create your own disco with, cold taps you can easily turn on and walking frames that you can use and pretend you have a broken leg!

I've toyed with the idea of doing Family Day Care as I do have the appropriate qualifications to be able to do so...but I don't think it's a good idea anymore, and besides, my passion for the field of Child Care has waned over the years. I kind of blame this on a hellish six months as Co-Ordinator of Out of School Hours Care a number of years ago. My heart is with the under-six age group. I love their innocence, their wonder, their fearlessness and brutal honesty. 

But I would be on constant tenterhooks. Our house is a labyrinth of interesting wonders for little ones and to make it kiddy-proof would mean that it would be "Us-proof" as well. Looking after the children of family members and friends is a source of joy for all of us, but to do it as a career and be subject to OH&S rigors would take the joy out of it. 

I prefer the joy. We had so much fun yesterday and at the end of the day, two tired and happy little girls went home to their parents. 

That's the most important thing.

It's A Fine Line

Meet my two new best friends.....or arch nemeses (that's plural for nemesis - I looked it up!) Foam rollers.

Given that I have the same amount of muscle attached to shorter bones (or so I've been told), it is really hard to get a decent stretch, so apparently I go about with my muscles constantly tight, regardless of how much I try and stretch.

These foam rollers are an absolute godsend! The snap, crackle and pop coming out of my joints and ligaments when I use them are music to my ears!

Running and exercise junkies will know what I mean when I say that there's good pain when I use these little babies. I know what Chrissie Amphlett  was singing about when she belted out "It's a fine line between pleasure and pain!" 

Don't I know it, sister!

Foam Rollers. Get one. Do yourself a favour and get two!

Winter

Winter is well and truly here. With it has come shorter daylight hours and longer nights. As a result, it's still dark when my alarm wakes me at 5:30 am. It's even dark at six. Call me a wuss but I'm not too crazy about running the streets when it's still dark, even in the morning. This means that I usually wait until 6:30 or 7:00am before I hit the road and that puts me behind the eight-ball if I want to do a good run and still get to work on time. Good runs during winter usually get postponed until the weekend, otherwise it's fast fives and sprints which I absolutely loathe. I'm trying to like them, but the feeling of out of control breathing at the moment is not my most favorite thing.

The only time I really get out early in the morning is on a Tuesday when I go swimming. I'm normally in the pool at 6:00am and then out again an hour later. Swimming makes running feel like a walk in the park.

I'm trying to remember what I did last winter and the winter before. Was there lots of running? How did I stay fit? What do all you other runners do? To compensate I'm walking to the train station, catching an earlier train and then walking the 2km from the station in the city to my workplace. I guess anything is better than nothing, right?

This body shape has changed. I'm getting used to having legs like tree trunks. Sometimes the muscle underneath my skin surprises me. I catch a glimpse in the mirror and the leanness of my torso catches me off guard.  I eat like a horse. I love to eat breakfast after a morning run. It's like the best food ever invented. I'm surprised sometimes at the volume of food I can pack away.

I often say that one of the best things about running and swimming is how I feel when it's over - when the heart is still pounding and the muscles are aching, and you know you're done. It's over. You can rest. Adrenaline is still pumping and I feel so good, so alive, so invigorated.  That's the feeling I'm addicted to. That's the drug I keep coming back to. And it's like I've conquered something, achieved something, beaten something.

My next race will be a 10 kilometer run in July. I know I'm ready. I can't wait.

Oops moments

Yes, I have them too.

I was taking a couple of my tribe to a birthday party on Saturday. As I slowed to stop at a set of traffic lights I noticed a sign that said there would be highway collectors ahead. You know...people collecting for a charity. I think this one was for a local Youth Support Centre. I'm not adverse to donating some coins to charities, but my purse was on the floor.

However, as I came up to the lights I saw what I thought was a little kid about the age of six, dressed in reflective gear also collecting with the group. I announced, "Aww....I want to give some money to the little dude!" so I had my daughter pick up my purse and hand me my wallet so I could take out some change.

The "Kid" saw me as I wound down my window. I said "Hi" and he answered "Hi" back.

"Gee he's got a deep voice for a kid. Maybe he's got a cold"

He said "Thanks" as I put the change into the tin.....and that's when I noticed his hands.

Oops! That kid wasn't a kid. He was a young adult. Sometimes I am a little slow on the uptake. The voice should have been enough.

Cardinal Sin. I, a short statured adult, mistook a short statured adult for a kid. He obviously did not have achondroplasia like me. He was well proportioned, just very, very small and young looking.

Oops moments. I have them....and now have a little more understanding towards others who sometimes mistake me for a child.

Identifiers and hashtags

For the love of Blog if there's one thing that really gets this girl a wee bit frustrated it's the overuse of hashtags!

Look, I kind of get it. You use hashtags as a means of categorising a post, a photo and an idea so that when other people are looking for similar posts, photos and ideas they can search using the hashtag they're interested in and, bingo! There you go! A whole pile of relevant (and often irrelevant) stuff to trawl through. It's quick, it's easy and sometimes easier than Googling.

