Had I not seen your face
I should not have known how to smile again.
I cannot think of you
without bursting, into gold, into crimson, into a noon blue sky.
"Hello People", you cheer. "Goodbye People", you wave.
Don't let the people make you cry. If they won't answer -
Dance, dance with the butterflies!
Anna Mendleson
Monday, 1 August 2011
Saturday, 4 June 2011
Oh Frankie
www.frankie.com.au is my all time favourite magazine; inspiring, creative, intelligent and unique. No articles entitled 'How-to-lose-your-thunder-thighs' or 'What-he-really-likes-in-bed'. I wonder what my youth would have been like if I'd read Frankie instead of More, with it's weekly "Position of the fortnight" article and graphic drawing of a couple in an incredibly precarious copulating position.
I read this mag when I was 11 years old, which is a fact that somewhat disturbs me. My big sister - who at the time would have only been 13, borrowed copies from her mates and we would sit in our room listening to the Top 40 on the radio and devouring these contraband articles.
If I'd read Frankie instead of More without a doubt I'd be a bonafide crafty person able to knit and sew and bake and sketch. I'd be a Poppy of all trades and people would come to me asking to fix their hems or make a quilt. I'd probably set up a market stall and make dinky objects or wall hangings or baby clothes. This is not necessarily a life I wish I had, but it would be cute to try it for a while.
What did I get out of More? I studied the intricacies of "how to French kiss" as well as 'how to..." do other things. I fell in love with that guy who presents Wheel of Fortune, whos name escapes me.....VERNAN, that's it. He was a regular More model and hunk of delight. I entered competitions to win random beauty products, and once I won a bottle of hair moose which came in a brown jiffy bag with no accompanying note. With one scrunch of this magic moose I realised I did not have to have a frizzy nest of hair for the rest of my life.
This in itself makes me forever indebted to you More. You were alright.
NB: I assumed the product was from More mag, but it could have been from someone I knew suggesting I get some product into my frizzy mane.
I read this mag when I was 11 years old, which is a fact that somewhat disturbs me. My big sister - who at the time would have only been 13, borrowed copies from her mates and we would sit in our room listening to the Top 40 on the radio and devouring these contraband articles.
If I'd read Frankie instead of More without a doubt I'd be a bonafide crafty person able to knit and sew and bake and sketch. I'd be a Poppy of all trades and people would come to me asking to fix their hems or make a quilt. I'd probably set up a market stall and make dinky objects or wall hangings or baby clothes. This is not necessarily a life I wish I had, but it would be cute to try it for a while.
What did I get out of More? I studied the intricacies of "how to French kiss" as well as 'how to..." do other things. I fell in love with that guy who presents Wheel of Fortune, whos name escapes me.....VERNAN, that's it. He was a regular More model and hunk of delight. I entered competitions to win random beauty products, and once I won a bottle of hair moose which came in a brown jiffy bag with no accompanying note. With one scrunch of this magic moose I realised I did not have to have a frizzy nest of hair for the rest of my life.
This in itself makes me forever indebted to you More. You were alright.
NB: I assumed the product was from More mag, but it could have been from someone I knew suggesting I get some product into my frizzy mane.
Sunday, 9 January 2011
Ponderings on Sleep
Sleep is my main objective. Which makes me wonder why I'm writing this, when I should be tucked up in bed. I wonder how many times I will walk the hallway with my 6 week old baby.
Marching up and down the balcony works sometimes; a blast of fresh air shocks her to sleep. The man who lives across from us, and who's balcony we over look, raised his glass of wine to me yesterday evening as I was doing the aforementioned sleep march. I raised my baby in reply to his toast then looked down to see I was in my bra and maternity pants.
I've been returning to my bible "Buddhism for Mothers" (bought after the birth of my first born) which encourages us, in moments of insanity, to repeat the mantra "this too shall pass". On a good day it helps, and reminds me to pause and take a breather from this motherhood bubble. I remind myself not to wish away time, or the crying of my baby because before I know it she'll be a mother too. Buddhism can be insightful at 3am; the white walls of my hallway become the white walls of the temple in which I live a peaceful, uncluttered life. I try and meditate avec baby wailing in my ear - which is not an easy exercise - but at least these thoughts momentarily distract me from the fact that I'm dog tired and my left eye won't open.
I'm also wondering how I can encourage my 2 and a half year old to sleep in past 5.30am. Maybe I should scatter toys, books, bowls of cereal and pieces of toast around her room so that when she wakes she can serve herself breakie. Or I could have a plasma TV fitted to the wall above her bed, then teach her how to use a remote control. Maybe when she wakes up to find she has everything she could possibly desire she WON'T COME INTO MY ROOM. Or I could just chain her to the bed?
I once heard Margaret Thatcher only needed 4 hours of sleep a night - which I guess explains a few of her decision making processes.
Nap time now.
Marching up and down the balcony works sometimes; a blast of fresh air shocks her to sleep. The man who lives across from us, and who's balcony we over look, raised his glass of wine to me yesterday evening as I was doing the aforementioned sleep march. I raised my baby in reply to his toast then looked down to see I was in my bra and maternity pants.
I've been returning to my bible "Buddhism for Mothers" (bought after the birth of my first born) which encourages us, in moments of insanity, to repeat the mantra "this too shall pass". On a good day it helps, and reminds me to pause and take a breather from this motherhood bubble. I remind myself not to wish away time, or the crying of my baby because before I know it she'll be a mother too. Buddhism can be insightful at 3am; the white walls of my hallway become the white walls of the temple in which I live a peaceful, uncluttered life. I try and meditate avec baby wailing in my ear - which is not an easy exercise - but at least these thoughts momentarily distract me from the fact that I'm dog tired and my left eye won't open.
I'm also wondering how I can encourage my 2 and a half year old to sleep in past 5.30am. Maybe I should scatter toys, books, bowls of cereal and pieces of toast around her room so that when she wakes she can serve herself breakie. Or I could have a plasma TV fitted to the wall above her bed, then teach her how to use a remote control. Maybe when she wakes up to find she has everything she could possibly desire she WON'T COME INTO MY ROOM. Or I could just chain her to the bed?
I once heard Margaret Thatcher only needed 4 hours of sleep a night - which I guess explains a few of her decision making processes.
Nap time now.
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