whybother?

I was having a real life, face to face conversation with someone the other day, about how difficult it can be to meet new people. I have a small miniscule circle of friends, some of whom I have met through Mollie’s friends! I have a couple of ‘old’ friends- those I rarely see, but love to death regardless. I’ve made a couple of new friends over the last 12 months, as a result of changing jobs a couple of times. They are all important to me.

What I have discovered since beginning this whole blog adventure, is literally an entire world of potential friends. What is the magic of blogging? Is it the anonymity? The ability to be real without fear of judgement or reprisal? In my first ever blog, I queried why anyone would bother to blog, hence the title of this blog: whybother?

Well, I have the answer. Friendship. Unexpected. Rare. Genuine. Unfettered. There are no geographical boundaries. There is nothing to be afraid of, or ashamed of. Only those who are interested will read it anyway. Only those who are moved in some way will comment. In some ways, these are the most real relationships there are. Honesty. Raw emotion. Being vulnerable. Expressing thoughts, emotions and experiences we may never share in the ‘real’ world. Laughing out loud at someone else’s misfortune. Crying with empathy for someone else’s sufferings. Venting, without fear of offending or upsetting or hurting someone. Free therapy!

I have been honoured to ‘meet’ the following people. They have all touched me in some way. In a world where it can be difficult to increase our social contacts, where everyone is ‘busy’, doing what they must, this is a safe place of friendship and support. If I was even remotely capable of designing a button, I would, and each of you would receive it. It would be called the ‘thank you for coming into my life’ button, and I would happily give it to (in no particular order):

Tiff

Kim

Veronica

Kelley

Trish

The Dad

Tex’s Missus

Whoorl

Lightening (with special thanks)

Joh

Guera

X-Box

Thanks, guys.

My (rather large) baby went off to day one of Year 6 today. The king (queen?) of the hill, the top of the heap. The big fish in the little pond. *sobs* WHERE DID THE LAST 6 FUCKING YEARS GO?

I distinctly remember this day in 2002 when she first went off to big school. The new uniform, the bag that was too big to fit comfortably on her little back. The huge, floppy hat. The shiny shoes. The little bunch of freshly picked flowers clutched tightly in the little fist to give to the new teacher. The "I’m a big girl now, I want to make my own sandwich". *sigh*

A couple of days ago we went into battle over the school shoe issue.

Mol: I’m not wearing school shoes. I refuse. They are ugly. They are uncomfortable. I will get bashed. I need those $50 skate shoes. It must be that particular brand, and they must be white with pink checks.

Me: They’re sold out. I’ve rung EVERY SINGLE BRANCH of that shoe store and THEY DON’T HAVE ANY. None.

Mol: Well I’ll go without. I’ll wear last year’s pair.

Me: No, you won’t. They’re manky. They smell. What about these nice black school shoes, you know, the kind that ARE REQUIRED?

Mol: Absolutely not. You can buy them if you like, but I won’t wear them. Do you WANT me to get bashed?

Me: These ones are funky! They have high heels! They’d look really cute with a pair of knee high socks!

Mol: *withering stare*

Me: *sigh* What do you want me to do?

Mol: Well if I can’t have those ones (the sold out ones), I suppose these ones will do.

Hmmm, let’s see:

1. I was born in Crown Street Women’s Hospital.

2. Later that year, the hospital was demolished.

3. I’ve lived in Sydney (Gladesville, Riverwood, Chester Hill, Ashfield and Ryde).

4. And Exmouth. That’s in Western Australia.

5. And Cessnock. Lucky me. Whoop de doo.

6. I’m an only child.

7. Married to an only child.

8. And we have an only child.

9. My first job was at Target.

10. i worked in the Manchester Department.

