Wanderer of the Void

Hi.
I'm Leisa.
It's been a while, hasn't it?
A long while.
My last blog entry was a rant and it was over on another one of my blogs that I had forgotten even existed. This entry isn't a rant....and it's firmly placed on a familiar writing platform to me. This is more automatic writing of no particular eloquence, breaking rules of spelling and grammar and sentence construction.
Once upon a time I read the blog of a woman and her four daughters who, after an unspeakable tragedy, wandered from place to place, exploring, connecting, re-organising their lives into some form of random structure. I used to envy them, wishing I could just move around from place to place, not needing a base but just free to move wherever the wind blew, connecting with new people and places and things only to move on again.
Be careful what you wish for. It may come to you....but not in the way you imagined and not in the way you particularly like. I've been moving around from place to place for a number of years now and it's not fun. It's not exciting.
I am surrounded by so many beautiful people who I adore. I am performing and being sought after to work with. I am creating. I am being paid to do what I love. Sometimes I will do it without being paid because I love it so much. I love the adrenaline. I love the feeling of creating something. I love the feeling of co-creating something. I love even the feeling of talking about possibilities even though those possibilities may never happen. I see more shows. I engage with more art. My mind is open to new things and experiences. I challenge old ways of thinking, formulate new thoughts and ideas.

I am so fucking lonely I can't stand it any more. I look down the barrel of a future I never imagined nor planned for and I am filled with terror. Absolute, white hot, soul crushing terror. I long for the end but lack the courage to follow through. I've done 18 years worth of therapy only to come out with an outcome I didn't hope for.

I divorced a person I still love. Do you know what that feel like?

I fell in love with someone who I knew right from the start would never stay. I was ok with this until I was forced out of the easiness that was us by someone who saw and still sees me as a threat.

I hate with a passion I never dreamed possible. It's so intense that it both terrifies and excites me.

I look in the mirror and I don't know who I am anymore. The characters on stage feel more safe to be than the one in the mirror. They are fierce, confident, assured, loved, affirmed, safe. The one in the mirror walks home in the dark on her own, gets into bed alone, rises alone, eats in silence, works and does it all again the next day....day after day after day.

The skin hunger has reached an unbearable level. Do I still exist if I am untouched? It doesn't feel it. I resent those that say...."but in spite of all the problems and trauma I still hold them and fall asleep." That fuels the hate. I pay to be touched. I pay for it. Shaitsu. Thai. All above board. But I hate the fact that I have to pay for it....and the hands doing it don't know me at all....but anything for some kind of grounding. Anything that tells me I exist.

I don't think I do really. I am simply the product of some higher beings insane imagination.

I'm also starting to hate the letter S at the end of words. There's a reason for this.

Inside yet outside

In the bubble.

I've been rethinking the use of my protective bubble of Protego Totalum.

It has served me well for a number of years now, and still does. I no longer look for the eyes that are looking, for the not so surreptitious smart phones taking photos. I don't look so I don't see.

I realise though that Protego Totalum has meant that I've missed out on connections; of looking into the eyes of other souls and seeing. More often than not, walking down a crowded street without eye contact has been the loneliest feeling.

So I've decided to take that barrier down - still not looking for the eyes that are watching, but looking for the genuine "I see YOU" connections. There has been a radical increase in the number of "Good mornings!" and warm smiles and gentle faces. My heart is warm and full.

Looking for the good is so much easier. You find more of it.

Protego Totalum still serves when I deliberately put myself into situations where the idea is that you invite people to watch and observe. As I concentrate more on my dance practice and my desire to be an artist, these situations and opportunities are becoming more frequent. I started a dance class on Friday with a friend; one where moving by instinct and with intention is the focus - no choreography, pure flow. We sit and observe each other from the side.

At first I was terrified. My fear of being observed, watched, maybe critiqued was triggerd on a large scale and my first instinct was to bolt for the door!. "Leisa you are pretending. You are not a real dancer. You are shit!" screamed my inner critic, but then I stepped out there and just let it go and followed the dance and it led me places I didn't know existed. At that moment I was actually right there in the Protego Totalum bubble where I was safe and warm and protected and yet totally able to let people see.

I sat on the sidelines and watched and witnessed those beautiful moments in others where you see them find it, and you're able to breathe and say, "There you are! I see you!" I love those moments. They're pure joy. Wonderful to see in a stranger, pure delight when seen in a friend.

I've decided to take risks and sign up to new things and explore interests that once upon a time I would've been too afraid to pursue because the thought of being so exposed in a group of strangers was terrifying. When I've faced the terror and done it anyway I've found it's not so scary after all. Most of all I've found joy and connection with other beautiful souls. No strangers. Just friends I haven't met.

I'm getting proud Stella! I'm getting proud by practicing every single day. I wish you were here to see!

More classes, more workshops, more exploring.

There's a whole world out there beyond the bubble.

Life Lately

Photo taken from a session at Weave. Credit: B N Karim

Silence on the blog front. I'm just going to write this as is.

Over the past six months I have had both the best times while living through the worst time of my life.

How contradictory is that? How can that even happen?

I can't even explain it myself. Right at this very moment my body and my mind are trying to reconcile those two truths - being in the worst time of my life while having the best time of my life.

My health has been terrible. I got the 'flu in about.....August I think. I'm not talking about a cold. I'm talking the 'flu, where even my skin was aching and I got this racking cough that sometimes threatened to crack ribs. Some would say I was trying to cough up a lung. 

