Tag Archives: life

Relishing The First Meal After A Cold

image from flikr
brungrrl photostream

You know the feeling?  The enjoyment you get during that first meal after you have recovered from the cold or flu. You savour the aroma wafting from your plate, your first real aroma in a week. You relish the taste washing over your taste buds which have come alive after a week of dormancy. And you feel hungry. I’ll say it again YOU FEEL HUNGRY!!!

You embrace the hunger for you know the feeling of having hunger in a world where you can satisfy that hunger with relative ease. It feels good to eat and to have your senses once again co-operating to deliver an enjoyable experience. You look forward to the next meal and the next as you focus on the joy of satisfying your appetite.

Metaphorically speaking this is exactly how I’m currently feeling about my work.  And what a revelation and relief it is!

The discontent and restlessness had been creeping in for a while. But like all good soldiers, I was taught not to give into these feelings and to keep on swimming, swimming, swimming… I swam for a while, but most of the time felt like a salmon swimming up-stream. However unlike most salmon, I am not genetically programmed to swim upstream and eventually it became too much.

It took a further period before I was ready to admit defeat or if not defeat a temporary surrender. This was an enormous step, huge… because for the pervious twenty years I loved my work, threw myself into it and not only surfed with the tide, but caught pretty much every wave. To this day, I don’t know what changed… was it simply my priorities, my outlook on life, the sense that there should be something better, the sense that time was ebbing?

Whatever the case, this had me spooked and in totally foreign territory. I had had all the answers up to now, but I had hit on my $64,000 question.

After a period of just being, I am now back engaged in corporate Australia and I am hungry again. Only this time, my hunger is tempered by wisdom and I know the key is balance. Work is but one component of a busy and well-rounded life and I am learning the discipline of saying “no.” Now, I am happy to let a project go to someone else if it means I have time to do the things that feed my soul. Now I’m happy to say, “yes, I’ll do it for you…. if it can wait until tomorrow.” Now I know that I can face the consequence of those decisions and this is not weakness. In fact, it is strength.

I am now working for a company that does meaningful work and I am proud to be working for that organisation. My team is wonderful, playful, engaging, human and appreciative. Their expectations are realistic and most of all we respect each other’s talents and disciplines. This is novel. My work is instructive and challenging. In short, I feel that my work is valuable and that I am valued and challenged.

image from freedigitalphotos.net

And I can see now that value and challenge were what was missing in my last workplace. Value of course, has nothing to do with remuneration. It was only fear that was keeping me there – fear and habit.

Facing fear and putting it and the old workplace behind me was the best decision I made.

The family has effortlessly flowed back into the routine of a working mother and I have a  real sense that my children feel that life is now back to their “normal”. My work flu is now over and I partake of my meal with a humility born of a journey taken and a lesson learned.

Have you had a “coming alive” experience? Have you ever totally changed your perspective on an aspect of your life?

To a Queen Bee Friendship Is A Serious Business

Image from Flikr
Leo Reynolds’ photostream

In his book, Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man, Steve Harvey tries to explain the concept of the male psych. According to Steve Harvey men are really very simple. Apparently, the terms in which men see the word can be boiled down to:

              • who they are – his title
              • what they do – what he does to get that title
              • how much they make – how much he earns

I have to confess that the neatness of this summation appeals to my logical nature. These basics of the male DNA are displayed daily in my working life. Business presents the perfect forum for males to pursue their who, what and how much dreams. Many hours have been spent in business meetings while the males sort out which one has the biggest ummm…… credentials. It also seems to be ingrained in men that credential contests are part of a greeting ritual and that these contests are never, ever personal. Whilst wounds can certainly occur, men don’t seem to fuss over them too much, one quick lick and they’re back in the arena and having a beer with the vanquished.

So having experienced several recent instances of women behaving badly, I’ve tried to come up with my own hypothesis on how some socially active women see the world. I am desperately hoping that I can develop a hypothesis or at least a starting point as to why some women so often choose to be less than kind and less than honest in their group friendships.

The starting point of my hypothesis is that for some women the social arena is akin to the business arena for men. In the social arena these women can relentlessly pursue their dreams. And like the business arena, politics and maneuvering are permissible, how else do you explain the concept of the “frenemy”? A concept, by the way, which I have never understood. To me friendship is a black and white issue, you either like someone enough to be friends with them or you do not – there is no half way, no pretense.

