The Catcher of Her Dreams

“A mother’s love is instinctual, unconditional, and forever.”

Today I am writing about an event that, if I am to be completely honest, I wish had not happened. But it wasn’t my choice to make.

For the last six years, my daughter has contemplated thoughts of one day getting a tattoo. Way back when she was thirteen, my reaction had been, “in your dreams!”, as she would have needed my permission at that age, and that wasn’t going to happen.

As the years progressed and talk of getting a tattoo intensified, I would feel ill, as she spoke of the designs she had been considering.

“I gave birth to a perfect body, and I do not wish to see your perfect skin totally ruined, by having ink injected into it”, I would argue.

My daughter persisted. She investigated the credentials of tattoo artists near and far, finally deciding on one not too far from home, who has a very good reputation in the circles of “those who know”. Needless to say, I am not a member of any such circle.

Being artistically inclined, my girl began to draw tattoo designs, which she would show me, explaining where she would have the tattoo positioned on her body, her plan being that said eventual tattoo would be easily hidden beneath her clothing, unless she chose to expose it.

Whilst she became more confident by the day that she wanted to go ahead with this tattoo, my own motherly mind kicked in with the “what-if’s”.

What if she changes her mind about the tattoo as she grows older? She will have to have it removed, which is a costly and painful process.

What if she gains weight, for example, during pregnancy, and the tattoo becomes distorted?

What if the man she eventually wishes to spend her life with hates her tattoo? What if it’s a deal-breaker for him? Okay, there’s a simple answer to that question ~ if the tattoo is a deal-breaker, he doesn’t love my daughter for the person she really is, on the inside!

And there, with that last realisation, I discovered a mode of acceptance for myself, for my daughter’s decision on getting a tattoo ~ I do love her, no matter what. My love for her is unconditional, no matter how her body looks!

I may have given my daughter life, but that did not include a passport to dictate to her what choices she should make for her life.

Her tiny baby body may have at one time grown inside of me, but I cannot claim ownership on her body or any part of her life.

At nineteen years of age, my daughter has matured into a beautiful young woman, full of determination and spirit, with the knowledge of who she really is. She knows where she is going with her life. She plans ahead when the decision is one of significance.

Just as she did with her tattoo.

A close friend from school went with my daughter, the day the deed was done, and I thanked her for being there for my girl when I couldn’t be. I would have cried if I was there.

The design my daughter chose is beautiful, and significant. It is a dream catcher, so appropriate for my dreamer-daughter, who, for most of her life, has had a dream catcher above her bed. It holds onto the good dreams for her, and takes away the bad dreams.

The tattoo has been positioned on the side of her torso, easily hidden by clothing; easily exposed at the beach.

The pink shading adds an even more “girly” effect to the design, just as it should be, for my ultra-feminine daughter.

Even though I may have wished otherwise, when my daughter had made her decision, I supported her, she’s my baby, and I love her, no matter what.

And there’s no exceptions.

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A Sea Change…(AKA – An Adventure with my Reckless Parents!)

On our way north, with our lives packed into a caravan...

In 1971 my parents decided to make a “sea change”, selling our house, all of our furniture, discarding or giving away personal belongings which they believed we no longer needed, packed a few “must keep” items into boxes which were sent away to be stored, bought a caravan, and off we went.

Even writing that first line here gives me a feeling of panic; I personally would never dream of doing such a thing! Yet my parents found the whole idea so easy, almost as if it were a natural thing to do.

Sell your home; sure. Pack in your high paid job; no problem. Take your youngest child out of high school when she has only just started at her new school; she’ll cope!

Well, I did cope. I had no other choice, did I? What else could I do, other than tag along with these reckless parents of mine?

But here’s the thing; they had done it all twenty years before. When they had three young daughters, aged nine, six and four years of age, they packed a few beloved items into two large trunks, hopped on board the ship, “SS New Australia” and floated away into the sunset, in search of a new life on the opposite side of the world.

I must admit, buying the caravan was pretty great. And the idea of hooking the van up to the back of Dad’s station wagon in the middle of the night and beginning the drive north was very romantic.

And I knew I would be safe with my parents. Dad would fight off any monsters that threatened to harm me, whilst Mum held me safe within her protective arms, so really, I had nothing to worry about….did I?

How did a home-body like me happen to be born into a family where the father is absolutely fearless and the mother constantly has “itchy feet” and wants to spend her life in search of adventure?

Well, if it was adventure and change they were after, they succeeded, but that didn’t come as any surprise. My parents were both very feline like; they were a pair of cats with nine lives and always landed on their feet!

Dad out the front of the shop, with that dreaded bread window at the right side of the photo!

