Little Golden Hair

Me, aged 2. Little Golden Hair investigating something.....

When I was a little girl I remember my Nanna would sometimes recite this poem to me as I sat on her knee. The images of her words would simply captivate me and even now I can still her her voice lulling me into a sense of peace and calm. I felt so loved.

Here is Nanna's version:

Golden Hair sat on her grandfather's knee

Dear little Golden Hair, tired was she

For she had been as busy as busy could be. 

Up in the morning as soon as t'was light

Up with the birds and the butterflies bright,

Flitting around till the coming of night. 

Grandfather toyed with the curls on her head,

"And what has my baby been doing?" he said

"Since she arose with the sun from her bed."

"Oh ever so much!" said the dear little one. 

"I have played with my toys and I played in the sun.

I read a long while in my picture book

And then I took Alice down to look

For some small stones by the brook.

And then I came home, just in time for tea

And I climbed upon my grandfathers knee

And I'm as tired as tired can be."

Nearer and nearer the little head pressed

Until it lay upon Grandfather's breast.

Dear little Golden Hair

Sweet be thy rest.

Nanna would always recount how she recited the poem to my mum once (or maybe it was me) and she laughed when Mum (or I) said, "Nearer and nearer the little pressed head," rather than "head pressed". 

On a whim I decided to Google the poem to see if I could find it. I did. It's somewhat different, so I guess my Nanna was just reciting from the way she remembered it.  I hope to pass both versions on to my grandchildren. I have such beautiful memories of this poem. I don't ever want it lost.

Little Goldenhair

Mrs F Burge Smith (1826 - 1900)

Goldenhair climbed up on grandpapa's knee;

Dear little Goldenhair! tired was she,

All the day busy as busy could be.

Up in the morning as soon as 't was light

Out with the birds and butterflies bright,

Skipping about till the coming of night.

Grandpapa toyed withthe curls on her head.

"What has my baby been doing," he said,

"Since she arose, with the sun, from her bed?"

"Pitty much," answered the sweet little one;

"I cannot tell so much things I have done, -

Played with my dolly and feeded my Bun.

"And I have jumped with my little jump-rope,

And I made out of water and soap

Bufitle worlds! mamma's castles of Hope.

"And I have readed in my picture-book,

And little Bella and I went to look

For some smooth stones by the side of the brook.

"Then I comed home and I eated my tea,

And I climbed up to my grandpapa's knee.

I jest as tired as tired can be."

Lower and lower the little head pressed,

Until it drooped upon grandpapa's breast;

Dear little Goldenhair! sweet be thy rest!

We are but children; the things that we do

Are as sports of a babe to the Infinite view

That sees all our weakness, and pities it too.

God grant that when night overshadows our way,

And we shall be called to account for our day,

He shall find us as guileless as Goldenhair's play!

And O, when aweary, may we be so blest

As to sink like the innocent child to our rest,

And feel ourselves clasped to the Infinite breast!

I think Nanna would have loved to read this version too.  

Wordless Wednesday - Walking to work

The world is full of sadness at the moment. Sometimes there are too many words. Today I wanted to walk to work mindfully and notice the things around me.

The Yarra River and Southbank.

Autumn leaves are everywhere.

Such a beautiful, blue Autumn sky today!

I do love this cheery red letter box!

The Town Hall next door is one of my favorite old buildings. 

Peace

In which she gets up again

One good thing about releasing the release valve is that it gives people the opportunity to come in and rally around you. 

I learned a valuable lesson about all this following my last post.

How can people help if they don't know you need it?

I don't know what it is that makes me so fiercely independent; projecting the "I'm alright Jack!" persona that I do. Psychologists would possibly say that it has a lot to do with being the firstborn - the grin and bear it mentality, the people pleasing, the approval cravings. Maybe so.

Following the concerned advice of a dear friend I've made some appointments to explore some of that and address the dark thinking that seems to have pervaded my world at the moment. It's a relief to have done so. 

Whatever was ailing my dog seems to have been cleared out, thanks to the mess that greeted me on Monday evening. She is back to her normal self, has accompanied me on a short run and is now beautifully quoiffed following an appointment with the groomer. The carpets ate cleaned and we've returned to some kind of order.