Passive aggression seems to be the weapon of choice by which a woman achieves Queen Bee status within a social group and the means by which she maintains that position. Add a considerable amount of drama into the mix and they are seemingly untouchable, lapping up the attention they crave. After all, we all know that any hive or nest can only ever have one Queen Bee at any given time. If you are still breathing after being so emotionally and mentally exhausted after victimization from a Queen Bee, you have the privilege of helping to keep the Queen Bee fed with an endless supply of attention. The bigger they get, the more they need, the more drama that is created…. endless loop.

If a queen bee were crossed with a Friesian bull, would not the land flow with milk and honey? – Oliver St John

The Queen Bee’s view of the world therefore seems to boil down to:

    • who she is – her title in the social group
    • how many other women she can influence – more means a wider audience
    • what she needs to do to achieve and keep her social status in the group – constant feelings of insecurity and feeling threatened

However, unlike the business world, female friendship is very, very personal and wounds run deep and can take years to heal, if they heal at all. And the worst of it? As the behaviour is mostly passive aggressive, often you don’t understand it for what it is until some time after it occurs. Unlike for men, there is rarely an open contest.

Possibly there is a place for the Queen Bee in our world. The concept keeps several television stars employed and audiences entertained, just think the Housewives of….franchise or Jersey Shore and spin offs. For mine, TV is the only place for the Queen Bee. I’d rather channel my friendship energies in more positive ways.

When Graduation Feels Right: Congratulations Class Of 2012

The parenting journey is littered with stages and milestones that mark the passage of time and the getting of wisdom. Some of these milestones also represent significant gateways that irrevocably empower the individual and change the family dynamic. Our little family passed through one such gateway earlier this week, the one called high school graduation.

Two days ago we celebrated the Valedictorian Day of my eldest son, Future Baseball Star. It was a day filled with school tradition, of saying farewell to youth and a clearly defined path and embracing seniority and the responsibility that comes with empowerment for making decisions about the future. A day of hope and laughter, filled with promise and belonging.

The decision of where to send your child to high school is a weighty one. In this town it is usually decided and acted on at birth at which time your child becomes a name on a waiting list. We didn’t go down that road, largely because I wanted to choose a school that would match my child’s needs and personality and to make that call I needed something more to guide me than a bunch of foetal cells. In this town, the choice of high school is a favourite dinner party conversation topic and securing a place in a good high school is a competitive business.

We chose the boys’ high school because it felt right. Not because it was close, not because there was a family connection but because it’s student body comprised boys from all over Sydney and from diverse socio-economic backgrounds and nationalities. It felt right.

The traditions in which we participated on Valedictorian Day felt right.

The farewell song sung by the graduating year 12 class to the rest of the school at the Valedictorian assembly felt right. The engaging farewell speech given by the Head Prefect felt right. The announcement by the year 12 leadership of their year 11 successors and the symbolic handing over of their seats to the newly elected leaders felt right.

The farewell tunnel formed by the student body down which the boys of the graduating class marched to the beat of drums felt right. Watching the year 12 boys making their way through the tunnel whilst they embraced those teachers and mentors that impacted positively on their lives and shook the hands of the boys whose memories they wished to preserve felt right. Seeing little brother playfully punch his big graduating brother in the stomach at the start of the tunnel walk felt right.

Attending the boys’ final school chapel service at which the year 12 Head Prefect passed on a symbolic candle to a year 7 boy felt right. Certain year 12 boys each presenting to the school a symbol representing the areas of academic learning, pastoral care, community giving and co-curricular activities felt right. Hearing the year 12 boys shouting and clapping their way through their final war cry felt right. Sharing a valedictory lunch with our sons and watching them make the passing from “New Boy” to “New Old Boy” felt right.

Being forever part of the “New Boy” community and cheering on the black and white feels right. Being the mother of a high school graduate feels right. Delighting in the fact that I will have 50% less grey socks to fold and white shirts to iron feels right. Watching my child blossom and grow feels right. Handing my child the keys to controlling his destiny feels right. Supporting my son in the lead up to his final exams starting in three short weeks feels right.

