“It took me a long time not to judge myself…..”

For many years when my children were younger and demands on my time were greater, I didn’t write, other than when sending letters to friends or family, or writing out my Christmas cards.

There was, however, one day when I made an exception and wrote briefly, on Thursday, 28^th January, 1999.

This was an exceptional day from beginning to end. It was a day that marked the end of an era which had its beginning in 1920, when my father was born.

The part I played in the events of this era began the day that I had been born. But for my three sisters and me, this day marked the end of the life we had always known, for it was the day we signed the final papers to wind up our parent’s estate.

All personal belongings, including furniture, had been distributed among family members. The house had been sold; the car was gone.

Our family home was no more.

It had been a surreal day from beginning to end. I remember having trouble writing, but write I knew I must, for this day was indeed a day to remember.

As “Memoirs of my Life” is where I record such memories, it is time for me to add my thoughts of this memorable day here. It was a once-in-a-lifetime day, the likes of which can never be repeated.

Thursday, 28^th January, 1999.

“Today I have signed my name many times. At 9:30 am, I went to our solicitor’s office to sign the final papers for probate on Dad’s estate.

After collecting my seventeen month old baby from his father, we went to order my new car, one big enough to accommodate our family of six, a Toyota Land Cruiser, in “Scorched Earth Red”. Once again, many papers to sign.

My son and I had lunch together in a favourite cafe in town.

After we returned home, all of my four children and I went to the local shopping centre, where we found a large carpet for the family room. I bought the carpet with some of my Dad’s money. On Sunday I bought new pink light shades for all of the hall lights, also with Dad’s money.

These are some of my last gifts from my father. Thank you Daddy.

My three older children started the new school year today, with my eldest son starting year eight. He has been graded into all ‘A’ classes for this year. We also called in at ballet and enrolled the girls in their ballet classes again for the year.

Such an eventful day; a nice day with my children.”

Even now, as I type these words, written over thirteen years ago, I have the same hollow feelings as I felt on that day. I hadn’t wanted to sign those probate papers. I wanted my father back. I didn’t want to be an orphan. But that was what I was now.

My three sisters had all wanted to sell our parents home; I didn’t. They wanted to get it over with; I wasn’t ready, but being one out of four I had no other choice, or so I believed at the time. I was out-numbered and vulnerable.

What I should have done was buy out my three sister’s shares in the house. Why didn’t I think of that back then? Grief has a way of muddling your brain no end. I could have rented out the house. When the time came, one or more of my children could have lived there when they were ready to leave home.

The old ‘me’ allowed people to rail-road me into doing what they told me was the best thing to do. Foolishly I listened. I gave away my power to those whom I thought had more knowledge and I let them have more power over me than I had myself.

That isn’t happening any more. If only I had known back then that the only reason they had any power over me was because I allowed them to.

When My Muse Pays Me a Visit…..

Some days, I just want to sit down and write. My muse pays me a visit, and my mind runs rampant with ideas, running every which way, so at the computer I sit, poised, ready to write. And so I begin.

“Briiiiinnnnggggg….Briiiiinnnnggggg!!!” The phone rings. Do I answer, or ignore it?

The phone continues to ring. I answer it. It’s my husband, or one of my children. Will I [......] fill in the blank. It could be anything from taking a tub of petrol to an empty tanked car or an update on the latest major life’s event.

Whatever the reason for their call, in my families eyes, it’s more important than what I’m doing at the time.

After all, Mum can write at any time, can’t she?

WRONG!!!

Not when she’s running after every whim her family dictates to her!

For a person who has never found the urge to write, has no interest in writing and is hard pushed to even pick up a book to read, the act of writing is a non-event to them. A waste of time. Well, if you really must write, do it when I don’t need you!

Unfortunately, my family doesn’t have any interest in writing.

I wonder how other wives and mum’s cope with their desire to write. When their muse pays them a visit, what do they say when the family is demanding attention? “Sorry muse, you’ll have to come back another day”?

Is this how an actor feels, if they live within a non-acting family?

Or an artist living with people who aren’t the least bit interested in art?

Am I the only blogger/writer in the entire world who has this problem?

Please, if you read this and have lived through what I am going through, suggestions on how to re-train my demanding family OR (preferably) how to escape to a deserted island, unnoticed, would be greatly appreciated.

Happy Birthday to Anne, With Love.

“To have a loving relationship with a sister is not simply to have a buddy or confidante; it is to have a soul mate for life.” ~ Victoria Secunda

It would be Anne’s birthday today; my big sister, my mother figure, my best friend.

Just after I bid Anne adieu for the last time, I found a poem, “Fairy Song”, which reminds me of my sister every time I read it, for Anne is the butterfly I see fluttering through my garden, the bird song I hear each morning and the beautiful rose nodding its petals in the breeze.

Happy Birthday, my Dear Sister. xxxxxx

Fairy Song ~ John Keats

Shed no tear! O, shed no tear!

The flower will bloom another year.

Weep no more! O, weep no more!

Young buds sleep in the root’s white core.

Dry your eyes! O, dry your eyes!

For I thought in Paradise

to ease my breast of melodies -

Shed no tear.

Overhead! Look overhead!

‘Mong the blossoms white and red -

Look up, look up. I flutter now

On this flush pomegranate bough.

See me! ’tis this silvery bell

Ever curses the good man’s ill.

Shed no tear! O shed no tear!

The flowers will bloom another year.

Adieu, adieu – I fly, adieu,

I vanish in the heaven’s blue -

Adieu, adieu!

Anne ~ Revisited

“Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.” ~ Helen Keller

I’m a strong believer that all of life’s experiences are offered to us to teach us something. In a fairytale life, we may imagine skipping through fields of flowers, hand in hand with our loved ones, with never a quarrel and not a care in the world. As idealistic as this may seem, how would we develop strength of character, and wisdom, if we were all living in a perfect world?

My family is very dear to me. Every member of my family holds a special place in my heart, always. I was blessed with parents and sisters who always promoted honesty and respect, between ourselves first and foremost, but equally towards friends and strangers. I have promoted these same traits to my own children.

By and large, these teachings of respect and honesty have carried me steadfastly through my entire life to date. I am able to speak freely and honestly with both of my two elder sisters, just as they can with me. It’s an unspoken agreement that we have. And I value my honest relationships with my sisters more than any words can say.

This time last year I began a series of stories here about my eldest sister, Anne. The relationship that I shared with Anne could at times be rather tumultuous, to say the least. She could also be my closest confidant, my dearest friend and the first person I would turn to when I needed a mother figure.

Overall, Anne and I shared an honest relationship, although at times, Anne’s honesty could be just a tad overdue, with proclamations of honesty being put forward sometimes years after the original event!

Perhaps this paragraph, written by me on March 12, 2011, explains more clearly what I mean ~

“Most of my discrepancies with Anne were due to her taking something I had said in total innocence, totally out of context. And the worst of it was that she wouldn’t bring up the matter which had ruffled her feathers until long after the incident was over and long forgotten.”

Whilst I didn’t particuarly appreciate this characteristic in Anne, I tolerated it, just as all members of our family did. We all loved Anne, and in loving her, we all, at times, experienced what could easily be called “character building moments”.  She taught us all a lot, especially patience, and how to bite our tongues and be respectful towards her, when she was trying us to the limit!

Anne has been gone for over four years now, and the series of stories I wrote last year about my relationship with her were prompted by the turmoil I felt about my relationship with my sister. It is difficult when unresolved feelings keep on biting at you, when the one person with whom you can talk to about these feelings is no longer living.  You have to figure out a way to finally accept the relationship you had with them for what it was, without harbouring any grudges or ill-feelings. In short, you have to learn to forgive.

With Anne, I could do that, although some days I would think of her and the urge to go to the phone and call her up for a chat have been strong and the reminder to myself that I no longer have the luxury of phoning her has instantly made my heart plummet.

It was a personal achievement when I realised that I could finally lay my mixed feeling and emotions about Anne to rest. Unfortunately, though, some of these feelings raised their ugly heads again recently, in the form of Anne’s daughter.

During a series of emails, my niece accused me of being cruel and judgemental towards her. And here’s the punchline – it was all regarding a comment I had apparently made to her, perhaps seven years ago!

It was “Anne – Revisited”!

When I say it was a comment that I “apparently” made, this is because the comment was not something I would have ever have said to anyone. At first, when the accusations were made, I was angry. I felt like I had felt about Anne. My niece had taken something I had said years ago out of context.

Minutes after the anger, though, I felt strength in my soul, all due to the trials I had experienced with Anne, when she was still here.

When I told my niece that her mother did what she was now doing, which was not addressing a subject which had apparently bothered her enough to resurrect the topic again after so many years, rather than being honest at the time of the conversation, I was told, “well at least now I know how you feel about my family”.

Anger again raised its ugly head. Her family? Anne was my family too! My niece did not have exclusive rights to a relationship with my sister, which I pointed out to her, immediately. To my niece’s credit, she replied by saying “point taken”.

After harsh words with Anne, I would agonise over how to rebuild our friendship, because she was my sister and I loved her.

I am not agonising over Anne’s daughter though, nor do I feel any remorse.

My experiences with Anne developed and built my character. The suffering and trials were worth it. I have realised my ambition of easily moving on, regardless of conflict with my niece. She didn’t offer me honesty; I owe her nothing.

My sister, bless her, taught me well. Finally, I can walk away from the anger and pain.

“Bless a thing and it will bless you. Curse it and it will curse you…If you bless a situation, it has no power to hurt you, and even if it is troublesome for a time, it will gradually fade out, if you sincerely bless it.” ~ Emmet Fox

“A Review of the Year That Was” A.K.A. “Making all the Wrong Choices, for all the Right Reasons”

Time....

“We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;

In feelings, not in figures on a dial” ~ Philip James Bailey.

You may have noticed, as I have, the way in which time speeds along these years, faster than ever before.

Perhaps that statement could be debatable. Perhaps it is our faster pace of life that is the culprit, leaving us all with the impression that someone has reduced the number of weeks between one Christmas ending, and the next Christmas beginning.

With that in mind, I find I simply must utter the classic statement ~”Where did this year go?!”

I still have yet to determine why every December brings with it the thoughts of changes I wish to make to my life, as I venture towards improving the quality of said life. Call it “Making New Year’s Resolutions” if you must; I prefer to regard any changes I feel I must make as “learning and growing”.

My wise and wonderful mother repeatedly informed me that you are never too old to learn something new. As a twenty-something year old I scoffed at her statement, not due to disrespect for my mum, but rather from my own misconception that I would be “forever young”, and not ever “old enough to learn something new”.

Well, my memories of having been twenty-something have long since melded themselves into the far away distance of yesteryear, being replaced by a strong desire to learn something new, anything new, oh please, just let me learn!

Therefore, in earnest review of the Year of Our Lord, 2011, as I find myself in the midst of profound flash-backs of the year that was, have I gained any wisdom from my numerous choices and actions?

I wish I could answer that question with a resounding “yes!” but honesty prevents me from doing so.

Yet again, I recall wrong choices made, for all the right reasons. And why, I ask myself, must hindsight bring me all of the wisdom I strive for, yet again?

As I beat my head against the brick wall, strongly chastising myself for all of my wrong-doings throughout this year, a more profound question comes to me ~ “If I could relive the past year and re-do anything I have done, would I change anything?” More importantly, could I change anything, given the knowledge I found myself with at the time?

And therein lies the answer to all of the questions The Universe could ever wish to throw in my direction on this subject. If I have made my choices by acting upon every God-Given Instinct in my possession; if my actions are made without cruelty or malice toward another person; if I am able to lay my head upon my pillow and sleep soundly each night, free of any hint of a guilty conscience ~ I have learned something new, and I have grown.

….and I will continue to grow, and learn some more, next year….

Finding Alice

Alice

Behind the door of my Dad’s tall-boy wardrobe, stuffed away at the back of one of the shelves, lived a stack of old photos.

Very old photos. Photos of ancestors long gone, some known, some remaining unnamed to the day my Dad was also gone.

Photos of my Dad will always include his name, so as future generations will not be left wondering, for years on end, as we were, as to his identity.

Who was the lady, in the largest photo of them all, the lady with the hint of a smile around her lips and the kind eyes, wearing her “Sunday Best”, posing for the photographer who possibly took her photo with one of those very old fashioned cameras we see only in museums and in old films, that let out a puff of smoke when the photo is taken?

My Dad suspected she may have been his grandmother, although he didn’t know for sure. He didn’t know the Christian names of any of his grandparents. When he was a young lad, children just simply didn’t ask such trivial questions, so never would know their names.

The years went by. The lady with the hint of a smile and the kind eyes remained unnamed.

Fortunately for me, I wasn’t born back in the day when “children should be seen and not heard”. My inquisitive mind would not have coped with such treatment. I like to know who’s who and what’s what.

Researching a subject of interest to me brings about a great deal of satisfaction.

Back in the 1990’s, when I discovered the internet, the search engine became my best friend.

All of the doors covered with years of dusty old cobwebs were finally opened up to me, as I researched my family history, finding the names of the unknown and unnamed ancestors my father and I had often wondered about.

Dad’s grandmother’s names were Mary-Anne and Alice, but which name belonged to the lady with those eyes and that hint of a smile? Was she really either of his grandmothers, or had verbal history got the whole story completely wrong?

Was the lady even family at all?

The answer to those questions arrived unexpectedly, without fuss or fanfare, when I recently discovered a cousin who had, to date, been completely unknown to me.

Our parents were first cousins, therefore, that meant we shared great-grandparents.

My new-found cousin emailed me a copy of an old photo he had, a photo of our great-grandmother, Alice.

It was her. Dad’s old photo, from the back of the shelf in his tallboy.

Her name is Alice. Alice, with the kind eyes and the hint of a smile.

A beautiful lady.

A beautiful name.

A Leap of Faith, Into the Past

A park of childhood memories

For many years now, the Blue Mountains have been nothing more to me than a place where I once lived, an area filled to overflowing with treasured memories.

For fifteen years I stayed away. Not purposely avoiding the area, although longing to be in a place where I didn’t believe I belonged any more.

So I just didn’t go there.

Mind you, it isn’t just a quick day trip for me these days, to travel from the area where I now live, to visit the area of my childhood. It’s about a twelve hour trip, maybe more, depending on how the journey unfolds.

Curiosity got the better of me recently. I had to be brave; I had to return to the place of my memories.

It was almost as if I needed to justify to myself that this magical area really did exist and wasn’t simply a figment of my imagination; a nirvana from a wonderful dream, so beautiful that I had believed it into reality.

Most of my memories had taken place during the years of my childhood, therefore I wanted, no, needed to see the mountains again through the eyes of an adult. My adult eyes.

And I knew I had to go alone. I couldn’t be influenced by the opinions of another. My feelings and thoughts had to be my own, not those of someone else.

There was only one person I could think of in the whole world who I wanted to travel back in time with me, someone who wouldn’t be so opinionated as to ruin my adventure, who would see our trip as simply a journey to an unknown area and a place that I held dear to my heart.

He wouldn’t place judgement on me. He wouldn’t complain. He wouldn’t be overly opinionated as to the reasons I wished to take this trip, but would simply enjoy the change of scenery.

He wouldn’t burst my bubble. And I could trust him, implicitly. My thirteen year old son.

I took a leap of faith. Faith in my son; faith in myself; faith in the mountains of my memories.

And they didn’t disappoint.

 

Healing Words…and the Power of Family

When We Were Young

On the 13^th February this year I started to write about my sister. I had a huge need back then to write about her…and I quote myself here ~

“All of my upcoming posts will involve my sister. I have no idea yet how many times I will write about her. I’ll just keep writing until I have run out of words. I’ll write about her until it feels right to change the subject.”

It’s been a while since I wrote anything about her, because I haven’t felt the need to do so. In fact, I believe that I may have actually run out of words.

The words I wrote about my sister were necessary for me to write at the time. Looking back on how I had been feeling, I needed to resume my place as her sister.

That may sound like a rather odd thing to say. Let me explain.

I had spent so much time listening to other members of my family lamenting the loss of Anne and how her death had affected their lives.

I felt as though I had to consider my relations, making my own feelings take a back seat, as other people were hurting.

And that’s why I started to write about Anne. Suddenly my feelings had become so insignificant (in my mind, at least). I felt the need to scream out to the world, “She was my sister. I loved her too!” But I couldn’t utter any words.

So, I began to write.

Have I ever mentioned before how much I love to write? Words, written (or typed!) can heal wounds in ways that no amount of therapy would ever be capable of doing!

As I have written about Anne over the last few months, I have come to realise that it wasn’t so much her death that had a profound effect on me, it was her life!

So much of the person I am today is due to the influence Anne has had on my life. She was, and always will be my sister; no one can ever take that away from me. Never.

There are still two other wonderful women in my life, who I have regular contact with. They are my other two sisters, and they are both amazing people.

My two other sisters loved Anne as well. They too have their memories and realise that Anne’s life had an effect on their own.

How could she not have an effect on us all? We are sisters!

We are family….

Never underestimate the power of family. I know I won’t.

I have photos. I have memories.

And in my heart, I will always have three sisters, who I love dearly.

Always….

Sisters Forever

The Magic of Mellowing

 

Me, Mum & Anne

As the years have progressed, it has been my observation that most people mellow with age.

I know I have!

