a lifetime ago...

Most people say that they hated school...Considering I changed schools about as often as most people change their socks, I guess I never really got the opportunity to actually find things to hate about school.
To be honest though, I didn't really spend much time at school. I played hookey probably more than my fair share and it was only after the Truant officers came knocking on the door that Mum realised that perhaps I should take school a bit more seriously...
Personally, I thought for someone who spent much of each school day hiding out somewhere, coming first in subjects like 3 unit English, ancient history, music and domestic sciences answered the argument...hmmmm
Well, I do admit, things made a whole lot more sense when I actually attended several days in a row....
Anyhooo... my last couple of school years were probably my most enjoyable. So much so that when I came down with a very serious case of chicken pocks in year 10 (4th form) I told everyone my pimples were out of control and with a raging temperature, kept going until I passed out in the classroom and my Mother was called to come get me.
In year 10 I threw caution to the wind and became involved with drama, the debating team and made a whole heap of great friends along with it.


Debbie, Peter, Stephen, Me




Bernadette, Jenny, Wendy and Leanne




Me and Deb




Me with my niece, Tammy

I guess my point is that while it is so many years later, life is a blink. I look into the mirror and expect to see that wide eyed young girl looking back at me. All of life's adventures were awaiting me. Not afraid to take chances cause...you know invincibility and all that...
Instead, all I see is how tired and beaten down by life I have become.
Hopefully there are still plenty of adventures awaiting me, but now I choose my path a little more carefully...am a bit more wary of what may go wrong and definitely much less trusting of those around me....

...butter wouldn't melt in my mouth....

Being the youngest, by far, of four girls, I was often...well...pampered..?? okay...spoiled...
My eldest sister Joan was a teacher, so she taught me to read and write before my 4th birthday. My sister Jackie was a dressmaker so she sewed all my clothes, as well as my Cindy doll's clothes and my next sister, Jenny actually paid me to make her a cup of coffee every night when she got home from work
Of course, I wasn't above bribery too...
Like the time I caught Joan smoking out in the front yard...$$$
or the time I spyed on Jenny when she and her boyfriend were canoodling on the lounge when Mum wasn't around...$$$
Or all the times I wanted to go out with one of my sisters and their boyfriends....Having big sisters made me feel very special sometimes!
Of course, there was a downside to all this...
that was the fact that Mum had "been there and done that" with the sisters, so things like school excursions, cake stalls, education weeks, etc were very "ho-hum" in our household full of women, so when I came home all excited about an art show at school, I shouldn't have been at all surprised to find that no one really cared...It wasn't any one's fault, Mum was tired from working all week and it was impossible for her to commit to things like canteen or chaperoned on an excursion, she had done all those things for so many years and now Mum had to work to keep a roof over my head and the sisters were busy having lives and working...but one of them would often attend a function with me.
but there was ALWAYS Grandma!!!!!
My Grandma was an amazing lady! As a child, she was so small, she earned the nickname, Dolly. Her family called her that all her life. I actually thought that was her name and one day when a letter came for 'Mary Gladys Graham', I had no idea who it was for!
She nursed my grandfather, who had suffered ill health since he was gassed in the trenches by the Germans in WW1. She took care of her sister, Belle who lost her hearing when she was 7 - and then some 80 years later, sitting by Belle's hospital bed after making the daily train trip from Pendle Hill to Lidcombe, just to read the paper to her dying sister. (so she knew what was going on in the world!) She held her sister Edie in her arms as she died.from pneumonia. She held her 9 year old daughter in her arms as she died from a burst appendix...this was one tough lady! So wrangling her youngest granddaughter, was a piece of cake....


