L is for Lyrics: Na Na Na What…? (#atozchallenge)

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In what now seems like an eon ago (was there ever a time I was blogging before the A to Z April Blogging Challenge?) I wrote a post about having a song of the moment (or SOM).  Briefly, a SOM is a song that has taken residence in your head and can cause behaviour alterations, like hanging around in cars just to hear the end of the song. You would think that with a SOM, I would know all the lyrics, all the pauses, all the subtle differences in beat throughout, all of the song’s nuances. You would think…

When I was a teenager and even when I was a twentager (a term I just made up to connote someone in their twenties), I used to know the lyrics to all of my SOM’s, relevant other songs and just songs I didn’t really need to know about. I would sing along perfectly timed and worded to even the most complicated of tunes. I’d like to think I can appreciate beat, rhythm, chorus and verse.

However, something happened on the way to the concert hall. Somewhere along the line, my head got filled with children’s schedules, household schedules, household administration, laundry, payment deadlines and work related matters. My brain, being a finite capacity organ got stuffed with all sorts of adult trivia and my ability to remember song lyrics has been compromised ever since.

This doesn’t stop me from singing along to SOMs and any other song that catches my ear. I think we have all been there. Driving in the car with teenage son, good song comes along, singing along happily, the big main chorus moment about to arrive and ………I fluff it. Said teenage son in fits of laughter and thinking I’m seriously uncool because the fluff moment comes usually when the artist has paused briefly and well, it’s out there for all to hear.

Then there’s the cover up. Me singing along quite happily until my knowledge of the lyrics dries up. So I don’t miss a beat, I make up some words that sound the same as the words in the song, sometimes with hilarious consequences. Sometimes, the cover up is not even done with that much finesse, sometimes there is only a grouping of sounds that aren’t even words, sounds that are meant to sound like the words in the songs and that I know what I am doing. At this point I lose all credibility for cool with my teenage son who is laughing hysterically trying to say “you don’t know the words, do you, Mum?”

Really, the artists have a lot of explaining to do as to why they can’t get with the programme. It’s not that hard, really. I refuse to admit my lip synching days are here just yet. I’ll leave that to the professionals.

What do you do when the lyrics don’t come as they are meant?

K is for Killer Wildlife: Kangaroos and Koalas (#atozchallenge)

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chrisinplymouth
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I have been reading some fantastic blogs on my travels through the A to Z Challenge. One of them is by Geoff Maritz, who lives in Capetown, South Africa. Geoff’s concept for the Challenge is to write about his home in Africa, including its wildlife. You can find Geoff’s blog here: Geoff’s Blogs. He has a killer post about Kilimanjaro today – great K word, Geoff!

Geoff has inspired me to write about some of Australia’s unique killer wildlife. Let me show you a couple of our natives.

Kangaroos

Kangaroos are native to Australia and are marsupials. The name ‘kangaroo” is derived from the Aboriginal language. “Kangaroo” was originally “gangurru” and was  the native’s description of the grey kangaroo. Groups of kangaroos are called mobs.

Some kangaroos can jump 30 feet and and can hop up to 45 kilometres and hour. The largest kangaroo, the Red Kangaroo, can grow as high as 6 feet and weigh 200 pounds. Something I didn’t know and just found out was that kangaroos can’t move backwards and they can’t move their back feet independantly on land. However, when they swim they can kick with one foot at a time. Baby kangaroos are called joeys and are born after only 31 – 36 days of  gestation.  They are basically tiny,  pink, hairless animals that don’t come off of their mother’s teat for weeks and live in their mother’s pouch.

That’s gotta hurt!

Kangaroos are strong and males usually box. Usually this is playful, but can be part of a show of dominance. You do NOT want to be kicked by a kangaroo, although it is an amazing feat of strength and balance. A kangaroo will rear up on its tail and then kick with both feet at the same time. If you are a male of average height, that usually connects with your pride and joy. Great subject for a family video, but you would only want to capture that frame once!

Kangaroos essentially sleep during the day and feed at night. Contrary to popular belief, there are no kangaroos hopping down the street in urban areas, although in some parts this can happen in times of drought. Most urban dwelling Australians see kangaroos by the side of the road – either alive or as road kill or in a wild life sanctuary, just like tourists.

Koalas

Koalas are only found in four states of Australia: Queensland, South Australia, New South Wales and Victoria. The word ‘koala‘ comes from an Aboriginal word meaning ‘no drink’. Koalas mostly eat eucalyptus leaves and this provides them with the water they need. Therefore, they do not, or only rarely, drink water.

