Self-belief

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“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

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Home, Sweet, Home

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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

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The Club

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I enter the foyer of my local RSL (Returned and Services League) Club. The lady behind the front desk greets me with a smile, wave and “thank you” as I flash her my membership card. Tonight is unusual. I can only see half a dozen small groups in the club.

All of a sudden at 6pm the lights are dimmed and a male voice asks everyone to stand, face the flame and remember the returned service men and women who gave their lives for our country. A list is read of those whose anniversary of their passing is today, then in unison we recite “The Ode of Remembrance” which is the fourth stanza from the poem “For the Fallen” by Laurence Binyon.

“They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them.”

I find this a humbling experience every time, and it never tires in importance to me.

Formalities complete and my respect shown, I  survey the area as I eat my nachos and wait for my friends. In my immediate area, which at times seats up to 100 people, there are two other gentlemen seated alone. The one to my right, is aged approximately 60 years and reading the local newspaper while enjoying his beer. The other gentleman, sitting directly in front of me, looks well into his 80’s and like he had had a hard life. He sits sipping water from his paper cup, and reminds me of someone well known to the club. My thoughts prove correct five minutes later, when he wanders over to the younger gentleman and says “goodnight.” The younger gentleman then replies,  “Hey, George did you know you can watch the World Cup from your bed, I’m going too.” George replied “Not me mate, I like to go to bed early so I can get up early,” and with that he left for the evening.

Tonight, the 70’s music is loud and pleasant. At present, Abba’s “Thank you for the Music” is playing and I can hear someone singing in the background. Is it the lack of noise from patrons making the music seem louder? Maybe.

The large room is brightened by the televisions lining the walls with their sound turned down. Tonight, no-one appears to be watching them however, they are welcoming.

I am unsure why the club is so quiet tonight. My friends and I are the last to leave and it is only 8.30pm. Maybe it’s the weather – it is winter and cold outside, or maybe everyone is staying home to get up early and watch the opening ceremony and first game of the 2014 World Cup.

Day 8

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Getting Through Tough Times

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Everyone has them, “tough times”. They cannot be avoided however,during my latest run of “tough times” I discovered a powerful quote by St Francis of Assisi which really helped.

 

St Francis Quote

 

Following St Francis of Assissi’s  advise makes it easier not to get overwhelmed during difficult times. Sometimes at the start of a crisis, very little is possible.  All you can do is absorb what has happened. This is true particularly when coping with the loss of a loved one or friend. Allow yourself to be in shock, numb and use this time to make a basic plan of what needs to be done. Remember, although you may want everything fixed instantly, somethings can’t be rushed and healing takes time.

As time passes, the actual time elapsed will vary for everyone, you will move from only dealing with the necessities to looking into new possible ways of  getting through your “tough time.” The healing will be commencing and if you are coping with a loss of a loved one or friend, you can remember the good times and using laughter, you can help your body heal.

Eventually, looking back you realise that you have done the impossible and although your world has changed forever, you have recovered from your “tough time” and you have grown as a person in the process. This is the silver lining to your dark cloud, and helps you to realise that you are stronger than you think.

Thanks for the advice St Francis.

Our Special Nameless Friend

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Our local Thai restaurant is traditionally decorated. It has portraits of the Kings of Siam adorning the walls and golden Thai god statues at the front door. It was there that we first saw her—the traditionally dressed, petite, ageless and physically-childlike Thai waitress. She was waiting unobtrusively in the background for our order. Slowly, she approached our table with her charming smile. She bowed to us, humbly. On raising her head, in heavily broken English, she spoke to my husband.

“Why are you wearing purple reading glasses? she asked. He response was comical and she laughed. Then suddenly out of the blue she made her own joke and from that moment on, whenever she sees me, (not my husband), she smiles broadly, nods and rushes towards me, like a long lost friend.

Several months later, despite the growing connection, names have never been exchanged. They seem irrelevant. We have become superficial friends and she regularly asks me, “how are you and when are you coming to the restaurant again?” Always informing m to come on a Monday evening as it is the only time she works these days. Last time we were  at the restaurant she was excitedly telling me that she is also doing food demonstrations. Then one Saturday morning,out of the corner of my eye, I saw her demonstrating at Costco.  I wondered if she would recognise me among the crowd. She certainly did.

While busily preparing her demonstration for me, she again asked about when we were last at the restaurant remembering that we had told her that we lived in the area. Her cheerful attitude brightened up my morning and reminded me of the value of the simple things in life.

On our last visit to the restaurant, she was waiting to pick someone up, when she saw us. Despite the fact that she wasn’t working she hurried over, thanked us for coming and took our order. To her we are friends and she loves to serve us.

Macrame

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This weeks daily post weekly challenge is by Erica. Tell us about a lost art: one that you know, one that you miss or one that should be lost for good.

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Credit Google free images

In primary school in the 1970’s, I remember being taught macrame. Macrame is the art of tying knots in string to make decorative items such as wall hangings, belts or pot plant holders. My memory of macrame items were that they were usually the colours of the 1970’s i.e.- green, orange or brown.

I believe this art to be dying as it is no longer taught in schools. According to Wikipedia, it began in the 13th century and reached its peak in the Victorian era. I remember getting the macrame knots to be even and the same tension to be a challenge, although necessary, if your completed item was to look good.

Today the use of macrame knots is seen mainly in the making of friendship bracelets and not named macrame. While I have never made friendship bracelets, I have made several other macrame items that at the time I was very proud of. My favourite knots were the spiral and the double half-hitch.

Personally  I do not want the art of macrame to be lost, however, I am not a fan of the 1970’s style choices that macrame represents. I would like the younger generation to embrace macrame with a modern edge so the art is not lost for forever.

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Share Your World – 2014 Week 22

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Week 2 of the fun from Cee’s photography challenge.