11. My second job was at St George Bank.

12. Then I joined the Australian Protective Service.

13. I was a Counter-Terrorist First Response Officer at Sydney Airport.

14. Really.

15. I was 20 at the time.

16. And weighed about 55kgs dripping wet.

17. I had a gun.

18. And I knew how to use it.

19. I was a pretty good shot.

20. But I only ever fired it on the range.

21. For which I will be forever grateful!

22. As a Protective Service Officer, I also worked at the Prime Minister’s Sydney residence: Kirribilli House.

23. I once watched the Melbourne Cup on telly with Mrs Howard.

24. I was married on 21 September 1996.

25. At Wollombi, NSW.

26. We went to New Zealand for our honeymoon.

27. Darren left for Exmouth when Mollie was 3 days old.

28. We followed a week later.

29. It was a nightmare.

30. I had undiagnosed PND for a couple of months.

31. We moved back to NSW when Mollie was about 3-4 months old.

32. That was also a nightmare.

33. From which I have never awoken!

34. The next 12 months or so were the hardest and most hideous of my entire life.

35. The details are very boring.

36. Since then, I’ve had four other jobs.

37. Merchandising, Admin, Retail Banking (again) and Centrelink.

38. I think this is my eighth job.

39. It took me about six years to get my degree, studying part-time by distance education.

40. I have a Bachelor of Social Science (Social Welfare).

41. I love chocolate.

42. I love to read.

43. I prefer fiction to non-fiction.

44. I’m still friends with my best friend from high school.

45. We’ve been friends for 20 years.

46. That is so, so scary.

47. I left home at 19.

48. I’m still friends with my first flatmate.

49. She’s my only flatmate!

50. I left home, lived with her for about 2 years, met Darren and moved in with him.

51. I’ve never lived alone!

52. And I’ve only just realised that. Duh!

53. I would have liked more children.

54. Well, maybe just one more.

55. But that’s ok.

56. Because I love the one I have with all my heart anyway!

57. And really, I’m not much of a mother.

58. Not as bad as some, not as good as others.

59. I love the colour blue.

60. I don’t have a favourite TV show.

61. Because most TV shows piss me off.

62. I’d rather read a book.

63. I don’t really have any hobbies or interests.

64. That’s pretty sad.

65. Darren and I went to Melbourne for my 30th birthday.

66. We stayed at a really nice hotel and drank Moet.

67. I’ve been to Disneyland.

68. When I was 20, I went around Europe and Ireland by myself.

69. That is, I went alone, but joined a tour.

70. It was the happiest time of my life (sorry Daz and Mol!).

71. But I don’t think that person exists any more.

72. One day I intend to travel extensively.

73. I just need to find me some money…

74. I love flowers: the kind that grow, not the kind you get at the florist, if you see what I mean.

75. I have read all the Harry Potter books, and seen all the movies.

76. Man, I wish I’d been the author of those, hey!

77. My father was born in Ireland.

78. I’ve often wondered if I’d qualify for dual citizenship.

79. But I’ve never bothered to find out.

80. And really, dual citizenship with Ireland wouldn’t really be much of a bargain anyway. No offence to the Irish…but I think DC would be more beneficial to somewhere like the USA or UK!

81. I often wonder whether I’m insane. In a clinical sense, you know, sarcasm aside.

82. I’m really struggling now. With this, I mean, not insanity .

83. I’m trying to grow my hair.

84. I have two tattoos.

85. A dolphin on the inside of my left leg.

86. And a triquetra on my right shoulder.

87. And the triquetra has nothing to do with the TV show "Charmed".

88. Perish the thought.

89. I was really happy with that tat, until I realised that it had been mauled to symbolise that crap.

90. I would like another tat, but I’m not sure what I want, or where I want it.

91. Getting tattoos does, in fact, hurt.

92. Don’t listen to anyone who says otherwise. They lie.

93. And they are really, really expensive.

94. Unless you happen to be really good friends with the artist.

95. Which I’m not.

96. I sometimes suffer insomnia.

97. I miss my grandparents more as I get older.

98. I’ve never met anybody from my father’s family. Not one single person.

99. He was one of 10.

100. Maybe that’s why he came out here when he was 17!!

A couple of weeks ago, this happened. Check it out, else this post won’t make much sense.

My husband (and consequently a few of our closest friends) are professional firefighters, employed by the New South Wales Fire Brigades. They are employed on a retainer, meaning they are essentially part time. They have regular jobs, and are also on call 24/7, should they be required. They have a pager, which ‘goes off’ when the station receives notification of an incident. When the pager goes off, you literally drop everything and run. You have no idea what you may be responding to. It could be a motor vehicle accident, a bushfire, a smoke alarm at a nursing home. Or it could be a massive explosion.

On that day, my husband and his two friends were going about their daily business, when the pagers went off. They were the first to respond. They received the printout at the station, changed into their gear and boarded the big red truck. As they approached, they could see the plume of smoke. They knew it was bad, but had no idea of the scope. They called for backup, and were refused.

Upon arrival at the scene, Darren and Linda were instructed to enter the building. Their first mission was to conduct a search and rescue. The flames were towering above them. The smoke was thick and black. They were unsure how many people were in the building, and had no idea whether or not there would be another explosion.

With no thought for their own safety, they relied on their professionalism and training, and the quality of their protective gear. They entered the inferno, where their thermal imaging camera informed them the temperature was 700 degrees Celsius. 700 degrees. They immediately located the two victims, and quickly established there was no hope for either of them. At that point, it became an exercise in containing and extinguishing the fire.

After 30 minutes in there, which must have felt like a lifetime, they had to come out to replace their oxygen. There was still no backup, so they geared up and went back in. Finally, they were relieved by a support crew. Together with the other members of the team, they spent the entire day on site.

I couldn’t sleep that night. The danger had passed, my husband and his friends were safe. Sadly, two lives were lost that day, and there was nothing anybody could do to help those men. What disturbed me was knowing that the guys didn’t have the backup and support they needed. By joining the Brigade, they understand that these situations can arise. They are not complacent, but they do accept that there is always an element of risk. That’s ok. I deal with that by not thinking about it! I wasn’t worried while he was out there, because I was confident that a) he knows what he’s doing and b) he has professional backup. I was wrong about b), and I guess I’ve lost faith.

The guys are angry, and rightly so. They should be. What if there were survivors? What if Darren or Linda became overcome by heat and smoke? We rely on our emergency services. We put our trust in them. Without support, what are they supposed to do? They are not superhuman. Next time, they may not be so lucky. It’s food for thought.

                                          

First, Miracle is doing well. He is still with us and although he looks distinctly manky, he seems happy. I’m still concerned that we’re being cruel to him by keeping him. We are feeding him the correct foods, although probably not often enough. He spends quite a lot of time outside his cage, playing on the floor and going for little flights around the room. He loves to snuggle, which I find bizarre behaviour in a bird. He particularly likes my hair, i.e: to sit in it and ‘groom’ it. Yuck. We are all very attached to him, so if he snuffs it, we’ll all be affected. Oh, well. You can but try.

Sydney. Where should I begin? To start with, I had to travel down on Sunday, as we had a 9am start on Monday. As I utilised this state’s amazing public transport system, a two hour trip took about 4. I checked in to my hotel: an 18 storey monolith across the road from Central Station. Nice. I took in the king-sized bed, the mini-bar and the plasma screen and decided I could probably cope.

I hooked up with a colleague for dinner, then adjourned to my space to peruse the pay tv channels. Didn’t find much to excite me, so reverted to my book. Fell asleep a few pages later.

Now, keeping in mind the fact that I have been on a strict, calorie controlled weight loss regime, I sauntered down to the buffet breakfast. I was confident I could exercise self-control, so indulged merely in a slice of toast (unbuttered) and a modest spoonful of baked beans. Still hungry, I decided that a little fresh fruit couldn’t do any harm. And those orange and poppyseed muffins are so small, they couldn’t possibly contain many calories, right? Just to be safe, I had two.

A few of us walked over to the bus stop. Did anyone realise that there are so many buses entering and leaving Central, every 30 seconds or so? Could anyone have imagined that there would be so many people, all trying to cram on to said buses at once? And that not one of them could crack even a small smile, let alone inform you which freaking bus you need? No, they live in the city. They know what they are doing. And besides, THEY HAVE EARPHONES SURGICALLY IMPLANTED WHICH MAKES IT IMPOSSIBLE FOR THEM TO HEAR YOU!

Exhausted, we arrived at the training facility. 15 university trained individuals with backgrounds so varied and experience so extensive it was incredible. To be seated in a class room with an airconditioner that could not be set to anything other than freezing or off, in a room where doors and windows could not be opened for fresh air, for 8 hours.

Amongst the group were a couple of nurses, a teacher, a former police officer, a solicitor, any number of social workers and psychologists, and me. All of us have been on the job for anywhere between 2 and 4 months. Guys, WE ALREADY KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TRYING TO TEACH US. In fact, some of us (not me!) could teach this freaking course. To say that we were bored and frustrated would be an understatement. And this was day one. Ugh. Suffice to say, it wasn’t pretty.

I shall continue my tale another time… 

I doubt if anyone’s noticed, but I haven’t been around lately. That’s because Clayton’s (my employer) sent me to Sydney for a week. I have plenty of blog-fodder, oh yes, I do! I don’t have the time right now, but I’ll be back, and when I come back, boy, will I have some stories.

As promised, here are some photos of Miracle.

Miracle is a Noisy Myna. This is as opposed to an Indian Myna, which I would not have permitted into the house. The difference is that the Noisy Myna is a native bird. He is essentially a honey eater. Having no clue how to care for him, we visited a friend who rescued a baby NM 15 years ago. She has released him four times, but he just keeps coming back! His name is Billy, and if our visit today was anything to go by, he lives up to his ‘noisy’ reputation!

Anyway, Judy provided us with some baby myna tucker, together with feeding instructions and her phone number, just in case! We mixed up some powdery, bird foody type substance, with the intention of syringing it into his little beak, with not a lot of success. We tempted him with juicy meal worms, but he just wasn’t interested. He is a dear little thing, and he seems ok, but I’m really worried that he’s not going to make it. Mollie believes he was meant to come into our lives, and for her sake I hope she’s right, because she’s going to be devastated if she loses him.

When he gets older, he’ll be able to eat his worms all by himself. Yay to that! Judy also mixes up a batch of banana, strawberries, mango and peach for Billy. She chucks it all in the blender, and it kind of simulates the honey he would find in the wild. I don’t know why she just doesn’t give him honey, I forgot to ask! Billy is very spoilt. I’m not sure if Miracle will ever receive that level of luxury, but we’ll see!

It’s pouring with rain here at the moment, as it has done the last few days. I feel really unmotivated, but I’m going away for a week tomorrow for work, and I feel like I should be making an effort to do something with the Mol. No idea what! Maybe a drive, and some photo-taking with the new camera she got for Christmas. We’ll see.

We have a new addition to our family. Oh Happy Day. Let me tell you the story, because I know you’ll be fascinated.

Mollie was visiting her Nan at the farm. My nature loving girl, who at the age of 2, declared to all and sundry that she was going to be a farmer when she grew up. Nan did not live on a farm at that stage, so who knows where that came from? So any chance she gets, she hits the farm. She quad bikes, she gets on the ride on mower, she rakes grass, she feeds chooks, she collects leaves…whatever can be done on a farm, she’s there. A couple of months ago one of the cows gave birth: Mollie witnessed this amazing event and the calf was named ‘Mollie’ in her honour.

So, this afternoon, Mollie noticed Ben (the dog) was up to no good. On closer inspection, he was trying to eat a baby bird. Mollie rescued the poor little thing from the very jaws of death. She shooed the dog away, lovingly cradled the bird to her chest and willed it to live. It did. Unlucky for me. She’s just arrived home, birdcage in hand, seed and water trays overflowing everywhere, begging me to let her keep it.

