E is for Emotional Accessibility, Equality and Egalitarian

photo flikr - Nina Matthews photography

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

photo from flikr - chrisinplymouth photstream

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

photo from flikr - chrisinplymouth photo stream

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

B is for Bikram Yoga: My Trip Into the Bikram Chamber

They say pay back can be nasty. My day for pay back came yesterday in the form of my very first Bikram Yoga class.

If you have heard of Bikram Yoga you will know that the mere contemplation of it can induce terror. Bikram Yoga was created by Bikram Choudhury. His method is a set series of 26 postures each of which is performed twice together with two breathing exercises in a single 90 minute class. The class is undertaken in a room heated to a minimum of 40 degrees Celsius (105 degrees Farenheit) and about 40% humidity. The idea is that the heat keeps your body from overheating (ha!), works on your muscles to allow for deeper stretching, promotes detoxing, increases your heart rate for a better cardiovascular work out together with a myriad of other “benefits”.

I have dabbled in “dry-land” yoga classes on and off for a number of years. Whilst I have never been a huge fan of twisting my body into what for me are unnatural positions I can see the benefits on posture, balance and the spirit. My philosophy for the past three years has been I’ll give anything a go once as long as it is affordable, not immoral, illegal or offensive. So here I was going off to try what can only be described as EXTREME yoga as an EXTREME novice.

I was given a set of instructions beforehand to prepare for the class. You must drink at least 2 litres of water, stop the drinking at least 30 minutes before class and you must not eat anything at least 2 hours beforehand. The warning bells were already starting to ring right there. If you have ever drunk 2 litres of water in a short amount of time (cue anyone who has ever had an ultrasound) you will understand. Two hours of prep for a 90 minute class? Really, most people don’t even do that much prep for an exam!

Stomach laden with water, I stepped into the hot room. There were about 20 others in the class, with the experienced cool kids up the front. I was told to follow them. Being my first time, the instructor referred to me as her “new friend”. At this point, I was still breathing freely but I wasn’t regarding the instructor and the other members of the class as my “friends”.

Yoga requires things like balance, co-ordination and flexibility and I was in the wrong line when they handed out those attributes. Let’s just say I didn’t manage to make all 26 poses and leave it at that. Oh, and did I mention that the Bikram room had mirrors everywhere? There was no escaping towards the back of the class. Hello humiliation!

Much of the class was taken up watching and admiring the cool kids twist like pretzels whilst I was trying not to pass out or catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I tried to think of cool oceans, Antarctica and my legacy to my children. I zeroed in every time the instructor said “Our new friends can sit out and just watch this pose for the first time” in secret relief. I kept mentally asking “Are we there yet?”.

Now I know the real meaning of the term “sweating buckets”. I have never “sweated buckets” before. I have never drunk so much water or contorted so much before. Also, I have never pushed my boundaries so much before. I survived 90 minutes in the Bikram Chamber – that was the real challenge. Therefore I left the class with a sense of triumph together with my jelly legs, detoxed body and happier organs.

I am glad I gave it a shot. But I think one shot is all that I have in me. I admire anyone who can perform a graceful Garuasana or a pretty Padangustana. May you live a long and happy sweat filled life. However, it has never been a goal of mine to flex so much that I can put my feet behind my ears.

[Photo of the letter B from flikr – chrisinplymouth’s photstream]

A is for Australia: Think Aussie with these 5 Tourist Tips

April 1^st has finally rolled around bringing with it the start of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge . Good luck to all the participants – whether you’re a first timer and new to blogging like me or a seasoned blogger and Challenge champion. And a big thank you to the A to Z Challenge gods for giving my blog a shout out in their weekly wrap up last night. It means much.

Living in this time zone, I guess I am one of the first cabs of the rank… so let the alphablogging games begin!

Australia is my homeland and I am an Aussie. Aussies tend to refer to Australia as the lucky country, with good reason. Leaving politics aside, Australia is truly blessed with natural beauty (and beauties), a terrific climate, unique killer wildlife (the beauties aren’t included in that statement) and wonderful freedoms. I am truly grateful to be living here.

According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, there were just over 500,000 visitor arrivals to our fair shores in January 2012, the majority of which were from New Zealand (75,000), China (77,200) United Kingdom (57,000) and United States of America (38,000).

If you have ever travelled to a country for the first time, you know that there’s a fine line between fitting in and looking so much at home that you are asked for directions by other tourists! No tourist wants to stand out with a big “T” on their forehead. So here’s my 5 tips on how to do Australia like an Aussie:

1. Do your tanning on the beach – Australia is blessed with some of the most amazing beaches in the world. Crystal blue waters and soft white sand abound. If you are visiting a coastal city, do your tanning at the beach and not in a mid-city park. The only Aussies who wear a bikini in the park are those visiting a public swimming pool located there and those coming home after a big night on the town, having lost their clothes. Besides, you haven’t really experienced tanning until you have had sand in your cozzie (Aussie word for swimming costume) and crevices.

2. A temperature of less than fifteen degrees Celsius does not a summer day make – Australia is blessed with amazing weather. Summers are hot and winters are temperate. However, to most Aussies a temperature of fifteen degrees does not constitute a day worthy of shorts and a tank top. Appropriate dress for fifteen degrees is jeans, a jumper and a neck scarf!

3. Treat the possibility of a shark attack with the same caution as the possibility of a car accident – most Aussies are acutely aware that there are killer sharks swimming in our oceans. This does not stop us from enjoying the surf. News of death by shark attack is rare and reports of shark attacks seem to be greatly exaggerated by overseas media.