Future Baseball Star reaching this milestone has created a new family dynamic. We now have a child with one foot firmly in the adult world and this is cause for celebration. Our stewardship as parents now enters a new phase and it feels right.

Congratulations to all of the boys who are part of the class of 2012, we honour your graduating achievement. It is now time for that last sprint to the final exams and to the destiny that you have worked towards for the past seventeen years, but more particularly during the last thirteen of them. You were the starting class of 2000 and reaching year 12 in 2012 is only fitting and feels right.

Good luck in the exams ahead!

Image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

Do you have any graduating day memories? If you have children who have graduated how did you feel about them passing that milestone? Please share.

I Feel The Need… The Need to Read!

Top Gun, what a classic. Fighter pilots, men in uniform, men out of uniform, aviator sunnies with cheeky handles like “Iceman”, “Viper”, “Goose” and “Maverick”. It also gifted us some great lines, one of which I have borrowed and contorted for my own nefarious blog purposes.  So whilst the remaining MiGs bug out, here’s a fantastic compilation video of Top Gun scenes with the song that has been playing in my head ever since I thought of the heading for this post.

I’m not going to be shooting down any enemy planes today, but I do feel invigorated. Why? Because today I refound my passion for reading books. This folks, is a big deal, huge, phenominal even!

To put this in context, a couple of years ago I used to be a voracious book reader, running at two to three a week. Mostly veg books, to use the expression of my fellow blogger, Eagle Eyed Editor. After a long day reading copious quantities of heavy and dry business material, I craved the escapist world of veg books, no thinking required, just pure emotion and verbage.  All my books were paper books and I loved thumbing the pages, loved looking at the well used spines lined up like sentinels on my book shelf and loved rereading my favourites when the mood struck.

And then I stopped. Cold. I flirted briefly with reading some non-fiction books, but I never became so deeply immersed as when my imagination was ignited by fiction. The only real explanation I can think of why is that slowly or possibly not so slowly my reading habits changed from paper to online. Suddenly my reading became centered around blogs of all kinds, personal blogs of my WordPress friends, blogs about management and leadership, blogs about marketing and social media, newspaper and journalistic blogs, blogs about writing, and blogs about blogs!

image from microsoft clipart

Most of the material was and is engaging and it is material that as an Australian I would never have had access to before the online age. Suddenly there was a whole new world to explore and learn from. And it was all free and accessible whenever I needed. But I think it came at a price.

Blog pieces, or at least the best blog pieces, are less than a thousand words long and possibly even shorter than that. They are short sound bytes designed to tantalize and entertain and much territory could be covered in the space of an hour online. Get to the point and prove your expertise quickly or find yourself in the middle of a cavernous snoozefest. During my blog hopping phase I did pick up a book or three in the hope that I would once again find my reading passion and the buzz of immersion. Maybe they were the wrong books or maybe it was the environment, but more often than not I found myself stopping after five pages. That was until I read a couple of recent books, including the book I discussed in my last blog post

Today, my journey back to the book world reached a pivotal point, for today I wondered into my favorite bookshop. It is in fact the last of the giant bookstores in my city, three levels of tomes, stacked on pallets, stacked on shelves, well…just stacked! Today there was a promotion for a classical music CD taking place when I walked in and the sounds of a soulful cello played. The musician was in store with his cello and there was a buzz. Customers and store clerks milled about and there was some serious browsing taking place in the aisles.

Gratuitous aviator sunnies pic

I felt like it was almost a spiritual experience with a real sense of it feeling right. I savoured reading the book jackets and combing the shelves for an hour and I am happy to say came away with three books to read. It is time to be immersed, to be transported. It is time to read the marathon after a long time spent sprinting.  I am revelling in this sense of anticipation and looking forward to getting reacquainted with turning pages, sneakily reading ahead and shutting the book cover when the last full stop has been read.

It is time to feed the need, the need to read!

Did you find the internet impacting your reading habits? Do you love to read? Do you sneakily read ahead?

