Pastor on a plane

21 May 2014

So. The other day, I met a Pastor on a plane.

Not on a plane, in a plane.  But that’s not what you say is it?  You say on. Right?

Anyway, the Pastor.  He was there, sitting next to us.  Heading home after a week or so in Bali.  But not on holidays, he works with a mob or supports a mob of people that help Australian prisoners in Indonesian prisons set up micro-businesses to help them fund their incarceration.

I didn’t even know that was a thing that people had to do.  But to be honest, most of what I know about Indonesian prisons I’ve learnt from articles about Schappelle Corby and they aren’t exactly known for being big on fact.

The micro-businesses can be art, knitted goods, screen printing, computer skills – anything basically that provides a small but steady income.  And there are more Australians and non-Indonesian prisoners in these places than Schappelle and the Bali Nine which of course you know but you don’t really think about.

So boom! Twenty minutes into the flight – I’d learnt something.

We then went on to chat about children, christianity, people, knees, naming children, running ultra half marathons, blogging, social media, volunteering, personal branding for young people and all those kind of random conversations you have when you’re making small talk with somebody that actually thinks about things.

And it was a very enjoyable 90 minute flight.  At the end, we went off to get our hire car and he went and found his group of people and headed home to his family to join in the Saturday sports mania which is fairly representative of families with children the age of his.

And the Pastor on the plane.  It really struck me as I was chatting with friends in the pub the next day after the run, he is any stranger we fail to engage with given the opportunity and I live in constant amazement that people don’t want to make these kinds of connections.  I know something now I didn’t know, I didn’t know.  I met somebody who was interesting, passionate about what he did and had a decent handshake.

Next week, it might be a clown in an elevator (true story), an old lady next to you on the bus (true story), somebody in the queue at the supermarket (true story).  And no, we don’t need to talk to everybody (apparently – go figure), but how often do we avoid eye contact and shut ourselves off from amazing experiences just because we’re afraid of what people might think?

I’m right aren’t I?  We do.  WE DO.  We’re so dumb.  So self-limiting! And I say this knowing that I have a face that attracts weirdoes.  If there is a weirdo within 100 kilometres of where I am sitting – they flock to me but YET, sometimes I get the Pastor on the plane.

And it reminds me of why people and conversations are such enriching additions to the everyday.  And also why you shouldn’t try and smuggle drugs to Indonesia.

Anyway.

Go forth and chitter chatter.  Go on.  Dare you.

    

Abandoning desire. Embracing zen.

15 May 2014

There comes a time in your life when you have to let go of some things you have hankered for your whole life.  In case they are holding you back you see.

I’m so zen at times.

So since I have only about seven months before I hit 40, I’m letting go of four things I had really hoped might happen and make my life perfect.

1. I’m never going to be black

I blame my parents for this one.  I’m pale, but pink.  So not Cate Blanchett pale.  Not Nicole Kidman pale. More Vicky Pollard pale.  My sisters got skin that tans or lacks the pink undertone. My brothers tan I think – but who knows – they get to keep the body hair. I always wanted skin like Lupita Nyong’o or Iman Abdulhmajid or Samantha Harris.  I still want skin like theirs, but am resigned to white, freckled, pale skin that alternates between blotchy pink and blotchy blue depending on the season.

But if you EVER make a movie of my life, please ask Lupita to star.  Everybody knows that even documentaries get a little bit of creative leeway, and since the next generation of children are learning about history from the films, not the books – they’ll never know the truth.

2. I’m never going to be Jewish

I have to blame my mother for this I think.  She’s Catholic.  Sure I could convert, but I don’t think my reasoning would resonate.  I want to be able to use ‘Oy Vey’, ‘Mazeltov’ and ‘L’Chaim’ with wild abandon, break glasses underfoot and write brilliant musical scores.  Oh, I know it’s a generalisation people calm down, but over all I think we need to agree that the Jewish people have it sewn up – music, history, art, resilience, language and so on.