from left: Jenny, Grandma, Me (Pip), Mum

 I loved magic tricks when I was a kid...you know, card tricks, magic cups, magic rope....
Now Mum was onto me. She knew every trick in my 9 year old's repertoire, but Grandma...well, I tell you, she thought I was amazing! Oh, I forgot to mention what a great actress she was!! Patiently, Grandma would sit and marvel at my appalling tricks, clapping and cheering me on. Of all the people in and out of my young life, I always felt safe and loved by her.
I used to hang around Grandma every chance I got. When I think about it, she taught me how to cook, sew, knit, clean, pretty much everything a female needed to know. But she taught me so much more than that. I learned much more valuable things like patience, understanding, humility and selflessness from her.
 Grandma even carted me off to Church! When everyone else was snoring their heads off, me and Grandma would be belting out hymns down at the Methodist Church... On Mondays, she would sit at the kitchen table with the grocer, Mr. Dobson and give him the grocery order. So quietly spoken was she, but all the while keeping tabs on every penny he was charging her...haha
So thinking about it, while I had so many strong female influences in my life and trust me, I was surrounded by them! My Grandmother stands out....
On days when hurt and anger makes it near impossible for me to want to open my eyes, let alone get out of bed and face the daily dose of crap that has been dished up to me lately,
 I try to think of Grandma.
Nothing ever phased her. Nothing stopped her and nothing ever stood in her way.

A tearful farewell...

It is with much sadness that we say goodbye to a beloved family member. A beautiful old gentleman known as Xander.
Xander Hall was known to us by many aliases.
Mr. Xander, Xandy, Matey boy, Choogie, Fessy....it goes on...
Xander was a beautiful Russian Blue who came to us from the pound. He was found wandering the streets of Newtown and picked up and taken to St George animal shelter, where we just-so-happened-to be going to find a birthday present for my daughter, Natalie.
As soon as Xander spotted her, her ran forward in his cage, knocking over his water dish in the process and drooling uncontrollably, in an effort to get her attention. Of course, it worked!
Home he came and soon became the alpha male. Our ladies, Tigger and Saffy adored him and would always wait until he gave the word to do anything. They always looked to him. Later on, Chloe, a lovely Calico cat and her cheeky son Mania came to live with us and they also had the same unequalled respect for Xander. Mania followed him everywhere and Xander was so patient with him.
When Tigger died, Xander stood guard near her and kept all the other cats quiet for the day. He knew we were all sad.
Only a couple of years ago, when cheeky little Bitbit joined the family, she was a tiny kitten and Xander would let her play for hours with his tail and never got cross with her! He even let her drink his milk!
Xander was magnificent!




Xander jumped into my car and gave me a cuddle!

 



cheeky boy in the gardening bag

 



 


he loved to garden with us!

 His trademark grey/blue coat with the white goatee beard and white blaze on his chest made him stand out...but his tail was also eye catching! it was a little darker than the rest of him and had darker, but quite faint rings down it and when he was wild, it fluffed out to be huge, I can tell you!
He was so strong, in summer he would thin out but in winter he would become huge and you could always hear him thudding down the hallway....
He had teeth like needles as well as very sharp claws and he caught me a few times by sucking me in close with meows and purrs, so when I stopped to pat him, he would latch on and fang into my hand, or whatever he could get hold of! Cheeky boy...

Some of his funny habits:

• Xander would sometimes "pull an all-nighter" by refusing to come inside for his dinner and we would worry all night, only to find him curled up on the front door mat early in the morning!
• He would love to sit by an open window to "shoot the breeze"
• Xander loved to stretch out in front of the fire
• He loved it when Saffy sat with him and gave him a bath
• Sometimes we would sings songs to him, like: he is Mr Xander, swimming underwater....

He retired to the Central Coast last March, where he spent his last days keeping watch over Bitbit, Natalie and his new little human brother, Ashton.

Xander went to sleep, quietly in the sun on Thursday, 19th May, 2011.
We all adored you mate and we won't forget you xxxxx

» rich oxtail soup : recipe

» rich oxtail soup : recipe

ummm...excuse me... I think you dropped something???....

Well, this is probably one of my mother's most famous stories.
As far as I know, it is the absolute truth and has been corroborated by several family members!
It was in the late 1930's or early 40's, but before 1943 when mum got married.
Mum and her sister, Lucy were in the city on one of their usual shopping expeditions. Probably to buy shoes (what else???) or handbags (another given!)
 Of course they were dressed up to the nine's with hats and gloves...you get the picture...