Me: why can’t the bird live at the farm? That’s what farms are for.

Mollie: *in great theatrical style* because Ben will murder it!

Me: and that’s my problem because?

Mollie: Mum, it’s part of nature, it deserves to live. I rescued it, it’s my responsibility.

Me: *sighs* What’s its name?

(wait for it)

Mollie: Miracle

What could I say to that?

 (Miracle is sleeping at the moment. I will take a photo tomorrow, if he lives that long, and post it for your viewing pleasure. He is actually quite a sweet little thing). 

I am overweight. Tending towards obese. I’m nearly 6 feet tall, so I can carry a bit extra and hide some, but not this much. There are many factors contributing towards this condition, however upon seeing a photo of myself over the Christmas period, I decided enough was enough.

A few years ago, I embarked upon a weight loss program. I forked out my dough and received countless photocopies, menus, recipes and ‘tips’. It seemed to work quite well. I lost about 10 kilos, and was pretty happy with that. Then we went on holidays to Daydream Island. Hello buffet breakfast! Hello creamy cocktail!

I wouldn’t say I put the whole 10 kilos back on during that holiday, but I lost the ability to eat well and control my portion sizes, so that when I got home, I became very lazy. You know: oh, that fast-food-chain burger with cheese won’t be so bad if I only have the small fries! And, I can have chocolate every day, so long as it’s not the whole block. I stopped exercising too. At my age, that’s deadly!

So, after the Christmas-photo debacle, I stepped on the scales and almost died. I am the heaviest I have ever been, and that includes when I was 9 months pregnant!

Out came the weight loss program, the calorie counters, the kitchen scales, and the tape measure. I vigilantly measured portions and ate salad until I was ready to puke. In the first week, I lost 0.7 kilos. Not bad. In the second week, 0.8. I’m happy with that, really, except I need to keep this up for at least the next 6 months, and you know what? I don’t enjoy it. Not one little bit. Do you even know what a portion size looks like? In terms of meat or chicken, for example, open your hand, whatever fits in your palm is approximately a portion size. Hello?

I’m hungry all the time. Being hungry makes me irritable. It gives me a headache. I do eat regularly, breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and supper. I eat a variety of proteins, carbs and starches. I pretty much use my full allowance each day, BUT I’M STILL HUNGRY. And let’s face it, who craves lettuce? No, no. I crave juicy hamburgers, chocolate, biscuits and cake. I try to be strong. I resist temptation, and then I feel deprived. Then I think ‘oh, fuck it, who cares if I’m fat?’

But I do care. I want to be able to look nice in fashionable clothes, instead of buying hideous things from chain discount stores. I want to put my swimmers on and not look like a beached whale. I want to eat tasty, tempting and delicious foods. I’m so sick of that lo-cal, sugar replacement after taste! I’d rather go without. I don’t mind eating yoghurt, I really don’t, but does the low calorie stuff have to taste so bad? And can that artificial sweetener really be good for you? It’s a chemical for fuck’s sake! And the great love of my life? Cheese? I will not eat that plastic shit. I would rather go without than eat that artificial, never-been-near-a-cow-in-it’s-life crap. why does everything that tastes so good have to be so full of calories and fat? I can’t do this for another 6 minutes, let alone 6 months.

Thanks to Lightening for this concept…

Several things made me smile this week. Most of them were found on other people’s blogs. Kelley, Kim and Lotus always make me smile. I had hugs and kisses from the famous Ivy and Noah. My mother took my daughter on a trip to Sydney, where they had serious girl time and Mum spoilt her rotten. We went to see the movie Enchanted, which I didn’t expect to enjoy so much. I smiled until my cheeks hurt. I’m sure there were other smiley incidents this week, but just at this time I can’t remember them!

I’m tired. It’s taken me half an hour to put this pathetic post together. I think I’ve gone into a coma. Bye for now.