Since the conversion is unlikely to happen, I have to settle for a liberal usage of schlocks, klutzes, chutzpah, tuches, schmoozes, schtick, glitches and schmucks in both my writing and conversation.  And watch this video a lot, because it makes me happy.

3. I am not going to be a rock star

I can’t sing and my piano teacher quit on me when I was in primary school – supposedly because I never practiced, but equally likely because I couldn’t play.  Sure the two might go together but if you haven’t got it, you haven’t got it.  I am never going to write a song or craft a dance which is to the future what Gangnam Style is to the past.

I will never wear leather pants with a flannelette shirt or have underpants flung at my motorcade.  I will never have my tongue the talking point of conversations around the world.  I won’t get to eat my breakfast off the back of a naked model or inspire a generation to rebel against the conformity of society.  My profanity will always be crass, not the wild, crazy talk of a sassy front woman.

4. I am never going to understand why people thought The Piano was a good movie

I always thought I missed something, that I failed to understand a movie so profound and moving that even people that prefer Monster Truck events to Mozart RAVED about it.  I read the reviews, countless pages of gushing and admiration for a movie that bored me so much that I almost cheered when he chopped her finger off because I was SO PLEASED SOMETHING HAD HAPPENED.

However, I do agree that the New Zealand scenery was breathtaking.  But seriously, send me a postcard and save me the movie price.  But I’m letting this go.  I am realising that it’s not a failure on my part.  It was just a really crap movie.

And that’s the four steps to accepting myself and moving on to the perfect life.  I can’t believe these impediments to happiness and success never came up in my therapy sessions.

What little things about yourself do you have to accept now that you’re supposed to be an adult?

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The Run Diary – The final week – Not dead.

15 May 2014

So last night was my last training session for this weekend’s ultra marathon.

They asked us to fill out a form answering various questions as part of their continuous improvement.  They asked me what my fitness goal was when I joined the program and I wrote “Don’t Die”.  The next question asked me if I’d achieved it.  I wrote “Yes”.

I haven’t actually done the run yet – so who knows.  It could end badly – in which case, can somebody in my training pod update my answer for me on Monday?

So I’ve graduated from the program.  See – a certificate to prove it.

And now I’m drinking this with a straw to get me match fit as I have a cold to go with the broken toe. I love that the universe helps me have something to continue to complain about now that I’ve actually learned to run.

But anyway, Bisolvon, ibuprofen and Vicks should see me right for Sunday. Hydration is a must for ‘us’ long distance runners don’t you know?  And this is alcohol free, sugar free, colour free, gluten free and lactose free.  It’s pretty much what my diet should have been for the whole training program.  Oops.

 And I’ve got my running gear sorted – including the appropriate hashtag for you all to use when you send encouraging tweets and Facebook messages on Sunday.

Some people are running the SMH half marathon or the Great Ocean Road ultra Marathon, ultra half marathon and 14km just for fun but that kind of insanity doesn’t deserve a hashtag.

So just say ‘you’re totes cray cray to them’ to them.  Because they’ll be so keen to finish the race and get back to take you to task about using stupid expressions like ‘totes cray cray’, they will run really really fast.  Don’t forget to say “you’re welcome” when they return.

photo courtesy Jennie Star

So here is us after whizzing around the oval last night.  Why we chose to press out sticky sweaty bodies together after training rather than before has me baffled but that’s okay.

A big fat ‘YOU GO TEAM’ to all my running group – I only got this far because I know you needed somebody to come last.  And I am that kind of team player.  Oh, and those lovely dollars people have donated to Cure Cancer.

And this is where we started 13 weeks ago – Mel and I are the ones pretending to be Michael Jackson in Thriller.  The rest of them are proper adults and fitness junkies.  But we’re probably the coolest.