Friends rallied around after Monday. Financial assistance was given quietly and without question. A box of organic fruit, vegetables, eggs, home grown and made goodies was delivered by a generous soul. I had lunch with some friends on Wednesday and quietened my mind with a Restorative yoga class. 

I guess you could say that I'm learning to look after myself again.

A very dear friend reminded me of safety instructions given before every flight, "Please put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others." I do need to apply that principle on a daily basis. How can I help others if I neglect myself?

It's good to be independent, but independence doesn't mean that you can't rely on others for assistance. It's not good to be an island, a lone ranger. We all need each other and this week I discovered that I am a better me if I let others into my world and allow them to bless me. In turn, it allows me opportunities to bless them in return. 

I cannot express my gratitude to each and every soul who showed concern in the different ways they did. They all helped immensely and in various ways, showed me the tools to help move forward.

I am forever grateful.

Wordless Wednesday (almost) - Nature Walk

I loved the stillness during my walk. All I could hear was the wind.

I wish I could just keep walking sometimes. 

I'm fascinated by the holes created by ants. Although I can't see any activity I wonder about the hive of busy-ness that is possibly happening right under my feet.
To me, these almost look like pig snouts!

I can't wait to see these eucalyptus blossoms burst bloom and wonder what colour they are.

I saw this and automatically my minds eye saw my brothers and I using this as the base for a shelter construction.

I couldn't see any wildflowers but this cheery dandelion caught my eye. 

This path leads to the picnic and BBQ area and a playground.

I'm grateful for the beautiful, clear, blue sky.

The local weather station records rainfall, temperature, wind speed and evaporation. Staff from the Gardens collect this data and sends it to the bureau of Meteorology.

Garden staff have created what I have called "woodhenge"; using stumps from fallen trees to make natural picnic seats or meeting places for school groups.

I was glad to get this quick photo of the local wallaby. It was being pursued by an eager child!

The one in which she collapses

Tonight I am haunted by a song from way back in the whenevers.

The Catholics have a saying (or so I'm told).

"Give us a child until the age of seven......"

(I'm not sure of the rest so I'll leave it there.)

I grew up in the Pentecostal church. It's pretty much all I knew church to be, even though we had a three year stint in the Presbyterian/Uniting church in the mid- 70 ' s. I liked those years best. Good people, uncomplicated, not scary.

But my early, formative years were with the Pentes,  as were my teens...and the rest.

Tonight I have a song going around and around in my head that is, in fact, doing my head in.

I've found a new way of living
I've found a new life divine
I have the fruit of the spirit
Abiding, abiding in the vine.
Abiding in the vine
Abiding in the vine
Love, joy, health peace
He has made them mine.
I have prosperity
Power and victory
Abiding, abiding in the vine.

That mindset, dear readers, is what was drummed into me from an early age.

It's that mindset that is doing my head in.

Tonight (actually, it's morning. It's 1:30am) I don't have any of the glorious things I was promised.

Oh yes, it was a promise. Don't try and tell me otherwise.

Come to me all who are burdened and I will give you rest. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

I can possibly quote you a dozen of them.

But, as Elliot (Henry Thomas) says from the movie E.T. "This is reality Greg!" and my reality is nothing like the abundant, joyful life I was promised.

I've spent a good part of my online life here on this blog trying to present a positive, hopeful woman, telling you the quirky, the ordinary, the interesting and informative things about my life - both as a woman living with difference and...well, an ordinary woman on the other side of 45. I've not wanted to be inspirational. I've just wanted to tell stories that may, just may, get people to see things from a different perspective; to make them think, get conversations started.

Behind the scenes though I have been slipping further and further into the pit as inner voices just keep getting louder and louder, demanding my attention, screaming at me. I've found the hurt and pain and rage just keeps building as the reality of life conflicts so violently with the ideals that I was told would be mine if.....If only I simply believed.

I did believe.

And it never came.

Not for a year, not even for a day.

And tonight I can't help but look into the future and I can't ever see it coming.

I was told that there was healing to be had. I heard stories of people being healed of cancer, of being delivered from addictions, of bones miraculously healing, of babies being born to infertile couples. I heard women praying for a baby with a specific hair colour and receiving it.