Koalas are not actually bears, they are marsupials, which means they carry their young in a pouch like kangaroos. Adult koalas measure between 64 to 76 centimetres in length and weigh between 7 and 14 kilograms.

Koalas have a great life, they basically eat and sleep and seem constantly in a languid satiated state. The reason Koala’s sleep so much is that it takes a lot of energy to digest eucalyptus leaves, which are tough. They are also poisonous to other species.  Male koalas are solitary animals, like their man caves and often live alone.

Most urban Australians will see koalas only in the wildlife sanctuary just like tourists. Sometimes, you can catch a glimpse of a colony of koalas living in trees in rural areas, but in my experience this is occasional at best. Unfortunately koala habitat is on the decline and they are also under threat from cars and dog attacks.

just hanging around

So, come on down and see the natives. They are cute, entertaining and we really don’t bite….much!

J is for Jeans: I Think Therefore I Am a Blue Denim Purist (#atozchallenge)

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bon_here's photstream

I love jeans and have worn them ever since I can remember. Personally, I think all men and women, no matter their body shape or size look good in jeans. Jeans can make a person look incredibly sexy – more so than any low-cut top or mini skirt. A smart woman knows how to leave some things to a man’s imagination and play her jeanwear to the max.

Playing the jeanlook to the max!

Being born in the mid sixties, I was  a little young for the whole hippy flare thing when it appeared the first time around. I confess I haven’t really embraced it this time around either. I’m more of a straight leg or a boot cut kind of girl. The things those cuts do to a woman’s leg length are truly miraculous and I owe more than a few inches to some clever fashion designers.

Over the years, trends in jeans have come and gone. We have had the skinny, the stovepipe, the boyfriend, the baggy, the flair, the straight, the dyed, the stonewashed, high rise, mid rise and low rise to name just a few. I have worn most of these jeans styles over the years although have steered clear of the skinny, stovepipe and boyfriend. By avoiding these, I am hoping to prevent inflicting permanent psychological damage on my sons – it just wouldn’t do for me to be wearing the same clothes as their female teeny peers.

Traditional jeans were a product of the 1850’s gold rush. The miners wanted sturdy work clothes with pockets that did not tear away. Leob Strauss (later to be known as Levi Strauss) started making copper riveted “waste overalls” in 1872 and received the patent for them in 1873. Jeans became really popular in the 1930’s after covering many a bottom in cowboy movies. They were originally dyed blue by the use of indigo dye.

All of my jeans have been either black or traditional denim blue. OK, I admit that I did wear dyed jeans for a brief period in the eighties, but the dye colour I chose was light blue. My blue jean population has far outweighed my black jean population for I am a blue denim purist. I have never owned a pair of white jeans.

For those of you who are up on the latest fashion trends, the latest “jeans” style is the neon skinny. These come in all sorts of fruity flavours – pink, red, mint, grape etc. I am waiting for them to produce the multi-coloured fruit salad jean, if only to have all fruit groups covered. With the greatest respect to all the fashion aficianados out there – THESE ARE NOT JEANS. They are coloured tight-fitting pants, that happen to resemble jeans, simply because they have two legs, pockets and a zip. 

I will take blue denim over food group fashion any day of the week. If the pair has a leather branding patch on the back depicting two horses pulling a pair of jeans and can fade in the wash, so much the better. I am not fussy, I’ll take dark denim, faded denim, almost white denim and sometimes spotted denim.

Many a pair of my jeans have retired into the cut-off hall of fame – at which point they cease to be classified as jeans and become jean shorts.  Another good use for used jeans is this handy quilt, which I DIDN’T make, but admire anyone who could.

Long live the blue denim jean revolution. The use of the indigo font in this blog is a salute to blue denim and Levi Strauss!

[To any students of fashion who may accidentally stumble onto this page, this article represents my own personal viewpoint and is written toungue in cheek. Please don’t use it as an educational reference, unless you want a guaranteed F.]

 

I is for the Indispensible Internet (#atozchallenge)

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chrisinplymouth photostream

What would the blogging world be without the Internet? Being new to this world, I am constantly amazed by the opportunities that blogging and the internet open up. The potential to reach thousands of people with a simple hit of the publish key is full of possibility.

Getting a blog site up and running has been one exciting learning curve. So many options, so many things to consider.   So much still to explore.  I am relishing the challenge of establishing  a community and building a following.