Photo courtesy Jennie Star

It’s absolutely not to late to get me to my goal amount of $10,000 over the two runs (last year’s 9 kilometres and this year’s 23 kilometres) so if you have $1 to spare, at the time of writing, I’m looking for about 745 people to donate a dollar and get me over the line before the race starts on Sunday morning.   Go on – you know you want to (please?)

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Cake, gays and football

13 May 2014

So you know how I’m a BIG BIG sports fan….

Okay. So I am not.  But I have heard of Michael Sams.

This is Michael Sams in his football gear

He’s an American footballer that told people he was gay.  This was big news because apparently your sexual orientation can prevent you from playing football properly.

So, in a very sporting manner he let everybody know before the draft.  Now the draft is when you do or don’t get chosen to play for a team.  Apparently it’s not based on your sexual orientation but your ability to play the game.  So why Michael had to tell anybody is a little confusing.

But I’m not really into sports.  So a little bit like the offside rule being explained to me about shopping for handbags, I’m still no clearer.  Because I don’t know what game the offside rule applies to and I’m unlike to get competitive about handbag shopping.  I know, two failings in one paragraph.

Anyway, because Michael’s sexual orientation has nothing, or everything, to do with being selected to play football, there was a news crew there to record Michael’s reaction if he did, or did not, get selected.
And he did.  By St Louis’ Rams.  He was the 264th selection.  I don’t know what that means but it’s mentioned a lot.  But anyway, he was excited, he cried, he kissed his partner and then threw cake around.

This is a picture of a cake A rainbow cake – see what I did there? OFFENSIVE

Apparently even at his partner.  Now his partner didn’t get upset by all this cake throwing but a lot of people have gotten upset about the kissing.  Because apparently we don’t need to see that on TV.  All the people are not upset about it being two males kissing, nope, absolutely no homophobes here, it’s about the kissing.  We don’t need to see cake throwing and kissing like that on our TV.

And then, because I was reading the article at 4am, I was obviously a little befuddled and I READ THE COMMENTS.  Do not make this mistake.  It turns out that we ARE upset about the boy kissing boy bit because apparently in the bible it says that you can’t play football if you kiss boys and also that kissing boys and throwing cake on TV will make young boys that want to play football think that you have to kiss boys.  Or something.  It was the vilest, most putrid list of petty mindedness I have read in a long time. Well apart from the budget. And whoever Conchita of Canberra is – shame.

Now, we know bigotry pisses me off. People who obsess about where other people put their tongues and body parts are just strange.  And complaining about kissing on TV.  Really – REALLY?  That was the best thing you could think of complaining about?  Did you complain about Kanye and Kim’s motorbike ride?  Did you complain about Monica and Chandler getting it together?  Do you boycott The Farmer meets a wife? Did you write in horror at Spiderman getting the girl?

To be completely fair, wind farms are more offensive then kissing.  And wind farms are not offensive at all.  So if it’s NOT the ‘act’ of kissing that is offensive, that leaves the cake and the fact that he kissed a bloke.

Which means the vast majority of commenters are homophobes. Some were offended by black homosexuality too which makes them racist homophobes.  A lot of people seemed upset about the mess made with the cake making them racist, homophobic, cake lovers.

So let’s sort this out – Michael, please.  Stop wasting cake.  It’s upsetting people.

And the rest of you are bigots.  Yes.  Bigots.  B. I. G. O. T. S.

Please, take my advice, whenever you wish to demonstrate your bigotry, stupidity and pettiness – eat cake.  It’ll make the world a lot nicer place for pretty much everybody.

    

Baby on Board #Laughlink

12 May 2014

Seen one of these recently?

You see them on old cars, on new cars, on small cars, on big cars.  You see variations of them, you see them personalised with names, glitter or soccer balls.  You see them occasionally on the back window and the side windows and as a bumper sticker on the back bumper bar.  All at once.

You see them beside stick families, above F&&k off we’re full stickers and once, I even saw one on a motorbike.  Ridden by a man.

But what they are saying is not ‘Baby on Board’.