But lately I've been seeing a lot of hashtags in relation to the word dwarf  and it's making me do a #headdesk and #facepalm at the very sight of it.

For the purposes of not being trawled by hashtag users I'm going to write a general list here (some made up, some not) without the hashtag symbol so you'll see the object of my ire.

Hashtag:

Dwarfproblems

Dwarfkickingass

Healthydwarf

Fitdwarf

Prouddwarf

Dwarfconqueringtheks

Dwarfstrength

Sexydwarf

Grumpydwarf

Sleepydwarf

Dwarfonamission

Seriousdwarf

Gaydwarf

Dwarfparty

Dwarfhittingthetown

Thisdwarfiskickinggoals

Get the picture?

I totally understand, accept and applaud everyone who embraces their short stature. I do. I too am in a place where I love being in my own skin and I celebrate this body I'm in and love all the experiences it's given me. I have met the most incredible people and done some amazing things that I may not have done if I missed out on the random mutation that resulted in achondroplasia. 

But...

It's not my identifier. It's the genetic anomaly that makes up my physical stature. It's part of who I am physically but achondroplasia/short stature/dwarfism is not me. It doesn't come into play with everything I do. If I'm eating a healthy meal or running ten kilometres or doing my grocery shopping or paying my taxes there's not a hashtag in front of it to identify that there's something unique about me doing it simply because I have achondroplasia. I'm simply getting out there and living.

Actually, I don't really give my dwarfism much of a thought most of the time - unless I am writing this blog or doing some public speaking or seeing a medical specialist. That's when I do a lot of thinking about it. 

I'm not ashamed of it; not by any means. In fact, especially since taking the time to care for and appreciate this body I've had a newfound sense of pride in it's strength and the way it just keeps on keeping on even as Father Time marches across my face and makes these joints a little more stiff as the years go by. 

I am not ashamed to go out in public, despite society's curiosity and occasional rudeness. I speak openly to others about dwarfism, answering questions and explaining issues involved. I enter into discussions surrounding disability, inclusion and diversity. 

But I don't constantly refer to myself as a dwarf and I am baffled and curious regarding those like me who do. It's not that I disagree with it...I'm just sincerely curious about the reasons why they do. I'm told that they're proud to have dwarfism. Maybe I can relate to that in the way I am proud to be an independent woman, a mother and a runner.

But I don't have the same pride in being a dwarf because I don't see it as something that defines me - in the same way that my hazel eyes and brownish-greyish hair don't define me as a person. My height isn't me. My dwarfism isn't me.

It's just part of what I look like.

Does that make sense?

I think Lena Dunham says it all quite succinctly actually.....

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Celebrity Service Announcement

Dear every TV star, Child Entertainer, Rock Star and Personality that were part of my formative years and reckless youth.

You are all officially on notice.

Stop it right now.

You've all gotta hang in there a bit longer, ok? At least another twenty years. At least. 

It's all getting a bit much, you know. I turn on the news or log onto Facebook and I hear that another one of you have gone on to that big Maltshop in the sky unexpectedly.

Ok...so for some of you it may not have been so unexpected...but you're all still going waaaay too early. Living only until your fifties or early sixties is not cool you know.

Rik Mayall...you old anarchist you...56! What's that about? You know, I quote you a fair bit. 

"Snotface! Wake up!"

"Shit yourself?"

"Does anyone here like The Human League?"

"Great joke, Your Majesty!"

So many faces and voices from my growing up years gone. I don't think I can take another one today. 

For all you new kids on the block, how about you study some of the oldies who kicked on for the longest time and discover their secrets to longevity?  Take a look at the lives of George Burns, Mickey Rooney, Betty White, Dick Van Dyke and all those people. Some of their stuff might surprise you. They say smoking's bad for you but did anyone ever see George Burns without a cigar? 

Vale Rik Mayall. Your leaving took me off guard.

Rik - The Young Ones

Rik - Drop Dead Fred

Rik Mayall

In which she danced, Skyped and performed all in the one day

Sunday.

I don't know if Sunday is actually the seventh day where God was reported to have rested from his work or if Sunday is actually the first day of the week so it's all hands on deck and let's get this party started. In my case, last Sunday was a crackingly busy day where I was supposed to be in three places at once. No rest for the wicked so they say, which means that somewhere back in the days of yore I possibly did something positively evil. *insert maniacal cackle here*

Seriously though, regardless of the fact that super busy days are not amongst my most favourite there's something about them that makes me feel alive and purposeful. And, if I really want to be honest, two of the three major things I did on Sunday were things I was really happy and excited about.

The first was a rehearsal with the Weave Movement Theatre over in the central northern suburbs of Melbourne. I was going to talk about Weave in detail in this post but feel that it deserves a more indepth post in it's own right so for now I'll just say that I am so honored to be a part of such an amazing ensemble. It's been nothing short of joy to explore movement and dance with the group and I find that each time I do I come away feeling energised, inspired and thoughtful. I was disappointed to have to leave early but I had already indicated to another group that I wanted to be a part of a Skype meeting to discuss some upcoming workshops and needed to go before rehearsal had finished.

The Skype meeting...........