By contrast, treat the possibility of a crocodile attack seriously. For some reason, they particularly like the taste of European tourists.

4. Give everything a short, pithy nickname – Aussies tend to shorten the name of everything and everyone. Any word with more than three syllables is too much to say after a few drinks. For example, ” McDonalds” becomes “Maccas” (you’ll probably really need to know that one after a few drinks), Barbeque becomes “Barby”, “Kimberley” becomes “Kimbo” and “Politicians” become “a waste of space” er… I mean “Pollies”.

5. Savour all of our amazing food – Australians love to eat Aussie food. We love our pizza, yiros, pad thai, and donner kebab. Any dish which contains pineapple is considered Australian even if it originated from another country.

Now that you have had a taste of my homeland I hope you’ll come on down. Follow these tips and you’ll be tourist savvy in no time.

[photo of the letter A from flikr – Leo Reynolds]

Air Guitars and Wooden Spoon Microphones

Do you go through periods where you have a “Song of the Moment” or “SOM”? A SOM is a song that bears one or more of the following characteristics:

makes you smile and lifts you when you hear it
you have on endless repeat for a month
takes up permanent residence in your head
when you hear it randomly played on media it makes you turn up the volume
makes you feel you are caught up in a moment of serendipity
makes you pause when you hear it

I am having a SOM period at the moment. Every time I hear my SOM randomly played by others, I just feel lucky. So far, my SOM has turned up without me initiating it in my car, in my house, online and in my zumba class. The feel good gods are surely smiling down on me!

A SOM should come with a warning label – WARNING: this song can induce behavioural changes.

Behaviour Can Alter After Exposure

I have been in the car and my SOM is played on the radio. The worry of reaching my destination on time is immediately wiped. Having reached my destination half way through the SOM, I do not exit the vehicle, but rather wait until the SOM is over. The fact that I might be moving my lips and talking/singing to no one whilst tapping the steering wheel like a mad woman does not cross my mind.

My SOM is played on the radio in the kitchen whilst cooking the family meal. Being the clever multitasker that I am, I turn up the volume without missing a beat on the cooking front. The kitchen fades away and in its place a concert arena is formed. The tin of coffee becomes a drum, the lights above the stove become a spot light and my wooden spoon is transformed into a microphone. I also intermittently grab my air guitar when the riff allows. Bring on the adulation! As the SOM ends and I am transported back into my kitchen. I notice the flour on the radio volume control, the coffee tin slightly dented and an array of wooden spoons sitting on the bench. Out of the corner of my eye I see my sons rolling their eyeballs and shaking their heads whilst stalking out of the kitchen. “You sure you don’t want to hang around for the encore?” I yell. I have become a legend in my own meal time.

Ultimately, my SOMs become timeline entries in my music catalogue. At some point my SOM becomes the song of the previous moment and life moves on. I don’t always have a SOM, but when I do, it heightens my belief in random luck and whimsy. That can only be a good thing.

And my current SOM….

And yes, I was around when Toto released their original.

Have you ever had a SOM?

Does Your Kitchen Suck?

Actually, my kitchen doesn’t suck all that much except for that long agonising pause between the menfolk creating culinary magic and cleaning up the utensil carnage that follows. Its the time when our family kitchen becomes the dreaded black hole, sucking up all the household manpower to return it to it’s natural state.

“My Kitchen Sucks” is the name given by my early teen son to a current television show airing here called “My Kitchen Rules” or “MKR” for short. MKR is ostensibly a cooking show in which teams of two fight it out in various tests and challenges to display their culinary skills. Every so often two teams have to take part in a sudden death cook-off in which one of the teams is eliminated. At those times, the show gets very intense, even more intense than some of the dishes that are created. MKR has been airing four nights a week for the past month or so and its ratings are soaring.

For all sort of reasons, MKR is riveting. The factors pulling me in to watch it night after night are, in order:

the mix of personalities appearing on the show
the incredibly hot French accent of Manu Fieldel, a French chef and judge on the show
the interaction of the said personalities both within teams and between teams
Manu’s French accent
the tactics and brown-nosing to which some contestants resort to stay in the game
then there is of course, Manu’s French accent
the food
did I mention Manu’s French accent?

In short, the show is a fascinating study in human and not so human behaviour. I generally don’t watch much television, so the fact that I religiously make an effort to watch MKR four times a week is eye opening!

Our family has taken to watching the show together, because it airs in prime time. When I say watching the show, I mean that all family members are in the one room and look to be facing the operating television set. I am assured by the teenage members of my household that having a computer screen and a keyboard between them and the television screen only enhances their concentration and enjoyment of watching the show.

My Kitchen Rules (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In the minutes before the show commences, the family gathers and assumes their positions. Its at this time the teenagers start their cacophony of complaints which I am tempted to set to music – it’s just so lyrical. “Are you really going to watch My Kitchen Sucks, again?”, “You don’t understand, NO-ONE at school watches it” and the ever present “Can’t we watch something else?” To which I dutifully respond “ Yes”, ”hmmm” and “no”.

Recently, I unexpectedly had to spend a night away from home. I thought this would provide much needed relief to my long suffering teens by presenting the opportunity for an MKR-free zone. The circumstances were such that I could still watch the show that night and as I did I wondered what the teens would be instead watching during their emancipation. The show ended at 8.30pm. By 8.35pm, I had a text from my eldest teen “Mum, T and C got eliminated from MKR…. did you watch it?” The irony in those few words and the timing were delicious.

And my take away (no pun intended) from this incident? First, opportunities for bonding arise in the most unexpected and sweetest of ways and second, I never met a French accent I didn’t like.

Bon Apettit dear readers!