“Let’s start at the very beginning, it’s a very good place to start.” Sound of Music

“How do you know where to start making changes or what path to take?” “Are there any guarantees in life?” These are questions regularly asked of me. The answer is “you don’t know” and “nothing is certain except death and taxes.” So how do you start to make your own path? Everything you do has choices and consequences. How you respond to any situation, either positively or negatively, makes the difference as well as your belief in yourself. Let’s look at a scenario I heard the other day for some ideas.

“I want to believe in myself, but I don’t know where to start” said Jane.

“There is never going to be a perfect place to start” said Mary.

“Where would you start if you were in my situation, Mary?” asked Jane.

“What is most important to you at present? What do you believe you are good at?” replied Mary.

“I believe I am a good friend, and that I am there for others when they need me,” said Jane.

“Then, maybe one way you could start to believe in yourself, is to acknowledge to yourself that you are a good friend to others. Recognise what it means to you to be a good friend? Once you have your list of attributes of a good friend, start being a good friend to yourself. Believe that you are worthy and give yourself the same advice that you would give to your friends, being as kind to yourself as you would be them.” said Mary.

Jane replied “I think I can use that as my place to start. Thanks.”

Day 12

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_assignment/writing-101-day-twelve/

When I was twelve, I had been living in the home my parents designed, for six years. Our previous home was an old coalmine managers cottage with no hot water, so we were excited. We moved into our new address, in the new subdivision of Kotara South, part of Newcastle, N.S.W. in November 1968.

Our home, built on the topside of a steep slope was large, brick veneer and split level. The driveway was steep. Something my mother discovered years later, when she was walking behind her car parked on the driveway, when I, not having seen her, began reversing and gently nudged her, causing her to run down the driveway. Unable to stop, she landed in the neighbour’s garden— across the road.

The house was unusual. It had a one and a half car garage underneath, dug into the clay, which the rest of the house was built on. A brick wall took centre stage out the front to create a private area for my grandmother, who lived, in her own room at the side of the house—a space to sit. She required a walking frame so she didn’t go far and enjoyed sitting in the sun.

From the concrete sun area, you walked up approximately ten stairs to the front porch and entrance to the house. The first level contained the bedrooms.  Across the front of the house, as it faced west, were the bathrooms, toilet and linen cupboard to minimise the window area, and keep the house cool.

The second level joined by five stairs in the middle of the house, led to the dining room and kitchen on the right hand side. On the centre left hand side was a courtyard to provide natural light to the dining room, my parents bedroom, as well as the lounge room. The laundry was only accessible from the back area outside the house and was behind my grandmother’s room.

The backyard was large and rustic looking.  A big gum tree was in the centre of the backyard, next to the Hills Hoist clothes line and provided plenty of shade. The yard also contained a fibro cubby house my father built, a swing set, sand pit and an above ground pool. An outdoor brick incinerator, was how we recycled our paper waste in those days and we would use the ash from the fire to feed the garden. Behind the incinerator was the only part of the yard we kids were not allowed—a large wood heap.

Day 11

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_assignment/writing-101-day-eleven/