Whip Me, Beat Me, Butter You Up….Canadian Style

To all of you who stumbled upon my blog believing you are in for the maple leaf foody version of 50 Shades of Grey you have a wonderfully kinky imagination. If you also experience a sense of disappointment as you read on to find that the playroom is in fact a kitchen and the only implements out of the drawer are a spoon and knife, then to you I say “laters baby, you’re going to have to find your kinky eatery elsewhere.”

image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons – Kelly Sue De Connick

For the rest of you, I would like to introduce you to my latest favourite indulgence, whipped peanut butter. This post was inspired by your comments to my Paying the Blog Love FAward post as it seems that on a quick sampling of my blog readers, whipped peanut butter may not yet have made it to the shores of the US of A. Be prepared to be wowed by this product for it is the rock star of peanut butter. So good in fact, it has its own Facebook fan page and its own dedicated chauffeur driven national tour vehicle (check out the pics on the page).

I am amazed that my American readers have not had the opportunity to experience the guilty pleasure of whipped peanut butter. Not so long ago, we lived in a world where Australia was always 6-12 months behind the US in terms of product, movie, music and television show releases. Take for example, The Bold And the Beautiful, which I will never publicly admit to watching. Until recently we down here were watching Ridge & Brooke get engaged for the first time…. allegedly …..whilst you guys over there were watching their children celebrate coming of age… allegedly. I say allegedly, because I don’t watch it, well not when I’m not bedridden anyway. But here, now, we are experiencing the marvels of whipped peanut butter whilst you apparently are not!

There has only ever been one brand peanut butter that has graced my pantry and that’s Kraft. Never oily, never dry… a whole lot of crunchy….just superb. Imagine my unmitigated delight when I noticed a new Kraft kid on the block on the supermarket shelves, a total no brainer.

[Dear Kraft marketing gurus, if you are reading this then we will be at home all week to take delivery of that case of whipped peanut butter you have lying around at the back of the warehouse…I won’t even tell my blog readers about the 20 cases you have already not sent me… as I reign in my pulsating desire and sensuously lick the excess peanut butter from my fingers and wipe my smeared keyboard].

So here’s what y’all are missing. Whipped peanut butter is a light, fluffy smooth version of the product. It spreads beautifully and doesn’t stick to the roof of your mouth or to your utensils. Washing the empty jar is a dream and it tastes the same as its heavier siblings, but aerated. I image it makes a fantastic foundation for a dip or satay sauce given its consistency. Fantastic on toast and even better on thin multigrain rice cakes, it’s an all-purpose jar of pleasure. Even better than se…semolina!

So good in fact, we import the whipped product from Canada. Yep, Canada! Canadian air must be really something for Kraft to fly the product all the way down here. Especially when the non whipped product is manufactured here in Australia – take a look at Exhibits A and B below. This well travelled peanut butter can fly half way around the world but somehow can’t make its way immediately south of the Canadian border. I’m sure there’s some logic in this…somewhere. I will figure it out just as soon as I finish my peanut butter and honey delight.

Exhibit A:

Made in Australia

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Exhibit B (hale the rock star):

Complete with Canadian air!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s only one thing to do in these circumstances my US friends and that is to storm the Canadian border and insist on your right to a whipping!

In the meantime, well played, Canada, well played…. I will gladly send you all our Vegemite supplies in exchange for your whipped peanut butter cache. Just what you always wanted, Canada – Australian prime quality yeast extract, And yes it really is as hideous as it sounds!

What is your favourite sandwich spread? Have you ever tried Vegemite? Would you want to? What’s your favourite accompaniment to peanut butter?

7 Blue Ribbon Events of the Parenteen Olympics

Here’s the first post from the she shed. I haven’t actually found a she shed, but if I had, this is the post I would write.

We are almost at the start of the closing ceremony of the 2012 London Olympic Games and what a two weeks it has been. Such skill, stamina and athleticism – and that’s just from the spectators – what time is it again? Australia has now managed to scrape together five six gold medals as our swim team went MIA. Hard lesson learned for said swim team, namely that social media, hubris and swimming don’t mix. Ouch!

The Olympics have however inspired me to look around and recognise skill, stamina and athleticism in my everyday life. So, let’s light the cauldron, release the peace doves, sing “Hey Jude” and celebrate the 7 blue ribbon events of the Parenteen Olympics!