Well, there they were, strolling down Pitt Street when Lucy felt the elastic giving way in her bloomers!
In a state of panic, my mother searched despairingly for a safety pin in her handbag to no avail.
So they kept walking very carefully but as quickly as possible....
Now my Auntie Lucy was a LADY...at all times keeping her cool and never causing a scene...
So with heads held high, Lucy and Mum marched up Pitt street.
As the troublesome knickers finally couldn't defy gravity any longer, they slid downwards at a rapid pace.
Not wanting to make a scene, Lucy gracefully stepped out of them and kept walking....
all the while dragging Mum along and trying to stop her from blushing and screaming with shock...although the giggles must have given them away...

NOW, she may have gotten away with it, if it hadn't been for a lovely young man who, thinking Lucy had dropped her ( albeit rather large) handkerchief, started calling out to Lucy. Of course, she ignored him and walked even more briskly...
He swooped down and picked them up, by now, almost running to catch her and shouting loudly, "Miss, you dropped something!!"
Well, Lucy and mum ducked into a shop and thankfully lost the man, avoiding further embarrassment. They hid inside until they were sure he was gone before making a beeline for the train station.
I was a very quiet trip home on the train that day.
My mother never forgot it, Auntie Lucy never spoke of it...
but I wonder what that young man did with those bloomers?

Have a lovely week xxx

on being a mother....

It has taken me many years to truly appreciate my mother and what she did for me.
Now, I know what you are all thinking....
we ALL appreciate our parents...sure we do, but we also expect them to be at our beckoned call. We expect our mothers to always fix things and I guess we all sort of feel that we "own" our parents. Of course, we are all human and every generation blames the one before (as the song goes), and on becoming an adult there also comes responsibility. Mothers tend to feel responsible for their offspring for their entire lives, taking on their pain  as if itwere their own hurt. I am talking about realising the selfless devotion that a mother has - and not just in humans, animals, birds etc all nurture and care for their children.
By their very nature, mothers nurture and protect, feed, care and go without to ensure their offspring are okay, while fathers tend to show their love by providing, lovingly protecting, Teaching and generally getting to do lots of fun things like sport. It is a completely different type of caring and both are, in their own way wonderful.
Often mum spends all day cleaning, caring, cooking and taking care of the mundane things and in generations gone by, raising the kids was their full time job. These days, many mum's juggle work and parenthood with wonderful success. I, myself worked full time and also did 5 years(or so) of university by correspondence when my kids were in their teens, so I know it is not easy and it is a struggle for any woman to balance home and work and keep a little bit of sanity!!

But...let's get back to my epiphany....
there is no one (and I mean no one) who stacks up when it comes to caring about you. in my opinion.
I had 3 children under 4 years of age. My mum didn't drive, was on the pension, suffered from very bad health and lived close to an hour away, but when she made her usual "checking up on me" phone call, if she thought I wasn't okay, or I really needed help, she would get some things together, raid her kitchen cupboards for treats for us, call a taxi and come - no matter how sick SHE might have been, I was more important.
If only I had appreciated how much of a struggle that was for her. (and she did the same things for all of us) Of course, I was always terribly grateful to her for her help and even though she wasn't able to do much, it was the moral support that meant the world to me. Mum would always "hold the baby" so I could clean, shop or attend to another child's needs, especially when one of them was sick.
When my mother died, it left a hole that could never (and I really didn't want it to be) filled.
So now that my own children are all grown I have had plenty of time to reflect on the years gone by.
My mother didn't have money -- far, far from it! She struggled so much, her entire life, and in fact, when she passed away, my sisters and I not only paid for her funeral, but all her outstanding debts as well. That was definitely not a burden and we were all glad to do it as mum deserved to have a "clean slate" if you know what I mean.
Mum's love was shown every time she went without, for us kids. Every time she jumped in that taxi to come and help me. Every time she rang me and listened while I cried to her about how hard my life was, or how tired I was, or how bad my migraines were she would say, "it's alright darlin' I know" and talk to me for as long as I needed her. (In hindsight, how selfish of me to complain about my life, when I had a beautiful home and healthy children and  mum had nothing and lived in a housing commission flat with barely room to swing a cat..)
Every bag of yummy biscuits like Venetians, Chocolate Monte or Timtam that she bought especially to bring to me as a treat or a bow of Darrell Lea chocolates that I am sure she couldn't afford and would have loved to eat herself! The little chocolates that my kids waited for. My son will remember the special lunches when we took mum to Westfield at Parramatta, to a little coffee shop called 'Reggies' and mum would order Grilled Cheese and Bacon fingers for him because she knew he loved them!