I think this was my frustration for the day. I found myself wishing that I hadn't dobbed myself in to be a part of the discussion, even though the topic was something I have been passionate about for a very long time and was looking forward to getting my teeth into it and being part of instigating some change.

Alas, no.

Sometimes, I feel as though I'm the crazy salmon trying to swim up Niagra Falls when it comes to certain groups - groups that I have been a "part" of all my life and yet have never really felt a part of things. The group has it's own "culture" as it were and it is so deeply, deeply ingrained that I cannot ever see it changing. I came away from the Skype meeting feeling extremely lost and wondering why on earth I bother even trying to contribute. Still, I feel as though I should still keep plugging away doing the things I do and contributing where I can in the hope that the results will speak for themselves.

And speaking of speaking, Sunday night was all about that! 

A couple of weeks ago I was invited to be one of the guest writers to do a reading of their works at the Writeability Salon at the Wheeler Centre for the Emerging Writers Festival. Sunday was the big event and so it was with excitement and great trepidation that I joined four other writers with disabilities hosted by Carly Findlay at The Wheeler Centre.

Back row: Carly, Fiona, Sam
Front: Giovanni, Michelle, me, Jax, Kate

Let me say that it was such an honour to be up there amongst such fabulous, talented writers, each writing passionately from their own experience. I always come away so enthused after events such as this and spurred on towards taking my own writing further and exploring my own creativity.

I read from my piece It's all fun & games until someone loses an eye. I wasn't prepared for how vulnerable I felt afterwards. It's a very exposing piece, I guess, and I did feel very exposed after getting up and virtually saying to a roomful of people, "I was a bully." I thought a lot about it whilst driving home after the event. It was cleansing too in a way - as though those times from way back then no longer had a hold on me. I guess if you recognise something, own it and learn from it you free yourself from the guilt that holds you to ransom otherwise. 

A group of us went out for a meal afterwards, riding the adrenaline and euphoria of a job well done. It was so lovely to connect with new people and discuss our own experiences and writing journey. I think we were the loudest table at the pub! I loved every second of it and have made new connections as a result. 

I feel as though I've found a place of likeminded people where I fit - people who tell it like it is; not sugar coating things behind forced positivity but who speak about their experience with passion, whether it be with joy, sadness, rage, humour or sensuality; inviting others in. I've found a place where I feel safe to explore my own self and, on reflection, pride at being able to identify as a person with a disability. Is "this" a disability in the truest sense of the word? I don't know, but I don't shy away from the word. I'm keen to explore this notion further.

And finally, I guess that's what Life At My Level is about for me. 

The weekend that was

I write this in the relative comfort of my seat on the train after the mad dash of "Oh-shit-I'd-better-run-because-if-I-don't-get-this-one-I'm-gonna-be-late!" And "Oh-damn-WHY-didn't-I-top-up-my-Myki-on-Thursday-night?" Good news is that I both topped up my Myki and caught the train in the nick of time so you can all relax because the story had a happy ending.

I had a fabulous weekend. It was the weekend I've needed for a while. I totally cleared Friday and Saturday of any real responsibilities and ticked off some boxes of things I wanted to get done. 

Friday saw me loading up the car with boxes of books, toys (yes, we still had toys!), appliances we no longer needed and and bags of clothes and taking them down to our local Op Shop that supports the Epilepsy Foundation. Don't you just love the feeling you get after you do that? It's like a cleansing - letting go of excess stuff. I love it. We're all trying to reduce the clutter round these here parts. We've still got a long way to go but I kind of think that any step forward is a positive one. After all that was gone I got into the shed and reorganised the shelves a bit. There's possibly heaps of stuff in there that we could still get rid of but it's a process, right? 

I've been meaning to get my veggie garden sorted out ready for planting winter crops but with everything that's been happening over the past few months the beds have remained empty. It's most definitely on the MUST DO SOON list as I'm really keen to take Rhonda Hetzel's advice and start becoming more self sufficient by planting and harvesting our own vegetables in season. I added some more soil to the beds on Saturday ready for planting next weekend. It will be the Queens Birthday Holiday then and I plan to celebrate by starting to grow things. I'm sure Her Majesty will be pleased. I wonder if she likes pottering in the garden? I've seen her in some pretty full on old lady gardening clobber before. 

Anyhoo! The garden beds are now nice and juicy and ready for some seeds and seedlings to be planted next weekend once I go down to the local Bunnings and get them. 

On Saturday afternoon I laced up my running shoes and took myself for a run down the highway. At first it felt like I'd lost every form of fitness I'd worked so hard at building up and I thought I'd have to call someone to come and pick me up at around the 5k mark. Then I got my second wind as I normally do at the 6k mark and felt amazing. Have I told you before that I love running? Well yeah...I do. 

Honestly, I needed that Friday and Saturday. Life has been just way too full on for my liking lately and I couldn't seem to get motivated for any form of housework, running, training or....anything really! Do you ever get like that? Where you feel as though you're just riding some sort of juggernaut over which you have no control? That's what it felt like for me. Since the X-men Red Carpet gig it's just been go go go so it was nice to just...be. I need that.

Sunday was a completely different story. More on that later.