I prayed for miracles. I prayed for spines to straighten, for limbs to strengthen, for fluid to stop building up.

And yet I had to hand my babies over to surgeons so many times....I can't even count anymore.

I prayed for a job to come his way......for over fifteen years.....

I went to courses called Inspirational Woman and read books like You can be the wife of a Happy Husband. They were pretty much all about servant hood really; putting his needs ahead of my own, how to be a wonderful help meet,  how to create an atmosphere of calm for your husband....

I just can't seem to get it all right.

Tonight i had one of those straw that broke the camels back incidents that involved a sick dog being left in the house all day and me coming home to a veritable tidal wave of canine diarrhea all throughout the house.

It's usually the non related things that send you over the edge....although the consequences of shit soaked carpets ties in with the prosperity thing. I have $5 in my purse, $13 in my bank account, vet bills to pay and now the cost of someone to come in and steam clean the carpets. (Oh yes, it's that bad).

The Pentes teach that I need to tithe 10% to access that prosperity.....so you know, I've probably brought this upon myself.....However when I DID tithe I was just as poor. I know all the stories.....particularly the woman and her two coins....however,  when you look a little closer at that story, particularly the bit before it, I realised she wasn't giving because she wanted to. She was giving because she had to. It was compulsory.

Tonight i am so incredibly tired. My marriage is in the toilet (yet we still keep trying to flog the dead horse and expect it to get up and win), I have NO MONEY before the week has ended (I don't smoke, drink, take drugs, go out or constantly buy clothes), we have two wheelchairs out of commission and my dog has been vomiting and has diarrhea for six days. There's more involving employment, but I don't feel right about sharing those stories. There will always be concerns involving disability. Always. I get that. I accept that. But it's the constant pressure of having to fight the systems that is exhausting. Society reminds us every day that those disabilities are obvious and real....and that's ok (kind of).....but CONSTANTLY having to prove it to places like Centrelink or support agencies is exhausting. There are a series of never ending hoops one has to jump through to prove that the disability exists and that one is eligible for support. Sometimes I wonder if the system is so hard in the hope that one will just give up and cease trying.

Sometimes it just makes me feel wrong for even existing....let alone.......

I can't finish that thought....

I don't know where to from here. Tonight all I know is that I need space to get my head together. I don't know if it ever will be. There are some who might think I am the Queen of Avoidance; not wanting to deal with things. Thing is, my head is constantly trying to deal with things, think ahead, plan for the unplanable.  I look at Centrelink forms and I am paralyzed with anxiety, with rage. One. More. Thing. It's never just easy or straightforward.

I try and think of possible solutions to existing problems but the existing problems cause problems for the solutions. I feel trapped; being unable to move forward and yet not being able to stay in my current situation either. If I do......the pit yawns in front of me.

I don't think this would feel so bad if I hadn't been presented with the idea of the abundant Christian life. I think that if the aspects of the fact that people like Abraham never saw the enormous family he was promised, that Moses died before entering the Promised Land, that God's chosen people were enslaved and wandered in deserts for 40 years were highlighted....then, maybe then....

But what I was promised and never seen has done nothing but fuel this........rage.......that threatens to consume me and finally break me. It's not easy feeling this. I live with the terror of doing something to finally offend God so much that I'll condemn myself to hell.  It's not a case of simply not believing anymore, although the thought of there being absolutely nothing after death no longer holds the terror it once did. I'd prefer oblivion to the concept of hell which, I'm told, is my fate if I turn my back on everything and choose not to believe.

How does one do that? I can't imagine choosing not to believe. I can't imagine anyone coming up with anything convincing enough to sway me. There's just something inside me that....responds to a Creator at least. The jury is out with everything else.....

Five Friday Links

I'm going to try and make this a regular thing here in this little space. I love reading and I love some of the things that are so easily accessible out there on the interwebz, so here's a list of places I've been this week.

• Naomi Bulger talks about how much we love our children and the fact that we recognise so many of our own physical characteristics in them that we criticise and wish to change in ourselves and yet adore in our children! It spoke to me about loving the skin that I am in and modelling self-love and self-acceptance to my children - a face that only a mother could love.
• To go along with this I heard Pink's Perfect on the radio this week and it felt like an anthem. You ARE PERFECT! 

• Courtney from Be More With Less talks about How To Get Back To What You Love. I found this one particularly helpful this week. How often do we put our passions and interests on the back burner in pursuit of what we think is more important? This encouraged me to take some time out. 
• Now that the weather is starting to get a little cooler here in the Southern Hemisphere I'm looking forward to making some minestrone!
• I've been reminiscing on tadpoling with my bothers as a child. My Nanna and Pa had a wonderful creek across the road from their house which was always brimming with tadpoles and the sounds of frogs croaking. I don't think we ever managed to raise our tadpoles to fully fledged frogs. (I think my parents adopted the "Catch and Release Policy" when we were distracted!) I wish I had've known information from this article - Raising Tadpoles in Containers and Ponds. 

Ten minutes of Life At My Level

Picture this:

It's the end of the day and I'm walking down the street in South Melbourne.

I catch my reflection in a nearby window.

For once I am happy with what I see. My hair is still sitting nicely after the quick blow wave I gave it this morning, I've made an effort and put on some makeup - not much mind you. At my age I have discovered that less is more so my make up comprises of BB Cream (oh for the love of blog, someone ask me to do a sponsored post for BB cream and I'll sing its praises from the rooftops!), a little powder and some mascara.

I feel good.

Then...I pass a little boy.

"LOOK AT THAT REALLY OLD GRANDMA!!!"

Thanks kid. Thanks a lot.

Ego successfully deflated.

I do laugh though, and another woman walking close by hears me, joins in and says, "Out of the mouths of babes..."
"Yes," I answer. "They just say out loud what adults are thinking."

I walk on.

Twenty metres along and I'm accosted by an elderly lady in a mobility scooter. She says hello and ask me to stop for a moment. I oblige.....

....until I see her start to pull out some religious pamphlets - warnings and inspirations from The Watchtower. 

For some reason when you're living with an obvious physical difference or disability, people from such organisations seem to think you need saving....or relief from your suffering. 

I politely decline. I won't say what I'm really thinking.

"Honey, I've been a bonafide, card-carrying member of the Pentecostal church since I first drew breath and there ain't nothing you can give me that I haven't already seen!"

I go another hundred metres or so and stop at some lights. An elderly gentleman spies me and exclaims, "Hey! I saw you in a relay race in Melbourne about ten years ago!"

(see, that's the thing. If you've seen one short statured person then every other one you see is THAT same one!)

"Oh that wasn't me." I explain. "I went in the Run For The Kids in the city last year and the year before so maybe you saw me then."

"Probably...." he said. "You were great. If they don't give you an Order of Australia then I'll blow up Canberra!"

Goodness! That's a little extreme!

I stop outside the Exhibition Centre so I can mail some letters and documents. The mail box is too high so I have to place the letters on the lip of the slot one by one and bang them in with the remaining envelopes. The last envelope will not fall down into the slot. I jump and try to hit it in to no avail!

Luckily a kind, random stranger walking by sees my predicament and comes over to assist. We laugh together, I thank her for her help and continue on.

As I reach my destination I am astounded that all that happened in the short space of ten minutes and decide that everything was a wonderful thing to blog about to show you a small snippet of what it is to live life at my level!

On being a touchstone

Source

One thing about living with a physical difference or disability is the uniqueness within your own community that makes you well known.

For the most part I had a pretty okay time of it at school. There was the odd bullying incident now and again I guess but I was pretty much left to simply exist in the school environment. Naturally, being the only student with dwarfism in the school people quickly learned my name simply because I stood out. Standing out makes you memorable so it was easy for the student body to quickly hear my name and remember it. Students chose to be friendly and would say hello whenever I passed by them. I'd guess that I'd possibly say hello to over 100 kids a day - most of whom I didn't know.

Looking back, it was nice...and I do remember being nice to people in return. Nobody really cared that I didn't remember their names as far as I know. As long as I smiled and said hello we were all happy.

Of course, there's a ying and yang to everything and sometimes being the one to be remembered was a weight to be borne. I think about this a lot actually and I've come to realise that I carry an element of guilt as a result of the notoriety that comes with being easily recognised and known.

I am the eldest of seven siblings and the only one with achondroplasia. When we went to family functions and reunions, my siblings and I would get out of the car and we'd hear the relatives say, "Oh look, Leisa's here!" Although it was nice to be greeted I also felt hurt for my brothers and sisters because they were just as important as me. Didn't they deserve to receive an enthusiastic welcome too? Sometimes I would even feel guilt because I was getting special treatment and recognition which I neither asked for nor expected. I remember once I waited in the car until my siblings got out and joined the group; hoping that they'd have a chance to be greeted by the relatives as individuals rather than being known as Leisa's Brothers and Sisters. It didn't work. They told me later that no one even remembered their names. It was frustrating and made me sad. We all joke about it now but I do still feel the guilt that remains.

When my Pa's memories slowly eroded with his steadily advancing dementia I was one of the few people he remembered. When we would visit him at his care facility he would look around in confusion at us all, not even fully recognising my mother - his first born daughter. It was at that point I'd usually be brought forward.

"Look! Look! Here's Leisa. You remember Leisa don't you?"

His eyes would rest on me and he'd start to cry because he did remember...and then he would be able to connect my mother with me and he'd remember who she was. It was beautiful...but also a heavy burden for a teenager to bear. I felt and still feel, such guilt that I was the one he remembered.

Personally though, I do treasure that we had that connection -  he and I.

History repeated itself when Nanna - Pa's wife - was also diagnosed with Alzheimers and we again watched our loved one deteriorate and disappear before our eyes. Again, I have bittersweet memories of my last times with Nanna because the memory of me did remain in a small part of her conscience. I would watch as recognition flashed across her face and feel a sense of relief to be able to connect with her even though she was a shadow of her former (formidable) self. My last moments with her are especially precious, although I bear the memory of them with a lot of guilt because those experiences should have been my mothers and they weren't. I would gladly have given them to her if it were in my power.

I am learning to come to terms with how I feel about all this. I know the guilt is irrational because I neither asked for or expected the extra attention. Although I love the stage and can speak and present with confidence, I don't like the spotlight and a spotlight is exactly what seems to come along with being different. Still, I have learned to use the spotlight to advantage. Children stare at me, I smile. People tend to remember me so I want them to remember that I was kind, polite, intelligent and interested in them. Relatives from the extended family have said that I was the one that would speak to them and wouldn't be shy and that's why it was even easier to remember me. To be honest, I was doing what was expected of me. Reality was that I was just as shy as all my siblings and would have much prefered to be invisible and blending in with the gaggle of cousins.

I'm trying to come to terms with being a touchstone -  the one that holds the memories and the one that people connect to. I guess I should see it as an honour that was given to me without me ever asking for it.

Of April showers and all things art.

We had an absolute downpour yesterday - the first real soaking for Autumn 2015. Most of the time I was safely inside, watching it somply bucket down from my desk although I did head out when there was a break to do the banking and a postage run. The break didn't last long and I found myself sheltering under the eaves of the local shops waiting for another break.

Someone's gutters need cleaning.

On the way back to the office I finally noticed that autumn was indeed in progress. Funny how I haven't noticed since today. I love autumn leaves. I saw a lovely selection of autumn leaves dried out, pasted on a board and framed over the weekend. It inspired me to collect some and make a frame of my own.

Since writing that last post I have been concentrating on engaging in activities that nurture my soul and bring a sense of calm and peace. It has been beyond helpful.

Zentangle by me!

I'd been thinking about creating a zentangle for the longest time. I don't know what took me so long to just get out the fineliners and do it. I'd been looking for online zentangle patterns to print out and then happened upon basic instructions for creating your own using geometric shapes, so I just got out a glass, traced around it and off I went. Zentangles are a wonderful way to practice mindfulness. I found creating this one to be so soothing as I concentrated on different patterns and designs. I was so pleased with the end result - so much so that I put my design into a white frame to display it. I'd like to try different and more complex shapes now.

I also had a bit of a play with watercolours and fineliners last night - not with the greatest of results, but it was fun all the same.

I've also finally resurrected my trusty Nikon and started experimenting with photography again. This was inspired by a photoshoot a friend and I did together last week where we played with light and shadow.

Photo credit: M Coppolino

The fact that my hair was a shambles and I had no makeup on didn't really matter in this instance!

Photo credit: M Coppolino

We also played with reflections. 

Photo credit: M Coppolino
Taken from the reflection in the mirrors in the room.
(also photobombed by Missy the dog!)

Since these I've been trying to take my camera out on walks to capture things that catch my eye and remind me of how beautiful life really is. This has been really important to me lately. Through our screens we are being bombarded by so many negative images, so much hate and violence that it's easy to think that those images are what makes up the world. I've been mindful to turn off the news, not go to news websites or read the paper lately as I find it all too upsetting. My sister does the same thing, saying that those things are "none of her business anyway." I tend to agree. 

I have to admit to applauding though when I did hear a news report talking about International Pillow Fight Day. Now there's a war I would support!

So, that's what I've been up to. I guess you could say I'm taking an active role in my own mental wellness. Over the past few years I have learned the value of self-nurture and self-soothing and I'm certainly finding it helpful right now. 

A love letter

Dear Running,

I am so glad you and I found each other.

I needed you so much today. We didn't have such a great time on those hot afternoons, did we? I think you and I are meant to be together in the coolness of the morning when the air is cold and clear; not the afternoon of a sultry day where the air feels heavy in my lungs. This morning was perfect.

The road expects nothing of me. It is there before me and never ends. Even when there is no path to follow the way is before me. The road just accepts my pounding feet, not asking how I am, how far I intend to go, how long I will take - for sometimes I don't know. I just run and the road accepts that.

You are best when there is so much going on in my heart and head. I know I have to be out there on the road to give my body an outlet for all the feelings that have no words....or too many words that I simply can't express. I run and everything that I can't understand or emotions that feel too big kind of become more manageable. They don't change or go away at all, but the rhythm of my pounding feet becomes a mantra, "You'll be alright. You are ok. Everything will work out," over and over again until my heart stops pounding and all anxious thoughts melt away.

Pain becomes my friend. You've helped me see pain in a different light, for the pain of you is not the pain of something being terribly wrong. It is the pain of things changing, of muscles strengthening, of form improving. I took particular note of my quads this morning. I could feel them burning the further I went, but the further I went the harder I would push and my quads responded. I was fascinated.

Running, you have made me a student of my own body. I have learned so much. I have learned persistence. I have learned about dedication and commitment.  I have learned that I'm stronger than I think. I have learned that even when I think there's nothing more left in me to give I just need to dig deeper and find that which is in reserve. There's always a little more.

I've learned that I can't expect myself to be everything to everyone. It's okay to have something just for myself that I don't have to justify or explain. I've never had that before. All my life I've lived with what I've been taught - not to be selfish, to share, to think of others, to leave myself until last. You have taught me that I am important too; that I need to take this time to just be alone and to guard this time we have together almost jealously. 

Thank you for everything, but especially bringing me back from the brink. I tell people that I started running because I was in a really dark place. You helped me run out of that dark place. Sometimes it still gets a little dark, but I know that sunshine waits for me just down the road and around the corner. 

Till next time!

Me xox

Two steps away

Despite the fact that March is filled with birthdays for our family and should be a month of fun, I found March to be a struggle this year.

To be honest, I have struggled with my own mental health. I have been anxious, overwhelmed and in a deeper hole than I care to admit, even needing time out just to get my head together.

I guess there are many reasons that contributed to this. Since December it has been one change after another and I don't do change well. I like predictability and familiarity. Yes I like adventure, but I like adventure that I've planned for. Above all, I love home best. I guess, since December, I've struggled to know where that is. Everything seems unfamiliar and I don't quite know where my place is in the world.

Over the past few weeks as I have been out and about I've encountered people in the streets, on the tram and on the train who seem...broken. I find myself wondering what their stories are. Who were they before I encountered them? What started their slow erosion and what were the events that continued that erosion of mind and body? I see them talking to people who seem very real to them but I am not able to see and I hear them talking in ways that, to me, make no sense whatsoever.

I find my heart move with compassion towards these broken lives because sometimes I feel as though I am only two steps away from where they are.  What tips the balance between sanity and madness? Sometimes I feel as though it will only take one more thing before I tumble those two steps down into being someone completely different to the person I started out being.