 Mum was very gentle and softly spoken. But she was, as I have told you all before, incredibly strong and she taught me to be proud as well as being kind and gentle. Mum rarely, if ever raised her voice (and never her hand!) to us and taught me to be the same.
Mum had a beautiful voice and in her young days, actually sang in the Sydney Town Hall! Yes, the very same place where I played my violin, many years later! But she gave all that up to be a wife and mother.



Mum and her sister Lucy




Mum on her wedding day, 27th March, 1943 (her 21st birthday)

 When we were growing up, mum would often put one of her records on the old player and we would sing to Gilbert and Sullivan's 'Pirate's of Penzance' or 'The Mikado' or even 'West Side Story' or 'South Pacific' and to hear my mother sing "when you walk through a storm, hold your head up high and don't be afraid of the night' from 'Carousel' was some kind of wonderful, let me tell you. If I live to be a hundred, I will never forget how beautiful she sounded, or how sad her voice was sometimes....
Yes, the world is a very different place now and many of the gentle arts have sadly faded into the background, in favour of possessions and technology. Kindness and gentleness is seen as weakness and the loud and forceful prey on kindness.
Unfortunately,I still need to work full time (and then some) but I try to sew and make things for the grandbabies and as my mother taught me, money is not always the gift of love, as some people think, but it is the time, the true selfless care and the devotion that should be cherished. It is thinking, with love about someone, every day and wishing them nothing but happiness. It is wishing you could take their pain, take their sorrow so they don't have to endure it. Most importantly, it is not gloating about those thoughts and feelings to anyone, but instead, keeping them private and nurturing them, almost as if you are willing them to be so, as if those wishes and dreams, if spoken would evaporate into thin air, so you keep them safe and hidden inside your heart.
I know now that my mother thought that way.
When my mother died, I lost my true best friend. She always defended me, no matter if I was right or wrong. I will always regret the times when we were not as close as we could have been, or didn't see eye to eye, but I know that even then, I was always in her thoughts. If only I had realised so many years earlier, just how much she adored me and my children.
On this Mother's Day, as with every single one in the 18 years since mum died, I tell her silently how much I love her and how much I appreciated what she did for me.
On Sunday, just sit and think about all the selfless things your mother has done for you. Exclude "she bought me..." but perhaps the think about all the times that she dropped what she was doing to pick you up.... or she cooked a fabulous feast at the drop of a hat, or she gave you her favourite recipes in a book...you get what I mean.
For all the nights she nursed you when you were sick...
For all the nights she has sat up and worried about you when you didn't come home....
For all the nights she has cried for you because you were sad....
For all the times she let you vent at her....
For all the times she listened to your miseries and she sympathised with you and gave you hope....
For all the love she gave you and all the things she taught you to be...
For the fact that she let you go to have your own life when she would have much rather kept you close to her....
Cherish those thoughts for a moment.
I hope you all have a lovely day on Sunday.

I love the sand between my toes....

I have decided that I would like to add a beachy theme to our apartment...I just love the beach.
Going for a walk along the Esplanade at Cronulla is one of my favourite things to do. It's got everything! Fresh air, awesome scenery, places to eat, places to sit and watch the ocean or, for that matter, just sit and watch the world go by.
If we start at Wanda, the Husband and I generally walk all the way round to Bass and Flinders point, which for the uninitiated, is quite a hike, let me tell you.
Mind you, I do set a cracking pace, if the inclination strikes me!
....but sometimes, like last Sunday, it was more of a stroll.
Now, we ventured down to Shelly beach at South Cronulla with a clear purpose -- I wanted to collect shells and get a bucket of sand.
My idea was to place a couple of my lovely crystal bowls around the place filled with sand and shells to give the place a more beachy feel.

What do you think?
I am pretty pleased with them. Oh, and by the way, I washed them well, just so they don't get a bit stinky....
Next, I think might be a beach inspired doona....