Sharing this space with professional and published writers is a heady experience – there is much talent out there.  I am honing my craft, producing pieces of work and putting my creative talents out there.

The social side to blogging – becoming involved in fellow bloggers’ lives and getting to know them through their posts – is wonderfully engaging.  My WordPress world has become an indispensible part of the day, whether I am posting or reading.

This the Internet:

Indispensible Networking Tool Essential to Releasing New and Entertaining Topics

And I am now a blogger!

H is for Home Run: What It Means To Be An Australian Baseball Fan (#atozchallenge)

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Have you ever felt like a square peg in a round hole?  I often feel that way with my love of baseball.

Living in Australia, I am surrounded by a sport’s mad culture. Relative to its population (currently just under 23 million), Australia packs a mighty punch on the world sport scene, particularly in relation to non-winter sports. We are one of only two countries that have competed in every summer games of the modern Olympiad, having won a total of 444 medals.

Our national games are Australian Rules football/ rugby league in winter and cricket in summer. In some parts of the country it is almost mandatory to introduce yourself by which footy team you follow… “Hello my name is Joe and I am a Sydney Swans supporter. It has been three weeks since I last entered a football ground”  and to speak “footy tongue” so you can converse with shop keepers and cab drivers.  For years Australia dominated world cricket – all forms: test cricket, the one day game, the world cup, we were the force! The force at the moment is “consolidating”  – the wonderful euphemism used by cricket lovers who are in denial and refuse to use the “s” word, or “slump”.

Me, I’m a baseball lover. That good old square peg in a country that dotes on cricket.

I am not sure how much you know about cricket, but the long form or test cricket is a game that is played over five days… as in five whole days!  The usual result is a draw, pushing keys into the grass to test the pitch is considered normal, commentators count the number of seagulls present on the pitch to stay awake  and players stop the game and take tea in the afternoon. All I can say is please point me in the direction of the national paint drying championships right now!

Baseball has a small following in this country and is played if you know where to find it. But you have to look!  Kids as young as five can sign up for the sport and there are clubs scattered throughout the country, although nothing as comprehensive as America’s Little League. We have a Major League baseball nursery on the Gold Coast and talented players are scouted and signed to Major League baseball teams at the age of seventeen. There have been about thirty Australians who have played in the Major League, about a dozen of whom are currently active. Our highest profile player is probably Grant Balfour, currently with the Oakland Athletics.

The Major League baseball season has just started in the States and all is right with the world again. I am always slightly conflicted this time of year as it means winter is headed our way, but thankfully we have the baseball to warm up and bless our little cotton socks. Baseball is generally played in the States in the evenings so it means we get the coverage during our morning – usually when school or work gets in the way. The best thing that has happened for us starving Australian baseball fans is the internet. We can now stream live baseball games and get the play-by-play in real-time, complete with American radio ads.

So this is how to spot an Australian baseball fan:

    • they desperately scour the internet for snipets of major league baseball news and happenings
    • they have lots of American friends
    • they know what a walk off homer is
    • they linger at social venues with ESPN just to catch a glimpse of play at lunchtime
    • they know that any cricketer who wants to know how to throw a ball needs to train with a baseball player
    • they pine for Autumn because that’s when opening day comes around and know that winter is baseball season
    • the will pay a scalper a bomb when they are in America to get tickets to a baseball game
    • they stand up to stretch in their lounge rooms after the end of the sixth inning
    • they spend summer and winter watching their children play baseball and have an all year around baseball tan

We are knee-deep in our football season at the moment and I have my head buried in the Boston Red Sox (when not blogging, of course). Thankfully, my blog has had a better start to the season than the Red Sox, but I live in hope.

And my ultimate home run? My family visit to Cooperstown and Fenway Park last year. Da da da datta daaaaa…… charge!

G is for Gift Horse: Looking Right Down The Mouth (#atozchallenge)

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When is a gift not really a gift?

I am pondering this question after a small moment of unexpected euphoria crept in this week during a shopping expedition for furniture. Happily, this was not my shopping expedition, but one for a family member – I was merely the chauffeur.

Furniture shopping fills me with dread. It’s such a big responsibility. How many times in one’s lifetime do you buy a hall table, buffet, coffee table, television cabinet all coordinating to match? What happens if the wood grain or stain doesn’t match the rest of the decor? How do I tell the difference between my oaks, teaks and my walnuts and should one mix their cherry with their maple? Questions, questions….always questions.

Given that I was the not the major player in this expedition I was fairly relaxed.  There were no decisions for me to make other than which voice would be barking directions from the GPS. I am happy to report that all went well and the furniture was dutifully purchased. The furniture though came with a “gift”.