Regarding animals would you prefer not having them around or having domestic pets, farm animals, or seeing them in nature or the zoo?

I love animals and would not like to live in a world without them. Unfortunately, our cat died after living a long and full life in January this year. At present, we have no plans to replace him but we are enjoying the local cats coming to visit. I love zoos, and go regularly in Australia and when traveling overseas. Some of the new animals I have found are amazing.

Are you a collector of anything?

I have collected miniature bottles of alcohol for the last 30 years. I have approximately 175 of them divided into three display shelves.

A small selection

A small selection

If you could know the answer to any question, besides”What is the meaning of life?”, what would it be?

I am interested in success, how to get the most out of life and achieve your goals. As I have read Jack Canfield’s “The Success Principles,” and work in mental health, I have a reasonable understanding of these topics. However, you can never know enough, so I continue to learn on a daily basis..

If you were to treat yourself to the “finer things” what would you treat yourself to?

I am a simple girl so to me the “finer things” in life would be drinking french champagne from a crystal glass.

Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

This week I am grateful for Writing 101 as it is teaching me to make blogging a daily habit and allowing me to connect with some amazing people in the blogging community. In the upcoming week I am looking forward to continue to develop my relationships with the blogging world and only working three days instead of the usual five.

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It’s over!

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I can still remember the day it happened. It was the end of an era that lasted three years. Never again would you find them in our home—cloth nappies and nappy buckets.

Yes, before disposable nappies, nappies were 40cm squares of terri-toweling. Depending on the age and size of your  baby, nappies were folded into various shapes to fit your baby’s bottom and secured with one or two nappy pins. Today, the loss I am celebrating is the loss of cloth nappies, the nappy bucket and our nappy washing routine.

What is a nappy bucket you ask? It is a large plastic bucket complete with a secure lockable lid. This kept the smell of the dirty nappies inside and the baby outside to prevent a tragedy. All   ‘sweet smelling baby waste’ was removed, before placing the dirty nappy into the bucket for storage. The nappy bucket was filled with water and Napi-san, a bleaching solution and kept in our bathroom beside the toilet. Nappies were added until we had enough for a washing machine load, usually 4-5 days.

When we were ready to wash our nappies, the approximately 10 kilo bucket was carried down the twenty stairs to the laundry under the house, where they were emptied into the washing machine. At times, there was a competition between our friends to see who had the whitest nappies. Ours often won, which we put down to the love that went into cleaning them.

Despite all the fun that cloth nappies and nappy buckets created—especially with two children under two—it was champagne all around when they were no longer required. Our loss was someone else’s gain. It was a great era. One that we didn’t realise how time consuming it was until our nappy washing ritual had left the building. Never to return. But the question remains what will be our next adventure?

Day 4 Writing 101

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The Music of My Life

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Songs have always been a major part of my life. They have inspired me to achieve the challenges I set myself, and comforted me during my difficult times. Songs have the power to change your mood and can be used to insight all types of emotions.

My most influential songs have been part of my life for many, many years. I love that they always create a positive emotion in me and unless it is inappropriate to do so, I always begin singing when I hear them. My top three are:

1. I AM WOMAN – Helen Reddy (1972). I was 10 when this song became a hit and it’s words empowered me to believe that I could deal with everything life throws at me. “If I had to I could face anything, I am strong, I am invincible. I am woman.” This song was also the first Australian penned song to win a Grammy Award and in 1975 was chosen by the United Nations to be the theme song for “International Woman’s Year.” It was also my ringtone for several years which I enjoyed.

http://youtu.be/MUBnxqEVKlk

2. I WILL SURVIVE – Gloria Gaynor (1978) This disco anthem reminds me to believe in myself and not let others get to me. It is the story of personal growth through a relationship breakup and developing personal confidence. Thirty plus years later, every time I hear this song I am still compelled to do the actions and sing/yell “I will survive” at the top of my voice. It never fails to bring out the best in me.

3. I AM AUSTRALIAN – Bruce Woodley (1987) performed by the Seekers. This song signifies our history and shows the diversity of the changing face of Australia. I love chorus, ‘We are one, but we are many and from all the lands on earth we come. We share a dream and sing with one voice: I am , you are, we are Australian.

I am proud to be a surviving Australian woman and I am looking forward to the sharing more of my life with you on this writing journey.

Day 3- Writing 101

 

 

 

A Room With Two Views

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In my perfect world, I would have a room with two views. Then, I could mange any of my moods and more importantly, keep my favourite activities are close at hand. The view from my front room would be of my private, deserted beach. My back view is of snow-capped mountains.

My beach or private cove is approximately 1 kilometre in length with high cliffs on one side with a grassy bank and a fresh water stream running through it on the other side. The stream would start in the mountains and contain thousands of wild salmon that swim up stream, jumping between the pebbles. Owing to the amount of water in the area from the melting snow, the grass is emerald green and soft under my bare feet.

Grass tobogganing is my favourite activity during the summer, with the steep land between the beach and the mountains is perfect for this. I have even had a T-bar installed to make getting to the top easier.

The beach itself, is protected and while you can surf on the far corner, the main area has only small crashing waves. These make wind surfing, kayaking and well as snorkeling safe activities.

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My back view is of mountains overlooks a private ski field in winter with enough people to make it fun, but not overcrowded. In summer, hiking is a great way to keep fit and there are several huts scattered on  the mountain to provide overnight accommodation if hikers stay out late. As the mountain is relatively small, it is perfect for cross country skiing and snow shoeing. The water from the stream is pure and drinkable, with a naturally occurring spring half way down.

Each day, in my perfect world, I feel my life is complete. I enjoy my natural surrounding and de-stress with my vivid images—if only a place like this exists in my real world.

Day 2 Writing 101