They are saying ‘Please don’t crash into me’.

And while OBVIOUSLY, I don’t want any one crashing into me when I’ve got the girls in the car, I really don’t want to be crashed into when I’m on my own either.  Or even if the car is empty, just parked, I’d prefer you didn’t crash into it then either.

Hear me road users?  Don’t crash into me.  Please.

Or is this just me? Do other people see these signs and hanker for one?  Is this one of those ones where having a sign that says ‘Baby on Board’ actually means – ‘Yes folks, I got laid and I have a baby here to prove it! – Pull me over and I’ll show you – you can even have a hold!’

Worse is when people with one of the signs drives like an absolute lunatic and you totally judge their parenting as you slam on the brakes to avoid being hit.  It’s a bit like when the chaps with the Christian fish on the back bumper of their lowered cars, flip you the finger when they overtake you for doing the speed limit.

Either way, it seems a bit daft to me.  If you’re going to have something on the back of you car, make it this one – my favourite ever bumper sticker

I killed myself laughing when I got caught out with it.  And the second time.  Ha!

What things in car windows always strike you as odd?

    

For my daughters

10 May 2014

Darling daughters,

I was never somebody that craved motherhood, I never felt a biological clock ticking and I never had a plan.  I just kind of assumed I’d get around to it some day.

I was lucky.  I did get around to it – twice. Very importantly I had the good sense to have you fathered by a kind man with a beautiful heart.  This means you wont have to deal with abandonment issues, hook up with inappropriate sugar daddies or join an extreme cult in an effort to find yourself.

Well if you do, it won’t be your dad’s fault.

You are, both of you, loved and adored in equal measure.  I had planned on never shouting, but I’d forgotten to imagine your developing independence and your flourishing imaginations.  Even when I am in the midst of being ‘shouty mum’ and exasperated beyond measure, I am proud.  And me shouting is my issue, never yours.

I will not have your spirit quenched or your thirst for adventure diminished.  I would rather your live your early years barefooted, wild haired and snotty cheeked because you have the rest of your life to conform.  I am learning that there is a difference between misbehaviour and behaviour that isn’t considered proper.  They are not the same thing.  Learn this early and you will bloom.

I will not allow you to grow up without manners or with the expectation that all you want is yours for the shouting.  But I will work with you to understand why manners are important and tantrums mean ‘no’.  Sometimes that means you are ‘mad’ with me, and I’m okay with that, because being told you can’t have something is no fun.  It doesn’t mean I will change my mind and it means that when you get older you’ll be able to get a job and keep it.  You’re welcome.

I will badger you about being kind, saying sorry and learning to empathise.  Because if these are instinctive to your older selves, you’re in a good position.  These three things are not weaknesses, indeed they are strengths which you should keep in good shape through constant use.  If you are mean, petty spirited, unable to admit wrong and without empathy – you wont be the best versions of yourself and I will consider that I have failed as a mother.  I have enough issues, please get the hang of these three things.  

I am happy to spoil you, cuddle you too much, tell you that you are clever, count your freckles, tickle your tummy and say I love you until it becomes embarrassing and then I will say it again.  There is not a day that has gone by since you were born that I haven’t told you and I will continue to say it every day for the rest of your lives.  For the greatest thing I can do for you as a mother is send you out into the world secure in the knowledge that you are loved beyond reason.

I truly believes that self confidence comes from being loved.  And if you are confident enough to live big lives, choose good people as friends and lovers, be kind, shun bigotry and speak up not only on your own behalf but others, than my beautiful girls, what a life you will have, and what a magnificent nursing home you’ll choose for me and your dad.  Please make sure it has a pool.

As I wrote to you both on the days you were born,  I am still aiming not to f**k up this parenting lark, it’s still early days but overall, we’re tracking okay.  But regardless of my mothering, you girls are the two most amazing people.  And I love every single bit of both of you.  Every single day.

Love Mama xxxx