To some extent, my sister Anne mellowed also, although it did take the single most devastating news that I have ever received in my life to bring about a significant change to Anne’s demeanour.

My mother meant the world to me. I believe I have mentioned in previous posts here that she was not just my mother; she and I were the best of friends. I trusted and depended on my mum completely, in fact I depended on her too much.

Mum and Anne had a completely different relationship. At times their relationship was strained, other times fiery and full of arguments and there were other times when they didn’t even speak!

When we were given the news that our Mum was extremely ill, Anne and Mum finally put their differences aside and began a loving mother and daughter relationship, much like the relationship that Mum and I always had.

When my mother began to speak to me about the visits she not only enjoyed, but looked forward to with Anne, with genuine affection, it felt to me as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders!

Two of my best friends in the entire world were finally friends also. I can’t begin to describe the relief and happiness I felt as I watched their relationship grow.

As Mum’s final days here on earth drew to a close, Anne would spend every day at her hospital bedside, along with our father. I appreciated knowing that my mum was not alone when I couldn’t be with her. Having three young children myself, the youngest still a baby, other family commitments took up a significant amount of my days.

It’s ironic though, that on the morning my Mum left us, my baby daughter and I had our final visit with her, alone. Anne and Dad had not yet arrived at the hospital.

After my baby and I had left the room, the nurse went in to check on Mum, only to find she had gone. Was she alive when I left her? I believe she was, as I could see a large pulse beating in Mum’s neck.

Anne was understandably upset that Mum had gone while she wasn’t with her; after all of the hours and days she had sat at her bedside.

After Mum was gone, Anne changed. It wasn’t just a progression of the mellowing, she really changed.

My once fun and flippant sister began to age. She pointed out the fact that she was now the “older generation” of women in our family.

Being a talented artist and sewer, Anne would spend countless hours making craft items for every member of her family, ensuring her name and the date of completion of her project was added to each item.

Something to remember her by, she said. So she wouldn’t be forgotten, after she herself was gone.

A Woman of Contrasts and Contradictions

There are women born into this world whose maternal instincts are well developed and strong. Becoming a mother comes as naturally to them as breathing.

My eldest sister was definitely not one of those women!

She seemed to prefer spending her days playing tennis, rather than being a mother to her two children.

Anne spent her entire life in possession of many other admirable attributes; however “warm and fuzzy mummy” was not one of them.

Almost in direct contrast to my saying that Anne was not what one would call a natural mother, when it came to being an auntie, step-mother, grandmother and friend to all young people, she topped the list of ‘favourite people”.

My own children adored their Auntie Anne. Her patience with young children astounded me, every time I witnessed her gentle, calm and genuine demeanour whilst in their presence.

For the person I had known as a child myself had been otherwise.

Although she never admitted it to me in so many words, I believe that the love and tolerance towards children, developed later in Anne’s life, may well have been due to the fact that they weren’t her own children, hence removing the ultimate responsibility for their well being from her shoulders.

As I listened to the interactions my sister had with my children in their younger years, I felt nothing other than total admiration for my sister, as she shared words of wisdom with each of them.

Anne advised my children on many occasions to be prepared for an answer which was not necessarily to your liking, when asking a question, as each person should be given the freedom to answer questions truthfully, even if it wasn’t the answer you desired.

If one of my children were to make an outrageous statement, such as “I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse!” Anne would jokingly advise them to be careful what they said, as she was a strong believer that a person should not make a promise, statement or threat that they obviously could not keep, as it could make you appear foolish!

Anne also claimed herself to be a pacifist. She spoke often of how she would avoid confrontation, at all costs. Such statements would leave me at times with a major dilemma, as it would usually be Anne herself who would cause a confrontation.

Most of my discrepancies with Anne were due to her taking something I had said in total innocence, totally out of context. And the worst of it was that she wouldn’t bring up the matter which had ruffled her feathers until long after the incident was over and long forgotten.

It was always easy to tell if Anne was upset or annoyed about something. She became very “prickly” in her manner. The hardest part was how to work out what her problem was, without exacerbating the problem. When you didn’t know what the problem was in the first place, that could be just a tad tricky!

Anne could be so caring and compassionate. She could also be contradictory and judgemental! Having a close relationship with my sister could be likened to being on a roller-coaster ride!

Sometimes unfortunately and at other times fortunately for me, I continued to take that ride on the roller-coaster. When the alternative was intolerable, being not having a relationship with my sister at all, I chose the roller-coaster.