Event 1 – Synchronised Finding: parents compete to find their teen’s missing items whilst tackling various obstacle courses such as teen rooms, drawers and wardrobes, dirty clothes piles and pockets. Five points for each item found. Bonus points are awarded for really small items and those which have not seen the light of day for at least two weeks. Triple bonus points are awarded for essential items that are required to be found in the five minutes before the teen rushes out the door.

Event 2 – Rhythmic Gum Snapping: teens compete to scare the living crap out of their parents by loudly popping gum at random times. Bonus points are awarded for pops  sounding like cars backfiring made at critical times during television shows their parents are watching in the same room.

Event 3 – Pantry/Fridge Hockey: teens compete to rearrange their parent’s pantry/fridge in the usually useless quest to find something to eat and in the hope that by staring at the items long enough they might change into something inspiring. Each of the  panel of five international judges gives a score out of 10 for the following categories:

    • most vacant stare and bored stance
    • most number of trips to the pantry/fridge in a sixty minute time span
    • most number of items moved each trip
    • loudest whine of “there is nothing to eat”

Points are awarded for each item of food actually removed from the fridge or pantry and there is an increased degree of difficulty for foods that have to be heated, peeled or spread.

Event 4 – Laundry Hamper Basketball: teens compete to throw dirty laundry into the hamper much like conventional basketball. There is a three-point line and points are deducted if any item from a flying bundle lands next to the hamper or if the laundry hamper is broken after a particularly forceful slam dunk.

Event 5 – Teenage Habitat Hurdles: parents compete to retrieve selected items  such as used drinking glasses and gum wrappers from their teen’s room battling obstacle courses made of piles clothes, paper and general “stuff”. This is a timed event and the quickest out the door wins. Points are deducted for touching any of the piles, cleaning up or for failing to make it out of the room altogether.

Event 6 – Bathroom Use Marathon: teens compete to spend as much time in the bathroom as possible during peak times with the object of causing maximum inconvenience to other family members. Teens will be judged on the length of their shower (the longer the better), the amount of product applied to their body (shampoo deodorant, gel or makeup or preferably all four for maximum degree of difficulty points) and poses/stances made before the mirror. Scores are awarded out of ten by a panel of judges much like gymnastics.

Event 7 – Electronic Gadget Decathlon: teens compete for the ultimate Parenteen Olympics event in which the winner is the athlete who uses  the highest number of electronic gadgets at the same time. Permitted gadgets include televisions, laptops, I-Pads, smart phones and gaming consoles. Simultaneous use must be sustained for at least one continuous minute. Hernia prevention belts  may be worn.

Let’s celebrate our inner athlete and enjoy our pride of place on the winner’s podium. Medals are awarded on the earlier of the teen turning 21 or moving out of home.

Have you been in training for the Parenteen Olympics? Do you have a favourite event? Are you or do you know a champion of any of the events?

Award ribbon image and image of sporting figures courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net.

Avoid Losing The Most Precious of Things – You

In my last post I advocated for the practice of ethical hedonism and noted that mothers owed it to themselves and those around them to indulge just a little. Preferably, they should do this without guilt. You can read about my views on hedonism here.

In that post I referred to the “intense stage of mothering young dependant children” and how emerging from it was one of the factors that lead me to my current views on hedonism. In their comments to my post, my blogging buddies at Grown and Flown, also reinforced the importance of that emergence and by doing so gave me the idea for this blog post. Thank you ladies!

There is no doubt that emerging from that phase (which I will call the Emergence in this post) was a game changer for me, although I never realised it at the time.

Like most new mothers I really had no idea going in just how intense mothering young children would be. Up until the point of the birth of my first child, I never had the opportunity to be around young children and certainly didn’t seek them out. However,  the motion picture of my life in my head always included children and so it came to pass. Within a month of deciding to fall pregnant I fell well and truly down the mothering rabbit hole and came across all manner of interesting tea party guests and situations that I had never before encountered.

I remember the very early days, sleep deprived and racked with guilt about not breast-feeding, feeling totally inadequate amongst the mess that was my house. I remember how I latched onto every progressive variation to baby routine like a starving woman and recounted to the Italian Stallion how the high point in my day was baby graduating from 60 mls of formula for every feed to 90 mls. Then there were the toddler years, when baby was all ability, no common sense and when one’s watching and listening skills are honed to perfection. Then it was onto the daycare and school years where your life became a dance to the starting and finishing times of these fine institutions.

Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of great times too and the rewards of parenting are some of the finest in life. I wouldn’t change the rhythm of my life for anything. However the above is the reality of mothering young children and it’s more than permissible to admit that it is hard work and that some days are just about survival.

“What did you do today, dear?”

“We survived with all body parts intact. World peace will just have to wait until tomorrow”

However, little did I know that the focus I put into parenting my young children, whilst pursuing a high-powered career and being a wife and daughter came with a cost. After all, everything you do is worth doing to the best of your abilities, right?  Naturally, you want the very best for your children, and you think that the very best is giving yourself completely and utterly over to the task. At least I did.

At the point of Emergence I felt rather pleased about some of the time I had regained. Time back for myself to do the little things I had put on the back burner for the past fifteen years. A few months after Emergence I was still trying to remember what those little things were and finally discovered the cost of all my “doing”. In putting my needs last and feeling guilty about indulging in a little daily hedonism during those years I had unknowingly eroded my most important relationship, namely with myself.

The human race is fond of labelling. We tend to spend a lot of time and effort pursuing high status labels. I knew I was a wife, mother, career woman and daughter. But beyond that? Who was I and who did I want to be? It’s only by answering these questions, that we are to find the path forward.

This is not to say I lay the blame solely at the feet of mothering. My Emergence was a real point of convergence – where Emergence meets middle age, meets searching for a more meaningful existence, meets career questioning. Everyone’s life path is different and points of convergence will vary.

I have a sense that finding the answers will take some time. Much like weight loss –  most of us gain weight through years of bad habits and then expect overnight miracles from our diets. It just isn’t going to happen. And there will be interruptions and glitches along the way.

So that’s why I advocate balance and a little measured pleasure. It helps you remain connected with who you are and your aspirations. I really hope that anyone involved with the concerns of others can take something away from today’s post. Giving yourself over to the cause is important, but remember YOU are a worthy cause as well.

So hello world, I’m just Judy and I like exploring but dislike labels. I also happen to be a mother, wife and daughter, an occasional humourist and blogger.

I’d love to hear how you describe yourself by taking it back to the most basic, without labels in the comment section below. Help us to get to know you.

Elephant and rock man images courtesy freedigitalphotos.net

Should Hedonism Be The New Black?

I read a terrific article on the weekend in our local newspaper – yes of the paper variety, remember paper fibre? – entitled “Days of Decadence”. It centered around the question of whether indulging in pleasure for pleasure’s sake can be good for you.

It opened up with the statement that fun is what you do when you are in your twenties and that traditionally hedonistic behaviour – long lunches, late nights, drinking too much, taking drugs and sex – is not considered healthy. The article further states that whilst hedonism, defined in the Oxford Dictionary as the “pursuit of pleasure: sensual self-indulgence”, tends to be frowned upon and signifies a lack of self discipline, its pursuit may just have its place.

I am here to advocate for a little hedonism for those of us in midlife and to make it the new midlife black. Like that little black dress in the back of the closet that you put on every once in a while and which makes you feel like a million bucks when you wear it. The secret of course is to not wear it every day, but as a wonderful indulgence, even when there is no special occasion.

I absolutely refuse to concede that having fun is what you do only in your twenties. Fun is not the sole province of youth, fun is ageless and timeless and more importantly, it is a state of mind, much like age. Most things can be fun and pleasurable if you approach it with the right attitude (OK maybe not root canal or certain medical procedures, except if you are a health professional). Personally, my sense of fun has increased with age and probably has a lot to do with increased confidence and wisdom, loosening up, mellowing out and emerging from that intense stage of having young dependant children. The promise of new, exciting and challenging experiences is heady and every day has the possibility of adventure. There will be plenty of time to lie down when I am six feet under.

Does this mean I am not self disciplined? I am not buying that puppy. Hedonism does not need to be unplanned or extreme. It can be as simple as having a long lunch in the sun, swimming, eating at a fine restaurant, blogging, travelling to new destinations, dancing, listening to music, sleeping in or reading in bed. It is about a little piece of personal freedom and doing the things you love. I advocate ethical hedonism, hedonism without living a harmful life. The key as always is balance and common sense.

I always feel a little bemused when people make comments like “I wasted half a day, I didn’t get out of bed until midday.” To which my response is: “And the problem is……?” Fair enough, if you don’t get out of bed before midday as means of regularly shirking responsibility or avoiding reality. But really, what’s wrong with getting out of bed at midday on a weekend morning, particularly when it’s cold, dark and raining outside after you have been working all week or even if it’s not? What’s wrong with sitting around talking, sharing, reading and laughing whilst the dirty dishes from last night’s dinner are sitting in the sink? That hour or two of bonding is enough to keep you going for weeks and give you plenty of energy and motivation to tackle any amount of dirty dishes, dirty laundry and other associated housework. Why are we conditioned to think that every activity must produce a tangible, positive result or be progress towards a goal?

Engaging in ethical hedonism is not only permitted, but I suggest, should be mandatory. Those who think that life is solely about obligations and achievement are missing out. Life is also about pleasure, the dolce vita and we should not feel guilty about the occasional indulgence. Mothers please take note, you owe it to yourselves and those around you to indulge just a little.

Let us not wake up one morning and think that today is going to be THE day only to discover our health and abilities compromised. Tomorrow may never come and those of us at midlife need to balance out living for tomorrow with our capabilities of today. So come and join me and practice a little ethical hedonism every now and again. You never know, it may even give you a longer, happier life.

Viva La Ethical Hedonism Revolution!

Do you have any little indulgences that keep you going? Is blogging one of them? If so, please share them with us. Do you agree that a little ethical hedonism is essential to a happy life?

Have A Personal Olympic Story? Why Yes, I Do…

More than three decades ago, I graduated from primary school. Not sure what the North American equivalent is called, elementary school or middle school perhaps? Here in Australia, primary school is generally schooling between the ages of 8 and 11. In my State, high school starts at the age of 12.

We have only had one primary school reunion in all those years and to be honest, it was a little bit like entering the twilight zone. Not sure what made me feel like this, perhaps it was the amount of time that had passed since graduation, perhaps it was the intervening high school years and the notion that high school generally brings more memories or meaningful experiences. Whatever it was, it felt somewhat bizarre seeing my primary school mates after more than twenty years and talking about marriage, kids, divorce and careers. Perhaps because there were no blunt ended scissors, glue, coloured pencils in the middle of the table or dangerously low hanging projects strung up by pegs hanging from the ceiling.

As part of the festivities we were asked to fill out a questionnaire. Most of the questions were unremarkable, but there was one that I have carried with me. It is a fairly innocuous question, but I felt confronted by it. Coming away from the reunion, I felt under pressure to have an experience where I could answer the question in the affirmative. The question was:

Have You Ever Attended A World Event?

By that stage, I had given birth twice, had career success, was still married to my first and only, was a dutiful daughter and wife who almost brokered world household peace. Was this not enough? Did I have to attend a world event as well?

Well yes, because it would be memorable and fun and newsworthy and something that no-one could take away. It would also put me in good stead for any future school reunions with tricky questionnaires, not to mention future bridge parties with the girls (for when I get old – ha!).

It was therefore wonderfully fortunate that my city won the right to host the 2000 Olympics. I remember awakening at 3.00am to watch the then president of the IOC, Juan Antiono Samaranch utter the immortal words “and the winner is…. Sydernee”. Really, he said “Sydernee” and the expression has gone down in our city folklore. That announcement made sometime prior to 1995 heralded the start of my own personal Olympic story and journey to a world event.

We watched as Sydney Olympic Park was developed, the main stadium, satellite stadiums built and Olympic infrastructure installed. We heard stories about the supposed crowds and traffic and people renting their house for the Olympic period for exorbitant sums. We were inundated with cheap travel offers to exotic destinations to tempt us out of the city. We watched as they painted the blue line for the marathon runners in the next suburb and we watched the torch relay as it swept through. We saved money, entered ballots and queued to obtain tickets. Leave the city during the Olympics? Not this girl! The world coming to our laid-back doorstep and the prospect of watching Olympic events at a reasonable time, rather than in the middle of the night was an opportunity too good to pass up.

I can honestly say, attending the Sydney 2000 Olympics was one of my finest experiences. We ended up attending the opening ceremony, velodrome cycling events and athletics. But more importantly than the events themselves, for the fortnight of the Olympics our city was enveloped in a blanket of goodwill and cheer. The mood was incredible. Locals wanted to put their best face on to the world and exuded friendliness and tolerance. The city was clean and traffic almost non-existent. Public transport ran on time and business took a holiday. Carefree was in the air and the news was positive. The politicians stopped playing politics and everyone just seemed happy. In a word, utopia. And let me tell you, there is absolutely nothing like hearing your national anthem played on the world stage in your home city.

I can well imagine what London, Londoners and indeed all of England must be feeling right now. Five years is a long anticipatory haul, but the fruits of London’s Olympic labours are about to be laid bare for the world to see. And the world will watch and for the first time will Facebook and Tweet at unprecedented levels.

So yes, I have been to a world event, some would say THE world event. I have my sights set on a World Cup Soccer event, World Series Final (although it is debatable whether this is a true world event), a Rio Mardi Gras and perhaps the Tomatina festival in Spain in the future.

In the meantime, I have set my alarm clock for 5.30am tomorrow morning to watch the opening ceremony. I have reread my herding teenagers post and am armed and ready to wake them so we watch it together to continue a family tradition. Here’s to two weeks of this given our unforgiving timezone!

Would you want to go the Olympics? Have you been? Have you attended a world event? What Olympic moments are you looking forward to?

Let’s Phlog Monday: What Do You Call A Group of Bloggers?

Well, another week has passed and another Monday is here to phlog.

You will be relieved that I have no deep and meaningful message for you in my photos today. Rather, I thought we’d play a little matching game.

When most non-Australian natives think of Australian wildlife, they probably think of these (hint: these are NOT my photos):

or these:

or maybe even these:

It doesn’t help that the foreign press seems to only ever write about Aussie wildlife when someone (usually a foreign tourist) dies. Our most recent shark attack/casualty happened only in the last couple of weeks off the coast of Western Australia, but to most of us Aussies that news is relatively ho-hum. We are not unfeeling or uncaring, but swimming in the ocean to us is like crossing the road. It’s an inherently unsafe activity, but experience and the odds tell us that we are highly unlikely to be shark’s dinner any time soon. Millions of people actually swim in Australian’s oceans every year without so much as a toe nibble or even a suck. As for crocs, well we know to feed them the foreign tourists first. Especially those tourists who wear crocs. And as for the spiders, we have a healthy respect for those, because they actually cohabit in our suburbs.

Despite common belief, Australians don’t don flack jackets and machetes when they venture out should they happen to meet wildlife. Most of us merely shoot the wildlife with cameras. Here’s some of the friendly animal-folk that I encountered over the last couple of weeks. No toe sucking or nibbling was involved… well not by the animals anyway and that’s ALL I’m going to say about that!

I therefore proudly present to you a herd of kangaroos, a team of ducks and a mob of cockatoos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, what do you call a group of bloggers?

Is it a flock, a school, a convention, a rhumba or is it murder? Maybe it’s an ascension, implausibility, generation or plump?

All of these are real collective nouns. Who knew?

I’m leaning towards the term “blaggle” to describe a group of bloggers. Not only does it give good alliteration, but twists the old tongue. I’d love to hear any other suggestions you may have.

And whilst you are pondering that let’s see if you can match up the collective nouns in column A to the right animals in column B, consulting Google University if you must. Post your answers in the comments section.  The nearest correct entry or entries will each receive 100 Curtain Credits. If you have read my “Hi There” page you will know that these are pretty much worthless, but think of the glory of being right, people, think of the glory ! Oh, and the judge’s decision will be final.

Winners and Curtain Credit recipients will be announced by Friday 27 July.

Column A 

mumuration
weyr
storytelling
rabble
ascension
fesnyng
convocation
generation
bloat
implausibility
 

Column B

eagles
butterflies
gnus
larks
vipers
starlings
hippopotami
ravens
dragons
ferrets

 

Good luck!