The sales assistant proudly explained that she would provide a gift certificate for accommodation to the value of some thousands of dollars. Let me reassure you this was not the motivation for the furniture purchase as were unaware of the offer until the decision point had been reached. My family member advised that she would give the certificate to me as a thank you for driving her that day as she had no need for it. In my head I was off and running on my dream holiday to an exotic island location with hula boys, crystal blue waters, fine white sand, colourful alcoholic drinks with paper umbrellas, plastic monkeys and maraschino cherries.

Not so fast! The slippery slide into the realm of the ridiculous beckons:

Step 1: decent from overseas paradise to local – the accommodation is for Australia only. Fade out the hula boys, but OK, there is much of the country left to see.

Step 2: Decent from local to weekend whirlwind – the accommodation is for a maximum of two night’s stay. Well crumbs, who stays somewhere only for two nights unless it is for a family funeral or business trip? Maybe we could tack on some extra nights and make it a true getaway. That’s going to cost something, my wallet is starting to weep just a little.

Step 3: Decent from local weekend whirlwind to the ridiculous – to get the accommodation you have to pay for breakfast and dinner for each person for each night. Really? Have you seen the price of hotel food lately? Captive meal audience amounts to hotel funny money rip-off. And the gift requires the purchase of not one, but two meals per day!

 At this point I feel I am looking the gift horse squarely in the mouth and can see not only its tonsils, but its digestive tract as well! And I haven’t even started with the registration, booking and administration required to claim the “gift”.

Of course, these sorts of schemes are designed with people like me in mind. The profit comes from breakage, meaning unredeemed gift certificates. These companies make the initial offer sound irresistible and then litter the path of redemption with obstacles to the point where the offer is only for the truly tenacious.

I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but this is just one asterisk too many. Whatever happened to the good old days when the gift was a real and tangible set of steak knives? Or better yet, no gift, but proper pricing?

Beware the horse bearing gifts for he shall put you to work.  Maybe if I had the steak knives I could cut through all of those conditions…

F is for Fantasy Spouse: 5 Fictional Characters I Would Wed (#atozchallenge)

I have been married to Mr Curtain Raiser (aka the Italian Stallion) for more than two decades. What he doesn’t know is that sometimes he has had competition in the form of fictional characters. I’m sure we have all been there – fallen in “love” with a character we have found in a novel or a movie and feeling bereft and heartbroken when the book or film ends.

Here is my list of the 5 fiction characters I would wed (in no particular order):

  1. Fitzwilliam Darcy from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen  – you’ve got to love a man who outwardly is cold and aloof and vastly superior but is a marshmallow inside. I have a soft spot for proud men who after scratching the surface reveal a great deal of humanity. Having status and money and a nice piece of real estate in Pemberly doesn’t hurt either and neither does looking good in breeches or smouldering whilst soaking wet in a lake. My quintessential Mr Darcy has to be Colin Firth in the BBC production.
  2. Wulfric Bedwyn, Duke of Bewcastle in Slightly Dangerous by Mary  Balogh – Wulfric is a highly respected wealthy duke with the ability of silencing a room with a look or two softly whispered words, his presence is that commanding. He is one of 6 children and the oldest and has been raised in appropriate isolated ducal fashion. A man who puts duty and propriety above all, he is totally befuddled by Christine Derrick, a commoner with an enchanting and defiant spirit. Deep inside Wulfric is still that lonely child raised to carry out duty and keep the family wealth and blood lines going.  His awkwardness in social situations, loyalty to his family and the war within between duty and love make him strong, yet vulnerable – a heady combination.
  3. William Darcy (played by Martin Henderson) in Bride and Prejudice  – hmmm, there seems to be a pattern emerging here, now that I write these down, however I assure you the similarities with entry no. 1 are surface only. Take one American from a dysfunctional, wealthy family and drop him into the colour and spectacle of India, with Amritsar and Goa as backdrops, add cheesy Bollywood song and dance routines and a former Indian Miss World, Aishwarya Rai Bachchan, and you have the makings of a classic.  This William Darcy is so lovable not only because of his eyes (how good are they?), but because he is absolutely lost trying to navigate Indian custom and tradition and he doesn’t stand a chance against the female character’s mother. Also you have to admire the will power of any man who can wait to kiss his bride until after the wedding.
  4. Leopold (played by Hugh Jackman) in Kate and Leopold – there’s just one word to say here and that’s “gentleman”. Leopold takes his 1870 gentlemanly ways and manners and transports them to modern-day New York to romance Kate, played by Meg Ryan. What makes Leopold so great is that he knows how to woo a lady, 1870’s style – with a slow burn. His 1870’s speech and sense of style just makes you long for a quieter, gentler time, when marriages were made to last. And well, the character is played by Hugh Jackman – enough said.
  5. Edward Lewis (played by Richard Geer) in Pretty Woman   – a man with a killer wardrobe who takes over companies and makes gazillions but has to pay for a call girl for companionship – what’s not to love?   No walking barefoot on the grass or driving his own car for this man, he has to be shown how to get a life and kudos for him, he listens! A man who can get rid of his long-standing, sleazy lawyer because the lawyer has maligned the woman he has known for a mere four days is pure class. Add a fear of heights, a fear of committment and a proposal after an aha moment and you are on your way. And with dialogue like this, throw away the pre-nup:

she: “you’re late”

he: “you’re stunning”

she: “you’re forgiven”.

I have always wondered what happened to these characters after the last page or frame of film. Several follow ups to Pride and Prejudice are in my reading pile and I’m sure I will get around to them eventually.

As for Mr Italian Stallion, his position is safe – there have been no lake-swimming dukes commuting by elephant who have overcome their fear of heights to climb up the fire stairs to propose to me…. yet.

Who is on your list?

E is for Emotional Accessibility, Equality and Egalitarian

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Let me start this post by saying I am not a person with a disability. I’m not saying this to make myself sound superior, better or normal (whatever that means?). I’m simply laying my cards on the table because this post will be about disability and there are those that will no doubt question my standing to write on this topic. I get that. To you,  I say fair enough but if you want a truly equal and accessible world then it has to work both ways. You need to let me in too and together we can advocate with strength.

Having several friends who have a disability, I am passionate about the topics of disabled rights, accessibility and equality. So naturally, a newspaper article headed “Access all Areas” caught my eye a couple of weeks ago. The article focused on how a beachside suburb in Sydney was transforming itself into a tourism mecca for people with disabilities – heralded as a world’s first. The suburb is Collaroy and involves considerable redevelopment of the area including Colloroy Beach (pools, surf life saving club and playground), the construction of an accessible bed and breakfast and a residential facility for people with spinal cord injury (SCI). The commercial strip is also to be redeveloped with the intention that the precinct be a showcase of what inclusion is all about. It is the brainchild of Gary Blaschke, the founder of the Disabled Surfers Association. Warringah Council are also involved. At this point I say “where is the “like, like, like” button”?

The article points out that there is no point in creating a world-class SCI facility if its residents are effectively excluded from the community once they leave the front gate. I discovered that putting in ramps and removing other physical barriers is only part of the story. It was here that I received my introduction to the concept of “emotional accessibility”.

Never having heard the expression, I entered Google University and went in search of more information. At first I thought it had something to do with showing more emotion and making your feelings more known to others (which in a way I suppose it does).  Google University proved a little disappointing  – there was not much I could find. From my readings “emotional accessibility” seems to encompass the notions of being welcoming, receptive and making people with a disability feel valued. So this got me thinking about how much emotional accessibility do I create.

To me the expression connotes something more than just emotional intelligence. It’s about opening up your eyes and your heart and building bridges to negate the obvious differences. Barriers here, barriers there, barriers every where to break down and I’m not just talking about the physical ones. We all weep, feel emotions and bleed red blood.

My friends who are disabled are some of the most amazingly talented people I know. Whether they are writers, singers, business owners or professionals they each bring a unique piece of fabric to my friendship matrix. They are just good eggs.

Do I totally look past the wheelchair and the disability? No I don’t and I don’t believe my friends would want me to. It’s a part of who they are, but it does not define them. These things are not the first or even second thing I think of when I think of them. They have taught me much about relationships, life, attitudes, myself and last but not least, disability. I thank them for the education.

My dream is for a truly accessible and egalitarian society. I have mentored disabled students as a small first step towards this dream. I am hoping to bulldoze my way through a few more barriers in the future.

poster from zazzle.com

This my friends, is an emotionally accessible blog site.

Do you practice emotional accessibility?

D is for Dinner Time: Why I Won’t Budge

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You gotta love dinner time. It’s that time of the day when all you want to do after a hard day’s work is wind down, destress and sigh with relief. But alas, the battle is about to begin. You know the battle, the one to make a meal that all family members will eat, is regarded as even remotely nutritious, that won’t require three years in chef school to put together nor end with a mound of pans to wash. Yes THAT battle.