Despite a recent chest x-ray that gave me the all-clear I am still coughing.....and it's the middle of November. I've only got myself to blame. I just kept on going....because there were too many things to do. I didn't do what my body needed me to do. I didn't rest. I didn't rest because there were opportunities that presented themselves where I got to finally do what I've dreamed of doing for as long as I can remember.....and I didn't want those opportunities to pass me by. I am, after all.......almost 50.........(shhhh.........I didn't just say that!)

But that's not the worst thing. And that's not the reason I lived both the worst and best times of my life.

On October 14 I got a phone call that a mother never wants to get. One of my children was involved in a serious road accident.

I don't want to go into the details, because that's their story.......but after an extended stay in hospital where bones were put back together and other issues were resolved, they are home and physically doing well.

They dodged yet another bullet. We all did. Sometimes the impact of that still catches me unaware. People say to focus on the fact that the worst didn't happen and they are well and are on the way to recovery...and for the most part I can do that.....

...but there are times where my mind heads back to that night and the full realisation of things hit and I realise what a bullet we did actually dodge. I haven't yet processed everything officially with the people I need to see. Part of me is scared to. Everything just sits there under the surface and I suppose it's the reason for my current state of.....drift and disconnection.

As all this was happening I was involved in a show with Weave Movement Theatre. We were in final rehearsals for our two week season that had been scheduled for months.

Some may call me crazy, some may even think that it was as though I didn't care, or that I wanted to escape.....but I didn't pull out of the production. I kept going.

For the first time ever....I also took care of me....in some strange way.

It was the best thing I could've done...even though I was so very exhausted. Over a month I possibly slept no more than three hours a night. I ate breakfast and then ate sporadically. Over the course of two days following the accident I lost two kilos. I'd get up and go to the hospital. I'd spend time at the hospital and then go to rehearsal. When the season started I'd alternate between the hospital and the theatre, going home to shower, eat a little something, catch a few hours sleep and then head out again.

It sounds torrid......but during the worst time of my life I was having the best time of my life.

How does that even happen?

I think being in the show actually saved my life.....or at least my sanity. I felt as though I was living two lives. There was life at the hospital, where I'd watch numbers and feel scared, feel white hot rage at the circumstances that had my beloved in there and all I wanted was for her to come home and be ok. I was filled with anxiety.

Then I would get to the theatre.....and go on stage under those bright lights and the smoke machine and the plastic bags and the costumes and the pumping music and I'd be fully THERE. Nothing else existed. Everything melted away and I felt centred and strong and grounded AND I KNEW EVERYTHING WAS GOING TO BE OK. For those 75 minutes I knew it was all going to be ok. My daughter was in surgery while I was performing in our Preview show and for those 75 minutes I felt safe...and I knew she was safe....but the minute I stepped off the stage and the preview show was over I was in Mum mode. I got out of my costume and high tailed it to the hospital and spent the next few hours in the waiting room.....pacing....pacing....pacing. She didn't get out of surgery until well after midnight.

The performance kept me sane and focused.

I was also having the best time of my life because for a couple of months - with rehearsals and then the season - I was part of something. I felt a sense of connection and community. I think that's what I love so much about being a creative; that you band together with a whole lot of other creative people to make something bigger than all of you - something that you all bring together and share with MORE people. In dance and movement there's also an element of trust that is shared with each other. I have to trust *this* person enough to know that when they lift me and then whip me around their shoulders I am going to be safe....and that THEY are going to be safe doing so.

Being a part of the cast meant that for those few awful weeks I felt safe and nurtured. There were arms to hold me when the terror threatened to take me away, there were laughs to be had, people to get to know and connect with and relate to. They all became my safe place; my family. We had rituals that fed into my need for life to be safe and predictable - presetting the props and costumes, warm up, cast pre-show pep-talks and yoga with dirty feet and plastic bags.

I miss all that.

I dreaded it ending. I still hate that it ended. I just wanted to keep on going and take it on the road - despite the fact that one of my fellow cast members said that it would be like "herding cats"!

I hate that I connect so much, because the emptiness after it ends is almost too much to bear. I've always been that way. With SSPA I would get "Post camp/convention blues" for MONTHS. I haven't changed much.

Despite the fact that I have other exciting projects in the wings, leads to follow, events I've said yes to and things that may yield hope and promise of a life direction I've yearned for since I was a little girl....I feel empty.

I go home to an empty house....well, apart from the dog.

I openly admit that right now I hate this single life. I don't really know how to do it. I'm practicing...and there have been people about lately who have been kind and patient and indulging as I have tried out my single legs. Does that even make sense? I surprise myself by saying yes to invitations to events where I know nobody except the person who invited me. I surprise myself even more by having 30 minute interesting conversations with random people at a bar. I realise that I have held myself back over all these years....worried about things I didn't need to.

Today I am finding it hard to have hope. I keep asking myself, "Is this all there is for me now? Having all these amazing things happen and yet still going home at the end to my dog?" I don't want it to be this way anymore. If going through the best time of the worst time of my life taught me anything it was that I am ready to move forward.

I just don't quite know how to do that.

Clowning around

I was asked to be a parent speaker at a conference for The Humour Foundation last week. If you don't know what they do, go to the website and have a look, but THF is responsible for the wonderful work done by the Clown Doctors and Elder Clowns. I was asked to be a parent speaker because Clown Doctors have been a part of our lives since they first careened into the Royal Children's Hospital many moons ago.

I had such a lovely time at their conference. What a wonderful bunch of people! I felt so welcomed, so at home and so grateful for the wonderful bunch of human beings that bring so much joy.

My speech made the clowns cry....and they gave me a standing ovation. I broke the clowns, people!

After my speech they made me an honorary clown!

And then we had a raucous game of Bogan Bingo. Folks, you have not played bingo until you've played Bogan Bingo with a bunch of clowns!

The following is the transcript of my speech.

Hi everyone and thank you for having me. Yes, I am Leisa and I am Mum to four now adult children – Sarah is 29, Chloe is 26, Tim is 25 and Riley is 20.

At first when I was asked by Jo to come and speak I didn’t really know what I was going to tell you. I have no words of wisdom to impart and know nothing about clowning other than the fact that my children can tend to get highly embarrassed with my antics down at the local shopping centre – groovy dancing in the aisles, lip synching to the music they play over the PA and having conversations with automatic tellers.

So….I’ll tell you what your impact has been on our story.

The Royal Children’s Hospital has been a part of my life, our lives, for as long as I can remember. I went there as a baby, when I was six and again when I was 14. I was fortunate not to experience any complications in regards to my condition so my own visits to the hospital were few and far between, however my memories of being there are seared into my brain – and not necessarily in a good way. Appointments and treatments didn’t seem as child focussed or holistic – and of course back then there were no such thing as Clown Doctors who I am SURE would have made my visit a whole lot more memorable in a GOOD way! In the 1970’s the focus seemed to be on the clinical side – diagnosis and symptoms and wanting to know if I was reaching all the expected milestones rather than who I was as a person.

I’m glad I didn’t go there too often.

Most of my dealings with the Royal Children’s Hospital were as an adult – as a mother. Our first visit was a prenatal visit in 1986 and then became regular occurrences after the birth of our first daughter back in 1987.

We never expected that the Children’s Hospital would become such a big part of our lives. As you can see, I was born with a form of dwarfism – the most common form known as achondroplasia. My husband at the time was also born with dwarfism – a different type to mine. Both of us enjoyed relatively healthy childhoods with very little or no medical or surgical intervention. When we decided to have children we had no reason to expect that our children would not have the same experience.

It didn’t work out that way.

The Royal Children’s Hospital became a big part of our lives for almost thirty years. In the early years of raising our children, every few months we would spend an entire day at the Children’s as we’d have multiple appointments at several clinics. You name it, we’ve been there – ultrasound, x-ray, MRI, medical photography, neurology, neurosurgery, bone dysplasia, genetics, spinal and scoliosis clinic, respiratory, urology, encopresis, physiotherapy, Day Surgery, the Operating Theatres, Recovery, Inpatients, Outpatients and the dungeon – which is what Sarah used to call the room where they’d make her spinal brace.

We used to know the old hospital like the backs of our hands and I used to joke that we’d been almost everywhere except Intensive Care.

It wasn’t such a joke when we ended up there too after a frantic dash to Emergency one morning.

In the early days of our life at the hospital we learned the waiting game, and that appointment times were only guidelines. Your appointment may have been scheduled for 9am but if you were seen before 11 it was a good day. Back then PAGERS for parents weren’t even something considered. You get a PAGER now if you get tired of waiting and want to wander off and play in the playground or go and look at the meerkats! LUXURY!!!!

No, back then it was sit and wait – and over the years we learned to prepare for a day at the hospital. We armed ourselves with snacks, drinks, books, art supplies, toys, activities and changes of clothes. It was like packing for a weekend away! We learned to wait – and I guess that’s why they call us patients – because you learn to be PATIENT and wait your turn. Over the years I would people watch and learned how to pick a NEWBIE from a mile off. After 15 – 20 minutes waiting they’ll get up and enquire at the desk, mentioning the time of their appointment and the length of time they’d been waiting. I’d chuckle to myself and say, “There’s a new one. Sit down love. They’ll get to you…eventually…”

I don’t know when we first encountered the Clown Doctors doing the rounds. I know I had a few kids by then though and was a well-seasoned and tired hospital parent.

There were a group of irreverent clowns careening down the corridors towards the lifts – making noise and merriment, commenting about silly things, making jokes with children, parents and staff alike and bringing with them an element of fun. They stopped and talked with us and I specifically remember Dr. Peg who was blowing bubbles and eating them as they floated down, telling the children that they tasted like strawberries. She then became distracted and started rummaging about in her coat pockets. She pulled out a sample bottle, containing yellow liquid.

“Mmmm….!” She said……”Urine sample!”

And proceeded to drink the lot in one gulp!

Hospital visits, for me at least, became a lot more fun.

When I was preparing to speak today I decided to do some research and ask my children for some of their memories of the Clown Doctors – after all, the children are who you’re there for, right? It’s a CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL so the focus is on children, I would assume.

Each of them told me that they remember the Clown Doctors being there, they remember talking and laughing with them….but they were so overwhelmed with everything that was happening to them that they found it difficult to focus and fully engage with them. Their thoughts and worries were focussed on their wonderings about what was happening to them and listening out for the one word they dreaded the most – SURGERY.

But please don’t think your antics were in vain. They weren’t. Please don’t think your spending time with is was wasted. It wasn’t. You helped enormously.

You helped me – their mother. And I wanted to let you know how important that was and is – helping the WHOLE family, not just being there for the kids – for although the actual procedure or surgery or condition is happening to the child and the focus should naturally be on them, the situation is affecting the WHOLE family.

And a Mum needs to be there for her child – and the other children too if there’s more than one. Yet sometimes – often in my case – she becomes so overwhelmed with the enormity of what’s going on that the relief of the Clown Doctors coming on and easing some of that tension…..well……it’s invaluable….and so healing…..even for the mother.

Honestly, after interacting with you, engaging in your silliness and sharing a laugh I felt a little more relaxed and ready to continue supporting my child.

So, I wanted to say Thank You.

Thank You for being there.

Thank you for bringing your brand of silliness that helped so much in lessening the tension.

Thank you for prescribing a truckload of chocolates for a four year old girl who was waiting to have both her legs surgically broken and reset with pins and screws and a wicked looking frame that we learned to manage.

Thank you for helping me learn that to cope with the trauma of the whole thing we needed huge doses of fun and silliness along with the midazolam, the diazepam and all those other drugs ending with PAM.

Thank you for listening for heartbeats in foreheads, and elbows and knees and big toes.

Thank you for trying to climb IV poles, running away with wheelchairs and looking at charts and telling kids that they had the biggest and smartest looking brains you’d ever seen.

Thank you for coming to see us after we had just endured the scariest and most horrible times in Emergency – where we went right to the edge and came back again, where people worked intensely and quickly, where I heard words I didn’t want to hear, saw things I didn’t want to see and was possibly more confused and terrified than I’d ever been my entire life/

Thank you for your gentle and beautiful brand of humour after we transferred out of ICU and back onto the ward. Your presence was so calming and reassuring. You broke the tension. You brought back smiles and giggles. It was your presence that assured this mother that things were OK – that the terrible night we had endured was over and we were back on the road to recovery. All you had to do was be silly. You blew raspberries on the windows, you knocked things over you juggled random things and then you flattened your faces against the window, making my girl smile the most beautiful smile in the world.

Your presence at the hospital is such an integral and important part of hospital life. You bring life and fun and silliness to a place where sometimes people can get lost in uncertainty and fear. You calm nerves, bring distraction, dissolve tension and help us all to remember that life is good and silliness and laughter is a vital part of getting better and healing.

All my kids are not kids anymore and they have graduated from the clinics at the Royal Children’s Hospital and attend adult clinics at the Royal Melbourne and Monash. They’re all responsible for their own medical care now and they do it on their own. This Mama has had to learn how to relinquish that “control”.

However I did accompany one of my daughters to her visit to the Spinal Clinic as an adult at the Royal Melbourne. It felt as though we were at square one – starting all over again. The building was unfamiliar, we were unsure of where we were going, the corridors were darker and the walls were plain and missing all the bright, happy art work we had been accustomed to for so long. We felt nervous and small.

And one of us commented……

“You know what this place needs? Clown Doctors. I’d feel so much better if Clown Doctors were here!”

And it was in that moment that I realised how important you guys are. You really are.

So thank you.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for being there.

My darling girl.

Maya earlier this year.....at our most favorite place in the world.
27/10/2007 - 14/09/2016 

My darling girl

My darling girl

You're all that matters

In this wicked world

All that matters

All that matters 

My darling (girl)

My darling (girl)

All of my sunshine

And all of my joy

You're all that matters

All that matters.

Well I can't stop the pain

When it calls

I'm a man

And I can't stop the rain

When it falls my darling 

Who can?

My darling girl

My darling girl

You're all that matters

In this wicked world

All that matters

All that matters. 

My darling friend

My darling friend

All we've got going

Is love in the end

All that matters

All that matters.

Lyrics by Mark Knopfler.

Last Wednesday - September 14 - I held my Maya and sang to her as she crossed the Rainbow Bridge. 

I told her how much I loved her. I told her to go and find Lucy and run on the beach. I told her that I'd go to the beach and feel her with me.

I held her as that thundering heart stilled and she was filled with peace and my own heart broke and shattered into a billion pieces. 

I wrapped her up and took her to my sisters place and buried her near the dam, under some trees and camellia bushes that were blooming in beautiful pink shades. I placed a stone at her head. My beautiful nephew will be making her a better marker soon....

My darling girl found her way into my heart when I first met her in November 2007. She chose me. She plonked herself on my knee that day and kind of said, "You're my Mum. I know you'll love me just as I am." She knew I needed her as much as she needed me. 

And on the day she left she let me know it was time to let her go, as hard as that decision was to make. 

I will miss her forever....my little shadow.....

My darling girl...

When it comes from within

I've been thinking about this post for a week. I've written it several times in my head. It will possibly come out on the screen nothing like I planned in my head...but that's ok. Maybe this is the right telling.

Last week someone called me the M-word. In itself I guess that's no biggie. I mean, it happens. I get annoyed, I move on.

But this one came from within the "disability club" and it was deliberate. This person knew my name - my actual name. This person looked me in the eye as I did something kind and said, "Thank you little midget....oh, I mean, Leisa."

I arked right up. I didn't yell, or scream or get obnoxious, but I felt the hackles rise and I told him that there was no way I was going to stand for it. It was rude, mean and the same as calling someone the n-word. He said it was a slip of the tongue. I told him it wasn't. He knew what he was saying.

After the incident I pondered for a while. Would people have thought I should've been a little more lenient because of the type of disability the name-caller had?

My answer is no. I respect my new friend as a person, a fellow human being. I expect the same courtesies from him as I do the rest of the human race. Just because my friend has a particular disability doesn't give him an excuse to be rude because, "He might not know what he's saying." He knew exactly what he was saying and he needs to know it's not on in the same way everyone else needs to know it's not on.

I don't believe in rules for us and rules for them.

I have to admit that I was hurt. I thought they would have known better. He too would have been subject to obnoxious words used to describe his condition over the years. Back in my day people with his condition were called all sorts of things that were "acceptable" back then but are totally inappropriate now.

Back in the day the M-word was once the moniker they assigned to people like me. Not anymore. I won't take it from anyone.

These are a few (one) of my favorite things

Make way for the swans!
Image source

When I drive in to work my favorite part of the drive is around Lakeside Drive in Albert Park. Drivers have to be alert when making their way around that lake as there is a large population of Black Swans, as well as many other water birds.

(It's one of the big reasons I am so anti-Grand Prix!)

The speed limit around the lake is 50kmph and I'm pleased to report that most Melburnians seem to keep to that limit - and for good reason too. The swans get right of way in traffic - and by the way they stroll across the road you have every reason to believe that they know they own the place. They take their sweet time just waddling across, stopping to check out the scenery or perhaps wondering if they really do want to cross the road after all. Meanwhile, traffic banks up as they make up their minds and make their way across.

For some reason, I don't mind just sitting there and waiting for the swans. I don't even care if I'm terribly late for work. The swans are a bright spot in my day and serve to remind me that there are more important things to care about in this fast world.

Knitwise, Cookwise

Hi people,

Winter has settled in here well and truly. With apologies to my friends in the Northern Hemisphere who I know experience a much colder winter than we do down here, it has been cold. Average daily temperatures seem to be around 12c (53.6F) which I know isn't really cold but when you're used to summers of over 100F it IS cold!

I have been spending a lot of time knitting. I've found an easy beanie pattern and just set those knitting needles a clackin'! The good thing is that people have seen my creations and want to buy them! I have orders!

These are the beanies I am sending off to people in the post today.

Rainbow, Koorie Flag and purple flecks. 

Knitting has been so therapeutic. There's just something about the rhythmic movement that is so soothing. Knowing that I am making things for people I know and love is even better. A whole lotta love goes into what I create and I hope those who receive my creations feel it too.

I'm making a little bit of money on the side too. Just a little. Actually......only enough to pay for more wool. I don't charge for my time. I'd make a terrible entrepreneur! I look at lovely quilts and knits at markets and see how expensive they are and know darn well that they are worth every cent! I know a lot of money and time and effort goes into hand making something, but to put those prices on my items....I just can't do it!

Maybe I need to just say to people, "Pay what you can afford" like they do at Lentil as Anything.

I have also been trying new recipes and made this the other evening.

Rice and Bean Stuffed Capsicums.

I got the recipe from Sammie over at The Annoyed Thyroid, Recipe can be found HERE. It really was delicious.....actually this recipe made me enough meals for four nights so I'm set for dinners for a while! I may even add in a little chilli powder next time....and yes, there will be a next time!

Go over and give Sammie some love. She's a pretty awesome lady who loves running and Disneyland - just like me!

Speaking of running (how was that segue?!), thanks to tax time bonuses and end of financial year sales I bought myself some new running shoes on the weekend!

Bit brighter than I'm used to!

I hadn't changed my running shoes for.....oh goodness.....over two years. This is a no-no apparently when you're a runner. My other ASICS were really in need of replacing - even sporting holes where my big toes are. I could feel that they weren't cushioning or supporting my feet as I was running so it was well and truly time for new ones. I took these out for the first time yesterday morning and they felt terrific.

I'm once again on the look out for another place to live. Although I completely LOVE where I am living and feel sad about moving I have decided I need to find a place closer to family and work. The two hour plus commute four days a week is exhausting - not to mention the extra travel I have to do for dance rehearsals on the weekend. Having said all that though, I am in no great rush and have decided that I will employ the "keep turning over rocks till you find the treasure" approach to house hunting. In other words, I will look for and apply for places, however if I am unsuccessful then that place wasn't meant for me and I'll just stay put and keep on looking until the one that's meant for me comes. No point getting anxious about it! I looked through a really LOVELY little place on Saturday that I would dearly love but when I turned up I was one amongst a crowd of maybe thirty other people wanting to find a rental in the areas as well. Rental properties in the area I'm looking in are in great demand.

At least I have a place to hang my hat now. I realise how blessed I am every day when I commute to the city and see the homeless people near the train station. I cannot comprehend not having anywhere to go.

Hide and seek

There seems to be such a focus on the concept of finding yourself.

How do you find yourself when you never got to discover who you were in the first place?

What if your whole identity was shaped by being something, fulfilling a role through which you defined yourself - daughter, girlfriend, mother, wife?

How do you find yourself when the only "you" you knew was the one that was shaped by those roles?

I was good at those roles...well...at least I thought I was.

"Be good and do what you're told."
"Keep them happy."
"Keep them fed and happy. Love them. Keep them alive. Listen to them"
"Keep him happy."

What happens when slowly, bit by bit, those roles are no longer required, needed....or even wanted; and you find that bit by bit, day by day, a little more of who you thought you were is eroded until there's absolutely nothing left and you're left standing with empty hands and sometimes an empty head that echoes with the question, "What now?"

Go out and find yourself.

But who am I looking for? What's she like? Will I like her? I hope I will!

Who is she now that there's nothing left and she has to start again from scratch?

So....she starts. In the silence of her empty house she starts. Well...she did start with an empty house and slowly started to fill it with pre-loved things that she makes her own.

She creates things with her hands, filling the empty rooms with beautiful, colourful things that are an expression of who she is.

She eats when she wants and as little or as much as she likes.

She watches movie after move, episode after episode one after the other just because she can and there's no one there to question it.

Her sewing machine lives permanently on the kitchen table. It's on no one's way but hers. Pins, scissors, fabric and cotton litter the room at times, evidence of the creative process. Her heart burns with excitement of creating without the constraints of time. Her knitting needles are always on the go, especially during the winter months, as she creates scarves and hats for those she loves. Thoughts of selling her creations flit through her mind from time to time...

She shares of herself when she wants to share and remains silent when she can't - until she goes to her safe place where she can finally let it all out story by story until the telling is done. She doubts if the telling will ever be done. In that safe place there are no judgments or recriminations; just an ear that listens, one that doesn't care what she says. She can say what she needs to say in that room and no one cares....well....there is care but it's care with a purpose, not the care of involvement.

She wonders if she is finding herself or if she is simply just ridding herself of all the baggage she has expected herself to carry while she was fulfilling all those roles. She realises that it doesn't matter. She gets the feeling that once the baggage is gone she can truly begin.

A beginning can start at any time, she discovers - even when you've lived over half your life already.

She hasn't quite found herself as yet. In fact, she doesn't even think she's close. She is content to be on the journey.  Who knows? Maybe she will find herself right at the very end.

Happy Place

Morning at Lake Hamilton

 Sometimes the world simply gets too big. 

I'm not going to comment much about recent world events. I have deliberately stayed away from news and current affairs programs. Actually, I do that a lot - most days really. Watching the news unfold in front of me in screaming technicolour doesn't do my heart, mind and soul any good, not to mention the fact that I don't think news reports are entirely accurate most of the time anyway. There's always a myriad of perspectives and I know not all of them are represented in a single news report. 

You may call me an ostrich with my head in the sand. 

That's ok. I'll let you. I'm not offended. I know what works for me and I know that my anxiety levels go through the roof if I dwell on events over which I have no control. I don't think we were meant to know everything but humankind seems to have this insatiable quest to know all there is to know about everything there is to know. 

Try as I may though, news filters through. Let's face it, if you're on Facebook (Did I just make a pun then? Let's FACE it.....FACEbook.......never mind.....) you get news as it's happening so yes, I have heard about the recent tragic events in Orlando and yes, I am aware that billions of people around the globe have aired their opinions about the availability of guns, gun control and the like. 

When things like this happen I find I immediately start creating something beautiful. I guess there's something about the predictability of a beginning, middle and an end that has a beautiful outcome that I find soothing. When 9/11 happened I slowly and systematically started on a Friendship Quilt that became a wall hanging. It kept me calm and gave me another focus rather than dwelling on the horror that I had witnessed live on my television screen.

This time, without even thinking I found myself cutting out 2.5" fabric blocks from the the endless stash of off-cuts and Fat Quarters that I have in boxes in my spare room. So far I have cut out 180 of these little beauties. 

There are 11 piles of 12 squares pictured. I could've sworn I'd cut out 144 squares.......

I found the 12th pile on the floor. 

I lay them all out on the living room rug and decided that I'd do 15 rows of 12 to make it a decent sized little quilt. Laying them on the living room rug was possibly a foolish move because.....well....I have a 10 week old puppy......

Who isn't ALWAYS blissfully asleep on her little sofa!

Tonight I'm going to decide on the placement of colours - which will quite possibly be very haphazard but I like haphazard things. I'll try and post some pictures as the quilt progresses,

Centering in is my happy place. My little home, my kids, my fur-kids and my love for creating beautiful things is sometimes the only world I need to think about. Like I said, I don't think we were meant to know everything. I don't think it's good for me to know everything. I'm doing what I can to listen to my own body, heart and soul to discover the path that is right for me.

New arrival

Meet Murphy. She's the new arrival to this little family of mine.

She's an 8 week old Jack Russell. I named her Murphy after one of my favorite characters in the movie Interstellar, played by Jessica Chastain.

We are all learning how to live together - Gypsy, Murphy, Maya and me. Nights are the hardest. Murph misses her mama and her litter mates and doesn't appreciate being locked in the bathroom for the night. She barks and howls initially and so far I have fought the urge to reneg  and bring her into bed with me. Eight years of sleeping with Maya has taught me that that's NOT a good idea. I'm not going to get into bad habits with this dog. It's only for a little while. She does eventually settle and, as long as I don't make any noise, stays asleep for the rest of the night.

Maya and Gypsy seem to like her too....although Gypsy is becoming annoyed at being chased around the house! Maya is incredibly patient with her although soft growls are heard if Murph crosses one of her boundaries or tries to eat her food! Maya is a wonderful example for Murph to grow up with and I'm hoping that the old girl can teach Murph some of her beautiful ways. I kind of wanted to get another puppy before I had to say goodbye to Maya.

Was it wise to get another puppy? Possibly not, but I love her and I'm smitten. I am fully aware that I got her to fill a need - that need to nurture something and to give me something else to focus on other than the mind numbing emptiness that accompanies the ending of my marriage. I'm done with pretending. I'm calling it as it is. This is rough.

Miracle cure!

My saviour! (apparently!)

I was waiting at some pedestrian lights this morning....

....minding my own business and sipping on my morning latte.

(Oh, by the way, $2 Express latte from Perk Up in Collins St is my quick fix of choice. Hot and ready to go when I get off the train or waiting for a tram! Good coffee for TWO DOLLARS!!!!)

Like I said, I was minding my own business and I hear this loud voice talking about dates.....and because I was minding my own business my mind kind of just thought it was a business person talking about dates for a meeting or something....

WRONG!

He was talking to ME!

It took me a few seconds to realise that he was telling me that he used to be really really short and that he ate a lot of dates and then he grew.

"Sorry mate, that's not going to help me," I told him.

"Yes it will!" he insisted, going off on a tangent about palm oil and dates and making people grow.

"This is genetic mate. Dates are not going to help."

He did keep insisting. I recognised that the poor dude possibly had some issues happening so I wasn't annoyed or anything but....you know.....in the middle of the city and peak hour in the morning.....it's kind of embarrassing when you have a lot of other people around listening in, not knowing where to look.

Thankfully the lights changed so I was able to shake him off by power walking across the road.

There you have it folks.....the answer to all my prayers have been in the Dried Fruits section in the supermarket all along!

Or......growing fresh in my back yard!

My own path

Source

Last night I embarked on another adventure in my journey towards discovering my own truths. This has been a bold step for me. It's been really hard to release myself from the constraints of the beliefs that were part of my life for so long. As I sat in the group last night and introduced myself I told them that I was there as part of my own quest to discover my own truth but was feeling a little trepidation as "this" kind of group was something I was most definitely encouraged to avoid.

However, lately I have seen no reason to avoid other ways of thinking. I even ask myself if it is actually another way of thinking or simply just another way of looking at the same truth? Nothing I encountered in the Mindfulness and Meditation group I attended last night gave me any cause for alarm, in fact I was warmly welcomed by a lovely woman around the same age as my mother who simply radiated calm and happiness. The other women in the group were warm and friendly and I couldn't help but relax and eagerly look forward to what was ahead.

We did a five minute Mindfulness exercise which simply had us noticing the sensations in our body, acknowledging the feelings, the sounds around us, the feel of the cushion we sat on; noticing and acknowledging without judgement and then moving on. Then, after a little teaching we did a ten minute Meditation which had us just slowly relaxing every part of our bodies.

It was lovely, just to be aware of my own body and to come away with a sense of  peace and gratitude for all that it is.

I am looking forward to next weeks class.

Small things

Over the course of last week I received word of another friend who had sadly passed away at a young age. Although we were not really close, we re-established contact over the last couple of years. It was kind of complicated, this friendship. We were not friends on Facebook (which seems to be the benchmark for marking friendship status these days!) but I did consider him a friend regardless. I hope he knew that. 

Sadly, he passed away last week at age 53. It's a sobering thought. Of twelve friends that met together as teenagers in 1980 we have lost a quarter of our group over the course of the last three years. Sobering indeed. 

This weekend I spent the time centering and spending time doing things that were nurturing to my soul. On Saturday morning I went for a good run; an 8.5km circuit around what is known as The Esplanade. I live in a lovely area, rich with beautiful birds. On my Saturday morning run I was thrilled to see two rainbow lorikeets feeding from blossoms in one of the flowering gums. It was good to get out there in the fresh air and challenge my body again, emptying my mind of distraction and focusing on breathing and technique. Breakfast always tastes heavenly after a good, sweaty run. 

For the rest of the day I worked on my Angel Story Quilt. 

My cat Gypsy seems to think this quilt is for her!

Block A of Angel Story all put together!

I signed up for Angel Story as a Block of the Month quilt maybe......10 years ago? I had most of the embroidery and piecing done but it had been sitting in a box in the cupboard for the longest time waiting to be put together and finished. I don't know why I do this - start on a project and never finish it - but something kind of clicked recently and I knew it was time. I've been working on it ever since and feel a growing sense of excitement and achievement watching it all come together. 

Doing things with my hands and creating something beautiful during tricky times has always been a go to for me. I remember immediately after the events of 9/11 I avidly stitched a Friendship Quilt and found it soothing and healing. Since moving into my own place I have found that focusing on my creative side has helped soothe my anxious heart and mind and find a sense of home and belonging in this place. As my quilt comes together so does my confidence and sense of self. I am going to be ok. 

Gypsy is actually interested in the program The Secret Life of Cats!

I find myself slipping into a peaceful rhythm of days, even though my working week involves lots of commuting taking up many hours. I get home and peace just settles over me. I go about my tasks slowly and quietly. Even cleaning is pleasurable as it is though my little house becomes more mine as I do so. There's a place for everything and everything seems to be falling into place. In the evening, my dog and cat give me companionship as I sew and watch documentaries on TV. Even Gypsy was fascinated by the program The Secret Life of Cats! 

Small things mean so much to me and mark my days with contentment.

Sunday strolls - Balnarring Beach

This morning Maya and I went for a stroll along our beach. As always she was excited when I reached for her lead and told her we were going, and even more so when we turned onto the road that led to her favorite spot in the whole world.

The tide was out, revealing so much more than what we normally see. We picked our way over the rocks as the water trickled over them and into the myriad of rock pools left behind by the tide.

Mountains of weed piled up on the sand. They remind me of tea leaves - not fun to swim in but fascinating on the sand.

I picked up a few shells for my collection as Maya paddled through the shallow water. She's not normally one for getting wet but there's just something about sea water she doesn't mind. The beach is full of strange and wonderful smells for her and she spends a lot of the time nose down investigating them.

I wonder about the vegetation that grows nearby. The little purple flowers I have seen since childhood. I wonder about the fruits and berries growing on branches. As children we were warned not to eat any berries we found, but I find myself wondering if these are actually bush tucker and a rich source of food.

The sky is moody and broody but as I sit here and write the sun begins to peep through the clouds, illuminating everything with a different light. Maya rests from her wanderings and sits at my feet, looking out at the distant waves.

I love it here. It feels like home.

The little boat to the right serves as a marker as to where I have parked my car!

The tide is out today....

...leaving piles and piles of weed that reminds me of tea leaves. 

I think Maya likes investigating the rock pools almost as much as I do!

Barnacles and snails clinging to the rocks, waiting for the tide.

This exposed rock reminds me of the head of Smaug the Terrible from The Hobbit.

Moody, broody skies. 

I wish I knew more about botany....or identifying bush tucker!

Interesting smells everywhere! Maya often has her nose down. 

I've seen surfers riding waves in this little inlet here. It's empty today. 

Memories of childhood beach adventures.....

My hair and challenging beliefs

Please excuse the grainy-taken-on-my-phone-in-the-bathroom photo. One day I'll get around to taking good Nikon shots and playing around with them on some kind of photo editor!

I am growing my hair. I've been doing so for a few years now. This is the longest it's been in....forever. My daughter, Chloe says to me whenever I get her to brush it for me, "Mum! Your hair hasn't been this long since the 90's!"

She's right. I think it was this long back in 1996 when I had my youngest. After I had her I left it a couple of weeks and then I lopped off my hair. I think lopping it off meant that I had one less thing to take care of! Caring for a newborn and three other children was enough!

My hair has been a kind of mental battle ground for me. Most of the time when I was growing up I had short hair. It wasn't something I wanted. I loved long hair and wanted it so much, but prior to becoming a teenager I didn't really care about taking care of my hair so the person who had to decided that short hair was best.

When I was old enough to take care of my hair and cared about how I looked I was often told that, "Long hair is too much on a Little Person. You need to keep it short." I was a people pleaser, so I did what made others happy.

In the 80's I had my fair share of TRAGIC tight perms! We had a mobile hair dresser who had cheap rates and would come to our house and take care of all our hair-care needs. Trouble is she only knew how to do ONE kind of perm - cut it in short layers and curl it within an inch of it's life!

Ok....ok....ok....because I love you all so much I'll show you......

Photo of a photo of me at 18 in September 1985. I'm being silly and pretending I'm pregnant. A year later.....I was!

Like I said......tragic!

But it was still short, because that's what I was led to believe looked best on me.....because I was short. Short statured people like me weren't supposed to have long hair, regardless of the fact that my best friend at the time (who was also short like me) had the most gorgeous, long, wavy hair and I thought it looked absolutely beautiful. Others agreed that she had beautiful hair, but she should've kept it short....because, in their opinion, it would look better.

Over the years I have challenged those voices and the belief in my own head of what fashion or look I am limited to.

There are no rules, there are no limits.

I don't have to stick to a particular style just because someone else said it looks better.

I have learned the difference between fact and opinion.

For far too long I have been led by the opinion of a minority of voices. I am free to wear my hair in whatever style I want - even if I want to go back and do another one of those horrendous 1980's perms! (not on your sweet Nelly!!!)

I've stopped thinking that I shouldn't wear this because of my size or I'm too old for that.

I like what I like, and that's ok. I love exploring what I like. I like discovering what I don't like. I'm led by my own eyes and my own thoughts and feelings. I'm learning to trust myself. I'm learning to be ok when others have a different opinion. I consider them and then decide if it's right for me rather than just automatically give in to the need to people please. What's the line in that old song?

"But it's alright now. I learned my lesson well. 
You see, you can't please everyone, so you got to please yourself."

Garden Party by John Fogerty

I'm growing my hair because I love the feel of it. I feel feminine and sexy with long hair. I may keep growing it and then dreadlock it.

There are days I want to shave it all off to a #3 all over. I will do this one day. Not right now though, but when I do it'll be because I want to, not because someone thinks I should.

My useless post

Source

This post is in response to Maxabella's and Alison's - just for the complete fun of it and because you know, I love jumping on a bandwagon now and then.

I've been working on the Quality System here at work. You'd think that would be a useful thing. You know, making sure things are streamlined, using the same fonts, things filed and archived and referenced with hyperlinks to corresponding documents and the like. It should make things easier for people.

You know, a place for everything and everything in it's place - registered and referenced and updated.

No one uses it. Or so it seems.

"Leisa, how do I.........?????"

"Leisa, where is.....?????"

"Leisa, what's the password for.......?????"

"Leisa, who is our contact at.....?????"

It's all there, black and white, clear as crystal.........you stole Fizzy Lifting Drink! You bumped into the ceiling which now needs to be........

Oops.......got carried away. Willy Wonka up there distracted me.

It's all there in the Quality System. There's a Work Instruction for practically everything, No one uses it though.....which is kind of disheartening because that's a whole heap of work hours spent on something no one uses.

Whatever. It pays the bills.

And that, dear friends, is my useless post!