After four months of living in caravan parks (and using public facilities for our bathroom!) they finally decided to buy a shop in the very pretty town of Murwillumbah, New South Wales, slightly inland from the coast and just south of the Queensland and New South Wales state border.

To say “they” decided is not completely accurate; Dad had his heart set on buying the shop and Mum, true to her sense of adventure simply went along for the ride. Mum thought the buildings were shabby and old; well, looking at the old photos, she was right! But oh, that old shabby building was full of character and there was never a dull moment in the shop.

Poor Mum, she didn’t want to be tied to working in a shop, seven days a week, from 6am to 9pm! And when they went to view the business with a view to purchase, she remembered we had stopped at the shop on one of our previous trips north to buy a drink, but she had refused to buy anything. When she had looked in the fresh bread window there was a fly buzzing around the loaves of bread!

“Well, we’ll just make sure we don’t keep any flies with the bread then!”, Dad had argued, and he won the battle, although Mum was not satisfied until Dad renovated the shop, removing the dreaded bread window!

Our home was directly above the shop and apart from the white-ants in the wall in the hallway, the clanking blinds on the veranda that kept you awake at night (there was no glass in the windows on the veranda) and the toilet room was as big as a ballroom, it was a pretty comfortable home to live in! The old building had charm.

Dad inside the shop with staff, and friends, May & Betty.

Dad had convinced Mum that the business would be a little gold mine and he was right. It was situated right across the road from the ralway station, right where the railway line terminated, so when every train arrived, the shop became flooded with customers, plus there was a bus stop right at our front door. We were also right on the Pacific Highway and the last main town before reaching Tweed Heads and Coolangatta on the state border, so our shop was a huge draw-card to holiday makers. (Remember the fly in the bread window? We were on holidays at the time and stopped at the shop ourselves!)

We sold take-away food, groceries, bread (ha, ha!), dairy products, chemist items, we were a sub-newsagency and green grocers…you name it – we sold it!

Back view of the shop, showing the old shed and the bakery.

Apart from first thing in the morning and later at night we had two to three ladies working for us and I made friends with them all. I loved to help the ladies when I could; restacking the shelves or buttering bread for the sandwiches during the lunchtime rush, if I wasn’t at school, that is!

Out the back of the shop were some old sheds, which I couldn’t wait to explore. One building turned out to be a disused bakery (there’s that bread reference again!) that looked as if someone had just walked out one day, leaving everything in its place, never to return. The other

Looking towards the river, across the flood waters, from upstairs.

building, a shed actually, contained a neatly made bed (complete with folded up pyjamas under the pillow) and various other household items, including a bottle of metholated spirits. Urgh! After asking around, we found out that an old tramp had once lived there, and unfortunately the metho had been his “cheap alcohol”.

Around the back of the shop and across the road we had the Tweed River, so when it rained heavily for days, and flood warnings were issued, it was a matter of “all hands on deck” as we rushed around the shop, lifting everything in sight, before the river broke its banks. The flood waters ran straight through the shop, while we were safely tucked away upstairs, with Mum taking photos of the flood waters!

My parents had wanted a new adventure in their lives and for the three years we lived and worked in Murwillumbah it was a fun time, with so many memories, even more than I have recorded here.

It was a time when I thought my parents had totally lost their marbles and were in need of a “sanity check”, but being the felines that they were,  they landed, unharmed, right on their feet.

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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.

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Springtime Magic

“It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want – oh, you don’t quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!” ~ Mark Twain

The first day of spring brings promises of beauty yet to arrive…of births yet to take place…of dreams yet to be fulfilled.

Breaths of springtime air to fill the senses with the fragrances of the earth and all of its glorious bounty…

Rays of warm sunlight caressing the skin…

Crystal clear starlight illuminating the darkness of the night’s skies…

And my heart may burst with anticipation watching the magic of spring rejoice as it casts its springtime spells across God’s green earth.

All is well with the world…

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My Soul is Listening

Yesterday I wanted to write. All day long the words were writing themselves in my mind. Any minute, I would make it to the computer and write the words. Just after I go and do this…it will only take half an hour before I have to go do that…

It didn’t ever happen. All day, the words swam around and around in my mind, like a never ending song; a song which could not be sung as the voice-box had been removed.

Is that what has happened to me? Has my voice-box been removed? Perhaps that is why no one hears me anymore, why I’m ignored. It would explain why I can ask for something and the opposite becomes my reality.

I’ve had occasional dreams in recent years, when something has been happening; a danger is lurking near to someone I love. I yell out a warning to them, at the top of my voice, but no sound comes out.

Well, that’s one question answered. I’m being ignored because I have no voice any more. I think I’m awake, but I’m really asleep, and dreaming, and thinking I’m awake when I’m not.

Yesterday was a significant day in my life. It marked the twelfth anniversary of a day which changed my life forever. A day embedded in my brain. Nothing has been the same since. Nothing can ever be the same again. Bitter-sweet memories of the way things once were. The way we were.

Never mind. There’s another window of opportunity next week. It will be exactly one week after yesterday and exactly one week before….

No wonder I am so totally and absolutely besotted with writing. You don’t need a voice to be heard when you write. Even if no one reads what you have written, it doesn’t matter. You have written for yourself. Your own soul is listening.

My soul is listening to me. My soul feels my joy and my pain. My soul remembers. My soul licks my wounds when I’m sad and rejoices when I’m happy. I can depend on my soul. It never fails me.

Now I realise that my voice has gone, it will save me the agony of trying to be heard. I will just write, instead. I’ll write for my soul.

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Monday, 7th December, 2009.

Change is in the air.

The year 2009 is drawing to a close and I will not be continuing 2010 in the same vein that I have lived my life in past years.

My youngest daughter, Amelia, turned 17 last Tuesday. Her birthday party was held here at home on Friday night, and by all accounts it was a very successful event! In the terms of young people,any way.

It is wonderful to observe teenagers having a good time. All so young, without a care in the world. So much anticipation of the years ahead of them.

My Man and I have been cleaning the house since yesterday afternoon. Perhaps I could name it a “spring clean, in early summer, in preparation for Christmas”. Shampooed carpets, polished furniture, cleaned silver, scrubbed floors. My youngest son, Oliver, and Amelia, have been marvelling tonight at the shine on the kitchen floor!

Tonight I have cleaned all of the books on my recipe book book-shelf. I’m looking forward to reacquainting myself with my cookbooks, some of which I had forgotten that I owned.

Although the temperatures are rising with the onset of summer, my plans for planting my herbs and vegetables remain the same.

This morning, I awoke with a feeling of relief, and calm. Work is up to date, Amelia’s party is over. I will now begin my life – for me.

Have I made all that many mistakes throughout my lifetime? In the last 24 years in particular? If I had my years of motherhood, to date, to live over again, would I live them any differently? Probably not.

During this year I have come to realise that Sam and Rosie’s impression of who their mother is (that would be me), has been defined by the person that I have let myself become, to fit in with their lives.

Sam and Rosie – “Mum often runs late when we are going out somewhere”.
Me – “I spend so much time getting the kids ready to go out, that I don’t have enough time to get myself ready”.

Sam and Rosie – “Mum likes eating the same food as we do”.
Me – “I stopped eating the food I like because the kids complained so much about it. I make food they like eating so we don’t have arguments at mealtimes”.

Sam and Rosie – “When Mum makes dinner, we always eat so late!”
Me – “If I didn’t have everyone in the house asking me to do something for them, when all I want to do is prepare dinner, we would get the food on the table much earlier”.

As much as I love and adore my two eldest offspring, they can be self-opinionated, selfish and judgemental adults at times! Oh to be 24 (or 21, in Rosie’s case) and absolutely know, with utter certainty, that everything they think, say and do is totally, without question, RIGHT!

Here I am now, realising the error of my ways, planning on so many changes. Change number one – “I will put myself first, before all others”. Yes, that’s right, I am becoming selfish!

What a relief it is, to have made that decision! Like floating along in a boat on a stream, with no paddles, looking forward to where this boat is taking me.

No fuss. No battle. Just calm. And freedom. And Clarity. Bliss.

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It’s Just A Matter Of Time…

Have you ever thought about the concept of time? I mean, REALLY thought about it?

We think of the events of yesterday. When those events were taking place, they were occurring in our “today”. When they were yet to happen, they were “tomorrow”.

Every one of our direct ancestors are responsible for the physical appearance of who we are today. The genes of hundreds upon hundreds of people through time have given us the “look” that is distinctly how we are recognised in this lifetime, by our appearance.

And our ancestors lived in their own “here and now”. For them, their lives were happening in the time they called “today”.

Where do the years go? Is there REALLY such a thing as what we call “time”?

As fast as we can utter the word “now!” – it has gone. “Now” has passed us by as fast as the blink of an eye…

Does yesterday matter today? If we make mistakes in our lives, if we are not happy with our previous thoughts and actions, we can change our thoughts and actions “tomorrow”.

All we have is “here and now”. If we are dissatisfied with the events of yesterday, well, they are gone! We have been given the gift of today and it is never too late to start our own “new beginning”.

“Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life”…

Have HUGE dreams. Expect the best, from everyone and everything.

ENJOY your LIFE!!!

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