I have never been a natural cook. That hasn’t stopped me from having the goal to build up an exotic repertoire of edible meals which my family will eat. Alas…this has alluded me for several reasons, including the time factor, the shopping factor and the children factor. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked through recipes that to me look delicious and not too complex and discounted them out of hand because of my children. You’ll know what I mean if you have ever had a meal rejected by one of your offspring because “of the green things in it”, “the weird smell” or because “it has onions and/or mushrooms in it – ugh”. Then there’s the children and the universe factor. This is my term for when one of my children suddenly decides they don’t like a dish anymore after eating it without complaint for 10 weeks straight just because Mars is no longer in line with Jupiter or whatever.

One thing I do regard as sacred is eating around the dinner table and engaging in conversation (schedules of course permitting). As a family we can manage this about four times a week and despite the aforementioned battle, it is one of my favourite times of the day. To me the dinner table is the family board room, where all line managers report and debrief. On a good day with messers 12 and 17, we move beyond the teenage script:

“How was school?”  – “Good”

“What did you do?” – ” Nothing”

and we laugh and engage. Decisions are made. Strategies are discussed. Timetables are coordinated.

My dinner time rules are:

    • eat only at the dinner table
    • no mobile phones, computers or other digital devices to be present
    • no distracting television in the background
    • all participants are to stay seated at the table until the last person finishes eating – I have no wish to be seasick by the end of the meal with all that bopping up and down
    • every member pitches in to clear the table at the end of the meal.

My kids are great lobbyists. Over the years, they have tried to lobby to bend these rules. Each rule has had its great lobby moment with number two getting a work out at the present.

In this hectic world we live in and given the ages of my children, dinner time is one of our last remaining opportunities for face time as a family. Engagement and communication is essential to the knitting of the family fabric. I often marvel at these times just how witty and articulate my offspring can be – even if their wit is directed at my cooking or my person. There is no amount of text messaging or fantastic television shows that will convince me to give up this ritual.

Through this, I hope I have instilled in my boys the art of conversation and value for each other. I hope they continue with these rules when they move to the next stage of their lives, some of which were passed on to me by my own parents.

Now, if I could only teach them the art of eating a chicken leg gracefully with utensils and that sometimes green stuff is actually edible….

This post is part of the you know what Challenge

C is for Cliques: When Mean Girls Grow Up

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Women are wonderful, truly! I am grateful for each and every one of my female friendships. All of my female friends add different things to the pot pourri of my life.

I have an admission to make. It wasn’t until recently that I developed a real understanding of what it means to not only have but to be a good female friend. It’s funny how middle age has focused my lenses about certain matters. Looking back at my first act, I can see that I approached my female friendships with a certain wariness. I have a sense that I am now playing catch up. Better the getting of wisdom late than never.

Recently, I found I’m not alone in what was my wariness. I happened upon a book, The Twisted Sisterhood by Kelly Valen which explores the negative side of female relationships. It is a fascinating read and it demonstrates that women from all walks of life and levels of education have suffered at the hands of a fellow sister or several sisters. The behaviour cited tends to be insidious, passive aggressive and enduring. It seems to be particularly magnified when tribes or cliques of women are involved. This bears out my own personal experience of finding it easier to relate to women one on one than in a pack.

What I don’t get is why this adolescent sort of behaviour has to translate into adulthood. I have no issue with women bonding with each other over common interests or experiences. There is much solace and comfort to be gained from sharing. But does this have to come at the expense of the feelings of those that are not part of the sharing? Why does clique thinking have to be so black and white?

I’m in, she’s out.

I can’t be friends with her when I am with my clique.

I’m in the know, she’s not and she’s different.

And so it goes. Bonding through mutual jealously and dislike for others is anything but positive. Bitching and creating barriers and territories is short-sighted. Emphasising difference is self -defeating.

I have seen women who are wonderful change when they are in the company of a clique or when they encounter a conflict between their own personal interests and that of their clique. From friend to frenemy in a blink of an eye.  Most of us have insecurities in some way shape or form – but clique thinking only serves to feed these.

We all need to be a little kinder to our fellow sisters and a little bit more aware of our effect on others. We also all need to be kinder to ourselves and give ourselves permission to be who we are. Doing so, will only serve to make the world a better place and open ourselves to a wider array of friendships and more meaningful and empowering experiances.

After all, isn’t that what life is really about?

This post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge